“Yell, you devil!” she exclaimed. “I love to listen to men who howl! Louder! Louder!” with another outburst of hysterical merriment, she struck at me with all the strength she could muster, birching me with might and main. My backside, bruised and bleeding, seemed ablaze. I arched my trembling body beneath this frenzied assault, and all at once freed myself from the grip of her arm, turning half round.
She cast the rod from her. I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Don't holloa till you've out of the wood,” she said. “I've not done with you yet!”
Picking up her birch, she once more encircled my loins with her lovely, powerful arm. I almost swooned with delight when she lifted one leg from the folds of her open kimono, twisting her shapely lower limb round one of mine, so as to hold me tighter to her. And once again the biting birch resumed its diabolical dance all over my palpitating backside.
“Howl away1” she shrieked, noticing that I clenched my teeth, and was silent under the scalding shower of stinging stripes.
I wsa soon unable to restrain from yelling. My cries seemed to amuse her. Her nervous laughter rang through the room like the sound of some clarion of victory, as her nervous fingers never ceased brandishing the rod which rebounded from my scarlet rump like a sword-blade.
I made renewed despairing efforts to escape, but her arm and leg held me fast, tightening against my trembling body with a solid and delicious grip.
Cora at last grew tired. Throwing away her rod, worn to a jagged stump on my poor bottom, she thought fit to rest herself for a moment.
She now took the riding-whip. Forcing me to assume a bowed posture, masterful Cora stood a little way off. Lifting her weapon as if saluting with a fencing foil, she gave me about ten awful cuts in rapid succession. They were well-aimed, and so terribly painful on my bruised stern that I fell to the ground with a long shriek under the influence of such atrocious pain that I quivered all over.
When I left the fantastical temple of torture, my head whirled giddily. A thousand hot branding-irons seemed to have made my posterior hiss as if broiled.
This violent flagellation appeased my lustful longings for a several days. My raw rump needed rest. Such a vigorous birching had cut me to pieces. The most harm had arisen from the formidable lady's whip. It had raised a series of red weals, full of blood, and smartly pricking at the least touch.
I left New York for Chicago. As time went on, the energetic discipline of my yellow-haired birching beauty left naught in my brain but a voluptuous remembrance. Her luxurious comeliness; her authoritative disposition and inexorable manner were charming for me to think about.
I passed a week visiting the marvels of Chicago-its manufacturies and stockyards-until my lubricity was once more awakened by the goad of my secret yearning for flagellation.
I had discovered in a daily newspaper mystic advertisements, relating to “severe and special massage treatment,” emanating beyond a doubt from the radiant priestesses officiating at the altar of the occult religion of voluptuous flagellation, of which I had been afforded a foretaste by capricious Cora of the golden locks.
My wayward imagination, ever eager for the unknown, soon prompted me to try fresh experiments. I cut out and collected with care all the announcements that appeared in the press and seemed to relate to the rod, hoping, in my rambles round the crowded city to make interesting discoveries throughout the birching world, so attractive to me.
CHAPTER V
One fine, sunny afternoon, I determined to begin my visit to the “specialty masseuses”. “Miss Nelly” came first at the top of the advertisement column in the leading Chicago daily, so I boarded a car, and soon reached the street where she lived.
I found myself in a fine, new house where a magnificent elevator, guilt like a Chinese pagoda, landed me at bewildering speed on the fourth floor.
A tall, stout negress, dressed in blue silk with yellow trimmings-a laughing black girl with a fine figure-led me into a large drawing-room. The ceiling was supported with stucco columns, standing on golden pedestals. This saloon was furnished with striking luxury, being full of artistic furniture, statuary, and rare curiosities.
Soon I saw appear between the pillars a dazzling creature, remarkably handsome-Venus incarnate, half naked in a white peplum. Quite fascinated, I admired the pure contours of her beautiful arms, seemingly fashioned out of pink marble; her big, melting, intelligent blue eyes; and her wealth of hair of the hue of ripe corn. Her locks were twisted into a heavy knot, resting low down on the nape of her rounded straight neck.
“Come, friend,” she said with affable familiarity, drawing me near to her on a soft couch, “and tell me all your troubles.”
I was delighted at such an affable welcome and painted my admiration for he loveliness in glowing colours.
The blue and yellow coon-girl then brought in a tray full of splendid crystal glasses and flagons of liqueurs; sweets, cakes and Turkish cigarettes.
“Friend,” said my adorable blonde hostess, “do you know the duties a fervent lover owes his mistress?” And she added: “He should be the originator of a thousand delights and imagine new tricks of voluptuous joy-all for her! He must surround her with an atmosphere of immense sensuality; pay her refined, detailed delicate attention, besides being willing, submissive, caressing and inventive. His mistress will be all in all to him. She will embody the whole universe, becoming his unique idol. He respects her like the holy Madonna; and adores her as of divine essence. Every inch of her sweet body will be known to him. For each spot of her fame he will inaugurate special worship and magical caresses, forcing her to laugh until she weeps for very excess of sensuous joy. Her lovely limbs will be covered by him with fragrant flowers. He will kiss her darling feet, kneeling to her as to a statue of the Virgin Mary. Ardent lover and attentive slave, he will always bow to her commands. Ever ready with compliments; never tired of praising her beauty, grace and condescension, he will sing to her songs of passion describing the adoration that burns his blood; charming her, too, by, scientific tender kisses and touches. Prostrate at her feet, he will be curbed beneath the yoke of her caprice, to accept and endure any pain she may be pleased to force him to endure. Tell me, friend, do you know greater happiness than to die and resuscitate in sensuous enjoyment by the aid of the birch's burning caress, while you are captive at the knee of a charming and implacable mistress, who shatters your resistance by the crushing weight of her powerful domination?”
For a long time she spoke in similar strains, with fiery words, the sound of he mellow voice lulling my senses as in a delicious soothing dream.
Then her tiny, girlish fingers, with their pink nails, squeezed my hand. Under the softness of her satin skin, great strength laid dormant, and I felt my digits gripped as in a vice.
“Come, friend,” she sighed. “Come quickly, and taste the delights with which you have cradled your thought s in visions of desire.”
Unable to move, I was as one possessed. I wished to hear her melodious voice continue singing her hymns of love.
“Let us remain her, divinity,” I replied. “I enjoy by the brain, and love to evoke a golden chimera in the flames of my musing daydreams.”
“Now come with me,” she murmured, “and I will show thee the altar of mystic torture.”
She forced me to follow her into an adjoining room, full of freshly-cut flowers giving out intoxicating fragrance. The walls of this chamber were completely hidden by red velvet hangings. In the middle of the vast hall was a long padded bench, on which, in the center, were two cushions, one on top of the other, held in this position by ropes of twisted gold thread.
There was no doubt but what this piece of furniture was destined for flagellating purposes. Several straps, nailed to its sculptured frame, were evidently intended to keep the lucky victim fixed in one position, when his body would be obliged to affect an arched shape, by reason of the cushions forced under his stomach. The posteriors would thus jut out, advantageously exposed to the descending rod.