(This is the same birching as Part 1, but written from Miss Grimes’s perspective.)
I was not aware that there had been any lapse in my duties until Mr. Randall pointed out the obvious issue of the fixtures, which had not been dusted for so long that a cadre of spiders had taken up residence and made it their business to cover them with cobwebs. I am not sure how such a thing would have escaped my notice, as I am usually quite fastidious about my household tasks.
But in all honesty perhaps I do know the answer to this. Something had arisen recently which had pulled my attention from the duties of the house. You see some weeks ago, on one of my days off, I had gone to the village to purchase for myself some fabric, and while I was there by pure circumstance I was introduced to a young clerk at the pharmacy. Mr. Benjamin–or Paul as I have come to know him–was not so very tall, but boyishly handsome in his own way. We spent only a few moments together, and although I was amused by him, I thought I should not see him again for some time seeing that he resided in the village and I some several miles away. So I promptly made to put him out of my mind.
However, a fortnight ago a letter appeared at the house addressed to me in which Paul said he had taken delight in our exchange and appealed to meet again the following weekend. We did so in the town square, and walked for some time in the spring air before I was due to return to the house. Before I made my departure though, we agreed that since we could not see each other as often as we should like, we should keep a correspondence by mail until such time as we could reunite.
So I must believe it was the introduction of Paul into my life that precipitated the failings in my duties. Indeed, I do believe that was why I never noticed the smudge one of the children had made on the window glass, which Mr. Randall rather sternly pointed out.
And it was almost certainly what caused me to forget Mr. Randall’s instruction to clean up after the dog. For just as I was on my way to do as he had asked, I noticed a letter from Paul on the table and rushed to read it in my room, completely forgetting my previous errand. I stashed the letter in a book, fearful that it might arouse suspicions, and for the rest of the afternoon continually returned to the book to re-read the letter.
It was during one of “reading breaks” that Mr. Randall approached me and reminded me of the mess that I had neglected to clean earlier. Mortified at my error, I apologized as best I could. But he was not to be assuaged, and demanded that I see him in his quarters for a birching or resign my position.
I must admit that his insistence of a birching took me by surprise, as such a thing was normally relegated to errant boys. But I agreed, reluctantly, as the thought of losing my posting at the house nearly brought tears to my eyes.
For while the punishment may have seemed harsh, Mr. Randall was correct on the whole. My performance had been lacking ever since starting my correspondence with Paul, and at any other house of this stature, I would have likely been quietly asked to pack my belongings. And then where would I be? A housemaid adrift on the road, without even a good reference to show for the last two years of work?
Moreover, I owed it to Ms. Benning to stay on good terms with Mr. Randall. She had taken a chance on me despite my lack of experience, and raised me out of the washroom and into the household. Back in Salisbury, my mother could hardly believe my good fortune. Despite my reservations, I had to stay, I had to take the birching.
***
Much to my relief, the dog’s mess came up from the carpet after three good scrubs and did not leave a stain as best I could tell. So after I had washed my hands, I went into the broom closet and retrieved the birch. I had noticed it in there before–it was a wicked looking thing, about two feet long with perhaps a dozen or so individual switches.
As a young lady, I had known certain boys prone to mischief who were birched on occasion, but never a girl. And as far as I knew, never a woman.
I took the birch down the stairs to Mr. Randall’s chambers and knocked softly on the door.
He answered it with a rather grave expression. “Did you clean up the mess?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then come in and we can be done with this business quickly.”
“Yes sir.”
I had never been inside his quarters before, and I must admit I found it rather spartan. Nothing on the walls, nothing out of place. Just a small bed and a writing desk.
My interactions with Mr. Randall hitherto had been all of an exceeding professional quality. He was polite but instructive, genial but not so genial as to forget his place as the master of all the staff. He was perhaps no older than 45, having risen to his position quite assiduously through the years. There was a hint of grey to his dark hair, but his posture was as straight and proper as a man half his age. More than one of the servant girls had taken a fancy to him, but been rebuffed in all instances.
He removed his jacket, took the birch from me, and directed me to bend over the desk. I did so and felt my cheeks flush red. Even with my skirts still about me, the position felt particularly vulnerable. I felt him hovering just behind me, and though I daresay I tried not to, I could not help but imagine how close his manhood was to my private areas. If he were but to lean in just a little, it surely would have grazed me.
I felt my skirt and chemise lift behind me and gasped softly. Did he intend to deliver the blows on my bare bottom? My question was answered a moment later when he tucked the fabrics under the bib string around my waist and lowered my bloomers to my ankles. A draft of cool air greeted my naked legs and bottom.
My face flushed hotter and I began to tremble. I had never been seen naked by a man before, and the thought of his eyes roving over and between my legs was almost too much to bear. I pulled my thighs together as best I could.
“Feet shoulder width apart Miss Grimes,” he said.
“Yes sir,” I replied softly, and reluctantly stepped my feet out so that there was no hiding myself. The humiliation of that position streaked through my veins. He was putting me on display.
“You will remain still throughout and you will count each stroke,” he said.
“Yes sir.”
“You will be receiving thirty.”
