Birching Muriel

There’s a scene in the 1907 Victorian classic Sadopaideia in which Cecil Prendergast turns the table on a dominating woman named Muriel. With the help of her maid Juliette, whose whipping Muriel intended, Cecil binds Muriel and begins to punish her with her own birch, very much against her will. Of course, as is always the way in this sort of tale, Muriel eventually comes to enjoy it. But not during this excerpt:

When Juliette had finally and satisfactorily tied her hands, I dragged Muriel to the couch and pushed her onto it. She sat and glared at me, out of breath and exhausted.

Her tea-gown had come unfastened at the waist and fell apart. Except for her stockings and shoes, she was absolutely naked. She evidently had intended to have a perfect field day. Well, she should not be disappointed.

I turned to Juliette with a smile: “Well, what shall we do to her? How shall we begin? You know more about these things than I do.”

“Spank her first; the hand will prepare her bottom nicely for the birch,” said she. “Shall I hold her down for you?” “No,” I said, “I’ll hold her and you can begin. Come along, Muriel dear. This is a little different from what you intended, isn’t it? It will be a new experience for you, eh? Will you turn over of your own accord or shall I help you?”

She made no answer, so I went to her and took her by the wrists. She dragged her hands away and suddenly, bending down, seized one of my hands with her teeth and bit it hard. “You little devil,” I shouted, “you shall pay for that,” and I brought my other hand heavily down on her ear and cheek. The force of the blow knocked her head on one side and made her release my hand. With a quick twist I turned her over and held her face down on the couch, her legs hanging over the side. Juliette stood at one side of her and, dodging the kicking, plunging legs, proceeded to deliver a shower of smart smacks on the plump cheeks and thighs.

The blows fell at random, here, there, and everywhere, with no direction and without much real effect, as Muriel was dodging too much. After a minute or so Juliette stopped and looked at her palm.

“It’s hurting me more than her,” she laughed, “we’d better begin seriously. Put her as she put me.”

I pulled Muriel further onto the couch and managed to get her belly and thighs over the ridge of cushions, and then leant heavily on her back, while Juliette with great difficulty secured one leg in the silk loop.

All this time Muriel was struggling and shouting: “I won’t be tied down, I won’t be whipped. Don’t you dare to touch me, or I’ll pay you for this afterwards.”

I took no notice, but when her legs were firmly secured, I pulled the tea-gown up over her shoulders as far as I could and said, “Yes, it’s a little different to what you intended, isn’t it? Instead of you feasting your eyes on our naked bodies and enjoying the sight of our bottoms reddening and writhing under your blows, it’s your nakedness we are going to look at, it’s your bottom and thighs that are going to blush and quiver. Are you looking forward to the treat? Come, answer me.”

“I’ll kill you,” she hissed.

“Oh, no you won’t, you’re going to beg my pardon, to beg both our pardons, in fact, and thank us for showing you your proper place. Now Juliette, will you begin? I’ll enjoy the scene for the moment.”

I kept my left hand pressed on her back and with my right I stroked the beautiful loins and bottom and thighs, which lay bare to my touch. If Juliette had made an alluring picture with her dark hair and clear white skin, her mistress easily rivalled her. She was a little the plumper of the two and fairer, and whereas Juliette’s colouring was pale, Muriel’s skin was flushed slightly with pink. Their two bodies made a delightful contrast.

The idea struck me of comparing them, and when Juliette came back with a birch I asked her to lie beside her mistress for a moment so that I might see both their naked bodies together. She obeyed at once, and I revelled in the lovely vision. So lovely was it that I could not resist the temptation but took out my old man and was about to make good use of the favourable position of the two girls. But when Juliette saw what I was about, she stopped me.

“That will come later; business first,” and she got up and stood by the couch, raising the birch in the air.

“Now madame,” she said, “just a little gentle correction for your impudent bottom. How do you like it?” as the twigs fell right across the left cheek. “You are so generous with it to others, you ought to be grateful. Is it nice? nice, eh? nice nice? …Oh, you’re sulky, are you, you won’t speak, won’t you, we’ll see about that. Answer me at once, will you? at once — at once.” The blows fell quicker and quicker, but Muriel made no sound. She lay practically motionless with her head buried in the couch. Her flesh flinched each time the blows fell across her bottom, but she made no cry or any sound.

“Still obstinate,” said Juliette, “we won’t allow that and must persevere.” She came round to the other side and proceeded to visit the other cheek. Then she went lower and cut across the thighs, but though Muriel’s contortions grew more convulsive, she still kept silent, until at last one blow of the birch curled right between her legs and a stifled cry of pain escaped her lips.

“Ah, I thought I should succeed before long,” said Juliette, as she rested for a moment. “Will you begin now, sir?”

I took the birch, or what was left of it, for the twigs had broken off at every stroke.

What a change now in Muriel’s bottom. No longer was the skin clear and pink and white. An angry red flush covered the centre of both cheeks, from which ran lines of red and violet which disappeared round the legs and cheeks towards the hips.

“Now Muriel,” I said, “Juliette has finished for the moment. It is my turn now. I am going to give you a lesson in behaviour towards your guests. How do you like that, and that,” as the swift strokes fell. “Will you answer me?” I went on, as she still remained dumb, and the blows redoubled. “There!” said Juliette, pointing with her finger between the cheeks of Muriel’s bottom and the legs stretched wide open. “That will make her speak.”

I followed her advice and gave three crashing blows that cut and curled along the inside of her thighs and reached the hidden lips of her pussy.

It evidently proved effective. Shriek after shriek came from Muriel as she twisted and writhed.

“Not there, let me go,” she cried. “Oh, oh, oh. No, don’t, don’t, no more,” as the blows fell again.

Hysterical sobs shook her whole body. I stopped whipping her and said, “Ah, you’ve found your voice have you? Well, are you going to behave better in the future?” “Oh, yes, yes!”

“And do you like being whipped,” I went on, “and is it as nice as whipping others? Do you like showing your nakedness and your bottom to Juliette and me?”

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