More Girl Talk: Diana

Diana too had her reasons for relief at quitting the governess's profession. In her case she had maintained a better control of her young charges, three close cousins of the family. Her governance, however, was not strong or strict enough to defy nature, and the girls formed liaisons with the young males of the family that courted disaster of the most public and scandalous kind for the young men, forgetting all discretion and good manners, had not been content with pleasuring themselves in their inamoratas' mouths or pretty pink rear dimples, but had penetrated them in front, maidenheads bursting before their rampant pricks.

Worst of all, they had been so unmannerly as not to withdraw before their climaxes, spurting their potent young seed against the foolish young women's ripening wombs. It was only by the greatest of good fortune that Diana caught them at this dangerous amorous play before the seed took root. She dismissed the young men with a lecture on good manners and how they should serve any young unmarried lady with whom they had congress, employing her less vulnerable apertures, then turned her wrath on the young women, those supposed guardians of their own purity, or at less the flatness of their bellies, holding them by far the most culpable, since the young gentlemen were only doing what the male inevitably will, if not firmly refused, while they could and should have said 'no', or at least, 'not there'.

Having expressed herself freely on how, when and in what fashion a girl might safely submit to the tender sport, she set about ensuring they would remember the lesson. Each girl had to report to her room and receive an exemplary beating. Each crept to her bed with two dozen throbbing stripes crossing her buttocks, too sore to sit on for several days, giving plenty of time for each to consider the foolish risk she had taken when, with proper preparation and caution, she might have had as good enjoyment without the possibility of maternity anticipating matrimony.

Their appetite for sport with men somewhat blunted by this painful lesson, it was only natural that they should turn to each other for those affectionate caresses, and passionate stimulation that young women need for their spiritual and physical health. When two of the cousins developed a particular and exclusive desire for one another, the third girl quite naturally turned to Diana for affection, which was immediately reciprocated, and the affair blossomed into a passionate attachment quite as hot as the two younger women.

Their amour however was doomed to a premature disruption. The girl's mother became aware of the affair and called both parties before her. She could sympathise with the amorous practices they had indulged in, if it was simply a matter of caresses between equals, but a governess could in no way be equated with the daughter of a Countess, and destined to acquire a coronet in her own right soon, if not the Strawberry leaves of a Duchess. Such presumption on the part of the employee, and social gaffe on that of the daughter of the nobility, could not be overlooked, and a stern lesson was called for.

The Countess was not vindictive, and in any case, did not wish to incur the tedium and risk of hiring another governess for the two years at most that one would be required in the household. She gave the erring pair a chance to achieve redemption and, in Diana's case, escape dismissal and disgrace, if they accepted her punishment. This they readily did, but neither was prepared for the nature of the sentence, when the lady pronounced it.

Diana was to receive a birching, of three dozen strokes on her bare buttocks, enough to draw blood if properly laid on, and the girl one dozen, enough to signify punishment without equating her to the more lowly Diana. The factor that raised the sentence from out of the ordinary was that the girl was to inflict the stripes on her lover's hinds and, if she failed to apply them with sufficient vigour, which meant in effect if she failed to draw blood, Diana would be subjected to the whole again, and would receive the girl's dozen on top, while the younger woman would avoid punishment altogether.

At first sight this might seem an open invitation to the girl to simply apply the strokes lightly, then leave Diana to take a beating of four dozen with the birch on her own, but the Mother had judged her daughter shrewdly. A combination of noblesse oblige and her deep affection for her lover, meant that there was no way she could leave her to her fate. Indeed, as the Countess had calculated, the thought of going unpunished when Diana was whipped to the blood, would have pained the girl far more deeply than any whip, or bundle of springy birch rods could ever do.

Accordingly, the next evening, the Countess, the Lady Patrica, to give her her proper name, and Diana met in the former's boudoir, where a leather padded 'horse' and a bucket, furnished with several bundles of hard-budded birch twigs, stood awaiting a rider. Diana mounted first. Having stripped herself of all her clothes, she bent her bare and lovely form over the padded top, reaching her hands down towards the legs on that side, her feet planted well astride on the other.

Patricia fastened the ankles firmly to the bottom of the legs, then went round to secure the wrists in a similar fashion. Now her lover was stretched over the trestle, the 'saddle' thrusting her buttocks up into much prominence. The height of the apparatus, and the way her wrists were pulled down on the other side, ensured that she was lifted up onto her toes, and the under side of her buttock exposed, the most efficient area in which to work a birch, if efficiency is measured in terms of the pain inflicted on tender flesh and the lasting effects subsequently.

The Countess indicated the birch with a nod.

"Three dozen, Patricia, well laid on," she directed, "I shall require to see blood flow on her thigh if I am to be satisfied, otherwise, she shall have them again, and yours with them. Now commence."

The girl, or rather young woman, for she was eighteen years of age, and with a fully formed figure, matured by horse-riding, archery, and a general love of exercise, besides that to be had in a lover's bed, took up the rod and prepared to strike. She was not used to the management of a birch, her experience running only to the training of horses with crop or carriage whip, but she had consulted Diana the previous night, the latter at first unwilling to abet her, arguing instead that she should leave her to her fate at the Countess's hands and spare her own young flesh. She had yielded in the end to the girl's distracted pleadings, recognising eventually that it would be cruel to her to leave her to the pangs of guilt, when a mere dozen of the birch, an everyday thing for many schoolgirls after all, might give her penance and absolution, if a bottom that would be a trifle sore for some days.