I felt him move to the side and held my breath. Even though I was expecting it, the first stroke took me by surprise. I felt my bottom erupt in stinging streaks and swallowed a shout. I was determined to take the punishment with the dignity befitting both my professional relationship with Mr. Randall and my position as a staff member of such an esteemed house. I would not be making a racket or causing a scene which might embarrass Mr. Randall. I wanted to prove to him that I belonged here, that I could handle myself.
“One sir,” I said.
He said something then which I do not recall because in the next moment the second stroke fell at the same spot as the first. I rocked forward and began to breathe a little heavier.
“Two sir.”
The third was more painful still, and I couldn’t help but spit out a pitiful “oww.” Then, “Three sir.”
“Tell me Miss Grimes,” he said, and I flinched in expectation of the next blow. But it didn’t come. “Do you intend to move upwards in your chosen profession? Or is your intention to remain a housemaid for the remainder of your working years?”
“I wish to move upwards sir.”
I had no sooner answered than the birch caught my bottom again, and it felt as though my skin had caught fire. Still I held back any extraneous sounds.
“Four sir.”
“And do you agree that your current performance is not becoming of someone who has any aspirations to better themselves?”
I swallowed. “Yes sir.”
The birch came down again and this time I could not help myself. “Oww oww, five sir.”
“And do you agree that your performance is not becoming even of an ordinary housemaid?”
I whimpered softly. “Yes sir.”
The next stroke took my breath away. Instead of directly across my bottom, he landed the birch just where my legs ended and my cheeks began. It stung like nothing had ever stung before. I wanted to leap up, I wanted to put my hands back. But I remained in position.
“Ouch ouch ouch, six sir.”
Through the pain I heard him say something, and then heard the now familiar swish before my mid-thighs exploded in pain. I shouted and felt a surge of tears rushed to my eyes. “Seven sir.”
The next one caught me even lower, just above my knees and I began to whimper again. “Eight sir, oww, oww please.”
So I was begging now, I thought. Only eight into the birching and I was already begging him to stop. What would I look like by thirty?
“Miss Grimes you are a handsome woman,” he said. “Do you intend on marrying soon or do you intend on staying in this employment?”
My heart sped up. Did he know about Paul? Did he know about the letters? “In this employment sir,” I said, slowly.
He brought the birch down across the middle of my thighs again, and all thoughts of whether our correspondence had been discovered vanished. I grimaced and began to take short, sharp breaths. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.
“Nine sir.”
He followed my count with the next one almost immediately. It was right back over the tops of my thighs.
“Ten sir,” I squealed. “Ouch please sir please.”
Then I had an idea. Perhaps if I apologized he wouldn’t give me the full thirty. Perhaps he would think me thoroughly chastened. “I’m sorry for not cleaning up as you had instructed,” I said in as remorseful a tone as I could manage.
He hardly seemed to hear me. “Well if you want to continue here,” he said. “I suggest you shape up now.”
“Yes sir.”
*swish* *crack*
“Eleven sir,” I said, and began in earnest to cry. But it was a soft cry, a personal cry. I still had illusions at this point about keeping some shred of dignity.
“Miss Grimes, I hope you understand that nothing here escapes my notice,” he said, and landed another one on my bottom.
“Twelve sir,” I said, and put my forehead against the table.
“So when you do not clean the windows or you do not dust the fixtures, it does not matter if Miss Benning is ill or away, I will notice.”
He delivered the next three in a flurry. And though I must have counted them, I do not remember it. For I had started to sob openly, big gasping sobs that were most unbecoming for a housemaid, or any lady for that matter. But in that moment I felt as though I had abandoned myself, that I was someone and somewhere else. I would do anything to make him stop.”Please sir, I’ve learned my lesson. Please sir.”
“I hope you don’t ever find yourself in this position again,” he said. “It is very unbecoming of a young lady to have to expose herself like this for correction. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The pain of the birch against my skin had almost inured me to the fact that I was still standing naked before him, and all at once the humiliation of that position came rushing back to me.
“Yes sir,” I said.
“Do you realize that to take this birching properly, you’ve had to bare your most intimate areas to me?”
“Yes sir,” I said, crying softly as I pictured my appearance from his perspective, my bottom raised and thrashed red, my femininity on display inches away from where he had brought down the birch.
“You have brought upon yourself the shame of revealing to me what only a husband should see.”
“Yes sir, I have.”
He struck the tops of my thighs again, and I lost control of myself. The pain was so sharp, so searing. “Oww oww owww, sixteen sir, please not my thighs sir.”
But he did not relent, and the birch fell at the middle of my thighs. “Seventeen sir, please I can’t bear it.”
“You will bear it if you wish to stay employed at this house.”
Another stroke, a little lower. “Eighteen sir.”
Another, and then another traveling back upwards. “Nineteen sir! Twenty sir! I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.”
By now a small puddle of tears had appeared on the desk surface beneath my face. I sobbed and sniffled and rubbed at my nose. I felt him approach me again. I felt his gaze fall along my skin. I am still, mind you, a virgin. But in that moment, I think if he would have given me the choice–to be taken like that, just as I was, or to continue with the birch–I would have spread myself further for him.
