Perhaps the most astonishing aspect of this was that Sarah had said nothing to me, though we always normally confided in each other, as sisters do. Curiously enough-and such was the strength of our stepmother’s personality-I believed it all the more for Sarah’s strange omission. Besides, and though this was only what might be called a side thought, the remark about my sister’s bottom had intrigued me and now was cleared up.
“Oh, did it hurt her?” I asked but of curiosity but also out of protectiveness.
“No more than it will you, my pet, when I have to do it.”
“She did not tell Papa though?” I asked, though my tone of voice was rather in the form of a statement than a question.
“Certainly not. She knows better than to do that,” came the reply. With that she took a Turkish cigarette from a box beside her table and lit it. With a quite merry smile she offered one to me but I shook my head. “You will come to like them I believe; what a pleasant perfume they give off,” I was told.
I wanted then to take a puff; but it was too late to ask and I dared not. Then with quite a flourish she swept past me, opened a wardrobe and from a shelf took down a whippy cane, the sight of which truly made me quiver. Told to feel it I extended my hand timidly and touched its polished surface.
“I tingled her up with it well, Clara. Do you know what being naughty is?”
“Why, yes, it is doing things that one shouldn’t,” I replied naively.
“Oh? Do you think? It is also not doing things you should do-but that is a mystery saying, as my Mama used to call it, and you will learn the meaning of it soon enough. Suppose after dinner tonight when we are all in the drawing room, I told you to raise your dress and push your knickers down. Would it be naughty to refuse?”
“In front of all? Oh no, I couldn’t!”
“Be not disturbed, I shall not ask you to. There may be occasions-other occasions-where I shall, however, and if you do not then I shall cane you.”
“Oh!” I stepped back. I truly believed her. “You would not,” I gasped.
Instead of replying, she ran the cane lovingly across her palm. “It stings beautifully. You should have seen Sarah’s hips waggle!”
“But what did she do?”
“Does it matter? Perhaps it was something she would not do. Will you not trust me to behave in your best interests always?”
“Yes.”
I could reply in no other way. Most curiously or not, after what had occurred I trusted her completely. I knew no strain of cruelty in her and so was more intrigued than fearful at her words.
“Let me lay it a little across your own adorable bottom. Shall I?”
Was it in truth a request or a command? I stood rigid and in that moment squeezed my nether cheeks together.
“Please don’t,” I stammered.
“You are refusing? What a naughty girl you are!” But her tone was only that of a tease, then she beckoned me and I softened and moved back to her. “I would adore to cane you, Clara-to make your bottom hot and ready,” she murmured. Quite as one mesmerized, I stood still though my legs trembled as with slow but certain hand she raised my dress inch by inch until first the back of my thighs and then my knickered bottom were revealed.
“Stand still,” she said severely. I blinked and did so. Then, holding up my dress higher, she laid the cane at a right angle across my chubby cheeks and there held it as if to give me the feel of it. I did not move nor could have done without her command and knew it. “The cane may be cruel or it may not. It may act as a punishment or a spur. I use it only as a spur, Clara, and never cruelly. You trust me in that, do you not?”
I nodded. Though wary at that moment, I did trust her. She tapped the cane lightly across my pert moon, causing me to utter a sharp “OOOOH!” though I felt little from it.
“Now again,” she murmured, “bend forward, keep your dress up and your bottom well stuck out.”
“B… b… but…,” I stammered. This briefest of rebellions was however quelled by a single look from her… As she stepped to one side of me, I obeyed a little miserably, feeling that I had somehow been trapped. Withal, however, I also entertained a certain sense of daring and excitement that I could not explain. Keeping my legs straight, I reared my bottom and waited.
“I adore your obedience, Clara. Remain obedient still.”
I knew then that she meant to cane me. My dress slipped but was soon drawn up again. In a businesslike manner she then turned me about so that I found my hands placed on the side of the bed. I wanted desperately to speak, to plead with her, but could find no manner of words to utter.
“Now your drawers down again,” I heard, and as recently as they had been donned so now as easily did they cascade, gliding down to my ankles and there subsiding in a forlorn pool. Her hands touched my bare bottom and I wilted. This gesture of defensiveness was ignored.
“You will learn the correct posture, my pet. Make a hollow of your back so that the moon of your bottom is made the more prominent thereby. Do not arch your back in the reverse direction for it looks absurd and is indeed naive.”
Her words were smooth enough but firm. Obeying hesitantly, I presented myself in the best fashion.
“Have no fear. I do not mean to scorch you,” came her voice. I heard then a hiss as of the cane slicing through the air.
“THOOO!” I squealed, for light as the stroke was, and full across my young orb, it stung me and I reared.
“Still now, Clara!” she barked.
I gave a little wailing sob and waited. Then my next and longer wailing cry was uttered as this time I received another scorcher, though in truth I know it to have been but a skimming motion of the cane at which she was so adept.
“NA-NAH-NAH!” I heard myself sob and worked my hips madly, endeavouring as one does to shake off the tongues of fire that were leaping through me. Even in the midst of my cry, however, a third bit into me, and this time truly did for I leapt and clutched at my bottom, not caring about my posture nor indeed about obedience. I was not however admonished for this nor did she attempt to still me but instead cast down the cane and drew me about so that I sagged against her and sobbed my protests to the world.
“Dear little one, it is but your first taster. Did I deal with you so harshly, my sweet little dear?”
I blubbered only because the thought of it had proven perhaps worse than the deed. Her hand stroked my hair, my face was pressed into her perfumed bosom. Her words ran over me like softly drifting leaves as, instead of chiding me, she praised me for my fortitude. This causing me to sob louder, I was kissed on my moist and wobbling mouth and once more found myself clinging to her.
“Are you not grateful that I did not really sting you? It does not hurt? Does it really hurt-really, really?”
I cried on for effect a little and she knew it, stroked my hair continually and kissed my nose and brow.
“You come up well, darling-you lift it well. We call it presenting, you know, and I shall teach you a little more about that later. There now, let me soothe your nice hot bottom. A little hot, is it not, but you cannot say that I truly hurt you, can you?”
I shook my head, face hidden. It had stung me awfully, yet I could not describe it as a pain.
“Now, darling, the final salute. Your tongue, quickly,” she breathed. My face was lifted. I surrendered anew, but therewith her forefinger found the tight, warm cleft of my bottom and rotated its tip around my puckered hole. Feeling the strange sensation of that touch I pressed myself into her involuntarily, which was what she desired for her finger followed and gently rubbed me there again all around the rubbery rim of my secrecy. Thus our bellies and legs were tight together and I could not escape, intoxicated anew by the sweet lashing of her tongue. Curiously enough I felt then with her progressive caressing a slight moisture in my bottomhole and my knees sagged. Then, withdrawing her mouth from mine but keeping the tip of her finger ever pressed demandingly there, she smiled down at me.