There’s a charming little interlude near the beginning of Aishling Morgan’s book Maiden that mixes forced masturbation with punishment. A spoiled but sheltered noblewoman gets a new sexual notion from her not-so-sheltered lady’s maid, but obviously isn’t quite sure what to do with it. And we spankos will appreciate what she did next. When in doubt, spank somebody:
When Aisla had hinted to Elethrine of the pleasures of playing with her tuppenny, Elethrine had ordered the poor girl to do it, not believing it was possible. Aisla had protested, but under the threat of a paddling, had agreed. Blushing furiously, the maid had raised her skirts, opened her single pair of drawers, pulled apart her pantalettes to reveal a neat, pale pink tuppenny. With her eyes closed in embarrassment, Aisla had started to rub at the little bump towards the top of the soft pink centre.
As she played, her embarrassment had faded, until she was lying with her thighs spread wide, breathing deeply as her fingers worked in the wet, fleshy folds between her legs. The maid had popped her breasts out of her bodice after a while, feeling them and sighing and arching her body in a pleasure that was obviously no pretence. At the end Aisla had cried out as if in pain and called her mistress’s name, only to revert to coy blushes within the minute.
Elethrine had watched the display with the warmth between her own thighs becoming increasingly urgent. By the end she had felt so discomfited that she had ordered A isla to strip to her underwear and kneel on the bed with her haunches up. Elethrine had then opened the maid’s drawers wide to get at the full breadth of trim bottom. The position had left Aisla’s tuppenny and bottom ring showing, to Elethrine’s delight, and she had taken further pleasure in describing to Aisla how she looked. Elethrine had then beaten the poor maid across her bare buttocks, using a wooden rule, then a hairbrush and finally the thin cane that was kept for her own discipline.
Far from soothing her nerves, the act of beating her maid had only served to heighten Elethrine’s discomfiture. The harder she beat, the worse it had become, until Aisla’s bottom had become the colour of a ripe cherry and the unfortunate maid was crying into a pillow. Finally Elethrine had had to abandon the process and, feeling very odd indeed, had ordered Aisla to draw her a cool bath.