His fingers grazed the burning skin on my bottom. And for a moment, but only for a moment, I wondered if maybe he would in fact take my hips in his hands. But Mr. Randall is far too decent a man for that sort of behavior. It was a silly thought; just one of those silly things that can pop into any of our heads in certain moments.
And yet… would I have denied him?
“My, my you will be feeling this for awhile,” he said. “I should hope to never have to repeat it.”
“Yes sir, you won’t have to repeat it sir.”
It was hardly a moment later when he brought the birch down again.
“Twenty one sir.”
“You know Miss Grimes, I would prefer if you would turn your head to face me for the remainder. I very much should like to see the impact on your face.”
I didn’t want him to see me like this, to see me in such an unwelcome state. But I did as he said, and looked towards him, keeping my eyes downcast at his legs. And to my surprise, I noticed in the outline of his pants, a slight bump at his crotch. I shut my eyes. Mr. Randall wouldn’t, would he? He was not that kind of man, this was purely a punishment in his eyes, he wouldn’t possibly be taking some prurient interest in my misfortune. But when I opened my eyes again, there it was: a bump, a long, sturdy, cylindrical bump.
The birch brought me back to my senses, and renewed my sobs. He delivered three more, and I counted as best I could, making sure to keep my face in his direction.
*swish* *crack* “Twenty five sir, oww oww, it hurt so much.”
“You know I wouldn’t do this for every housemaid Miss Grimes,” he said. “A different housemaid would be out on the street packing, without a good reference mind you. But I can see your potential in this house, and I have chosen to believe that you will improve greatly.”
“I will sir, I will.”
“For these final five, I want you up off the desk grabbing your ankles.”
“Yes sir.” I took a few steps backwards, keeping my bloomers bunched around my feet. Then I bent over and grabbed at my ankles. The burning skin on my bottom stretch tighter, and a fresh coolness washed over my intimate areas, indicating that they were more exposed and on display than ever.
“Legs straight,” he said.
“Yes sir.”
“And I want you to thank me after each count.”
“Yes sir.”
The first strike caused me to stumble forward, but I quickly pulled my foot back into position. “Twenty six thank you sir.”
The next stroke nearly brought me to my knees. In between sobs, I managed to squeak out a measly “Twenty seven thank you sir.”
*swish* *crack* “Twenty eight thank you sir.”
*swish* *crack* “Twenty nine thank you sir.”
“Bottom up,” he said. One more, I thought, and raised my bottom as best I could.
*swish* *crack*
Did he know what happened on that last stroke? Did he know that one of the switches caught me across my most intimate of parts? That I felt as though a burning string had been laid over my most sensitive area?
“Thirty sir thank you,” I said, and collapsed onto the floor. I wanted so badly to place my hand between my legs, to hold and cradle myself. But I couldn’t in front of him. It would not be appropriate, even in a circumstance such as this. So instead I sobbed even harder, hoping my cries could bury the sensation.
“To your feet Miss Grimes,” he said after awhile.
“I can’t sir, I can’t.”
“Very well then on your knees. Forehead against the floor.”
I pulled myself to my knees and pressed my forehead against the stone as he had instructed, aware that this new position caused the cheeks of my bottom to spread and my intimate areas to raise up higher. He took a seat on the bed directly behind me. For a moment, I thought I might succumb to a new wave of embarrassment. But instead something curious happened. I found unbelievably that I wanted him to look at me. I wanted him to study my body and soak in the sight of my prostrated form. I wanted him to be happy with the marks that he had left on my skin. And most of all I wanted that bump in his pants to grow even more.
I arched my back deeper and moved my knees just a little bit farther apart. Finally I heard him rise from the bed, and in the next moment felt a cloth dabbing at my skin in various places. I must be bleeding, I thought. My legs and bottom must be covered in marks.
“I take it you have learned a valuable lesson today,” he said.
“Yes sir.”
“Good, now put yourself together and leave this room in a state that befits this house.”
“Yes sir,” I said, oddly disappointed to be going.
After dressing I made to exit the room, but paused for a moment in the doorway. I wanted him to know that I was not angry with him for the birching; that I knew I had deserved it; that I would do better in the future. And then too there was the other curious feeling. What to describe it as? A mixture perhaps. One part pain. And the other, something akin to desire. But how to say that to a man such as Mr. Randall. He would be appalled no doubt.
So instead I nodded to him. “Thank you sir for giving me a second chance.”
“You’re most welcome Miss Grimes,” he said. “I do think you deserve it.”
“Yes sir,” I said and departed. But before putting the birch away as instructed, I stopped for a moment in my own chambers shared with two other staff members. They were absent, so in the mirror, I lifted up my skirts, lowered my bloomers and turned around. Sure enough my bottom and thighs were covered in a cross stitch of violet marks. It would be some time before I would be able to sit down again, I thought.
I pressed my hand to my intimate area. Fortunately the pain had subsided and I felt nothing unusual on my skin. However, when I withdrew my fingers, I made a surprising discovery. They were wet with a mysterious, clear, and viscous liquid. And in the sunlight streaming from the window, they glistened.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/tbvleu/punishment_for_an_errant_housemaid_part_2_miss