Accordingly Diana had given her some tuition in the use of the birch and some practice on a heap of pillows laid over a chair back. Now she was to put her lessons into practice.

She was far from being the witless ninny that the sheltered upbringing of the upper classes too often breeds, and recognised the position for what it was. She knew she had to smother her own feelings, and whip Diana with a will, until her mother was satisfied, or it would be even worse for her lover. The unkindest cut of all would be to treat her with gentleness and earn her even more and worse strokes.

Accordingly she put all Diana had taught her into the swingeing stroke, the birch making a rushing sound as the air parted around it on its way to meet Diana's rich white buttocks where they were held up-raised over the horse, immobile, vulnerable and canted to receive the birch rods on the tender underside. It met the cringing flesh with an audible 'thick', the twigs spreading over a large part of the under-buttock which leapt under the blow, thin red lines springing up immediately.

Diana hissed at the pain surging in her hinds but held still and otherwise silent. She appreciated what the girl was doing and why, but it did nothing to ease the immediate force of her whipping and the scorpion bite in her behind.

The next fell and the next, not drawn out for quite maximum torment but Patricia dare not try to do too much to mitigate matters, such as deliver all the blows in one mad rush, or her mother, the Countess, might declare the punishment insufficient and take over herself as she had threatened. She maintained a steady rhythm as Diana had taught her one should for any form of corporal punishment, but did not try to extract the ultimate, as a professional, or even an unloving amateur, might.

Gradually the white globes turned darker and darker red, an angry purple patch forming on the right flank. Patricia desperately wanted to avoid this sore area but again her good sense prevailed. To draw blood with three dozen almost certainly required the whipper to work the flank until the birch tips, whipping round the curve of the buttock their iron hard budded ends digging deep, had distressed the soft skin there beyond its yielding point, and the accumulated welt burst to release the trickle of red that, reaching the thigh, would spare Diana any further torture and ensure that she, the Lady Patricia, would go to the block herself, to receive the thrashing that would partly ease her guilt and shame.

She kept at it then and Diana's whining hiss and anguished clenching increased with the rising tally and the swelling tumescence at the top of her right thigh. Patricia paused between each dozen, until the Countess ordered her to continue. Half way through the third dozen the plummy bruise on Diana's flank broke, and blood did indeed begin to trickle down the outside of her thigh. With twenty-seven strokes delivered, and the criterion for success achieved, the Countess spoke again.

"And for the last three, whip in," she commanded, "I trust Miss Rivers has instructed you in the procedure."

She had indeed, anticipating that the implacable mother might demand this traditional finale for a birching. Patricia had refused to countenance it at fist, and maintained that, under no circumstances could she bring herself to do such damage to that part she had loved 'not wisely but too well', as the poet has it, but Diana had over-ruled her, making her practice the technique, that she could satisfy her mother's inevitable demands. Even now she held back, her first shot falling accurately across the left thigh, the tips of the twigs 'whipping in' correctly, but there was not sufficient force behind the blow for the mother's liking and she chided her daughter again.

"One more pat like that and Miss Rivers stays there while I demonstrate how it is done, and it won't be just three. I'll cut her purse right out," she snapped. "Now take up your birch again and put some weight behind it. I want to see her squirm like a cut worm."

Half distraught the poor girl lashed the bundle of harsh birch rods with all her strength, sending the tips at the speed of bullets into that vulnerable soft vulva spread before her. Three times she struck, with hardly a pause, and three times Diana emitted a strangled shriek as the buds went home, penetrating her lower lips, which opened like a flower under the assault, letting the subsequent strokes fall full on the innermost tendernesses and the delicate button of the clitoris that Patricia had so often attacked with the softer weapons of her pink tongue and delicately probing finger. It was brutal, but it was enough. The Countess announced herself satisfied.

"Well done Patricia," she declared. "You have shown you can behave towards your inferiors as a Lady should. Now get Miss Rivers off the horse and be prepared to take her place."

When she was let down, Diana would have left the room, but the Countess made her wait to see proper punishment inflicted on her accomplice. Nor was she allowed time to dress but had to wait to one side, kneeling, for she was too much weakened to stand for a while and sitting on the raw meat that was her bottom was out of the question.

Having stripped in her turn, Patricia went almost joyfully to the block, happy to purge her own guilt in suffering, and to no longer have to inflict pain on the woman she loved. Her mother dealt her out a measured dose of a dozen strokes, each laid on with impressive force, drawing squeals from the daughter, the cuts carefully spaced that she might draw the most benefit from each one. For the last two, she 'whipped in' with such skill she had the girl give tongue and writhe like the proverbial worm in so far as her tight bonds would allow.

It was two very sore young women who went to their (separate) beds that night. For my part, lying next to Diana as she told her tale, I cringed for her as she described her thrashing, but also felt the horrid green devil of jealousy rasing its ugly head as she spoke of her lover, an unnecessary and ungrateful reaction, since the girl was now far away, married off soon after to a much older groom who would keep her disciplined firmly, her belly ploughed until it bulged, while it was I that Diana pressed her lovely naked form against as she told her story.