Pamela has just left home and is interviewing for the position of governess. Her new employer seems a bit dissolute, but at least some of the questions are easy ones:
“And the birch, my dear Pamela – you are schooled in the use of that?”
“Oh, no! I mean – not very much.”
Pamela was downcast. She wished that she had pretended she did know a lot. After all, it was surely easy enough to apply a birch to a young girl’s bottom. Her expression appeared to say so, but her Mistress – though smiling for reasons of her own – was shaking her head.
“No, Pamela, ’tis not so simple. There is an art in it – is there not, Henry?”
Captain Henry Dancer, very concerned in carrying out a private survey of Pamela’s lissome figure, had listened to little that was said. Nevertheless he deemed it vital to agree and nodded.
“Oh, yes, m’dear, yes – lessons must be learned. And indeed the teacher must be taught.”
It was so exactly what Belinda had wanted him to say that she all but applauded. Thereupon, to Pamela’s astonishment, she found herself rising as her companions suddenly did. They were to repair to the summer-house for a very important piece of education. Having rather fond memories of summerhouses, Pamela rather wondered what her fate was to be.
Captain Dancer walked ahead of them, looking very military and manly. Not only had his condition not abated, but to Pamela’s eyes it seemed to have become even more stiff. Walking elegantly beside her, Lady Bromley explained that Pamela need only receive a small lesson, but one sufficient to brighten her up, as she put it. Pamela coloured at the thought of this, little knowing how even more attractive it made her look.
To her further surprise, Lady Bromley held her comfortingly by the waist as they entered the summerhouse. It was a much larger and more comfortably furnished one than Mr. Rumple had. There was a carpet, a divan, a sideboard, cabinets – and a bed in one corner. Bed, it was explained to Pamela, was the best place to birch a young lady. It added a touch of comfort to the experience.
“Naturally, my dear Pamela, you will have to bare your bottom, as all young females must. Occasional struggling is to be ignored and – if necessary – put down. The twigs of the birch must be well soaked beforehand to prepare them for the swishing across the offered cheeks. Now, Pamela, you must kneel on the bed and prepare yourself. The Captain will do the honours. Have no fear; it will only be what we called a taster, but it will warm your bottom well. You may wriggle all you wish if you do not otherwise move.”
“Oh! but I may not be able to help it!”
Pamela would have dwelt longer on her protest, but nothing availed and she wished not to offend her Mistress or jeopardise her post by refusing. Somewhat reluctantly and fearing the kissing of the twigs, she placed herself at last on all fours and had her skirt thrown to her hips.
“By Jove, what a bottom, what legs!” the Captain exclaimed.
It was a perfect posture, for the high bed allowed both him and Belinda to see almost all the curves and secret crevices of Pamela’s form, even to her slit.
“A perfect treasure, as I knew she would be. Permit me to kneel in front of her so that I may hold her shoulders for the first stroke.”
Arranging herself thus on the bed in turn, Belinda bore lightly down with her fingers, so causing Pamela’s head and shoulders to sink down and her bottom to rise more. Enjoying the resulting vista more than Belinda, who could not see as well, Henry picked up the birch, swished it vigourously once and then brought it smartly across both cheeks of Pamela’s bottom.
Pamela immediately cried out, as both knew she would. In fact, as she was told afterward, she hooted rather like a baby owl at the first cutting stroke.
“Oh! It burns!”
“Of course it burns, Pamela! What do you think it is for? Up with your bottom higher now – no nonsense, Miss!”
“Oooh! I cannot! Oh! Ow!”
Thus were the many exclamations and cries that Pamela repeated in the next few moments, though little by little, as the good Captain applied the twigs with more regular rhythm, a completely different sensation entered Pamela’s being. Despite her sobs and the fiery heat in her bottom, her hips jerked impetuously, as if seeking more.
Knowing not whether the dear girl was virgin or not, Henry at least knew the signs. A few more strokes would settle her perfectly, for somehow during her squirmings Pamela’s mouth had settled upon her Mistress’s thighs which, by similar magic, had managed to bare themselves.
Pamela’s tears fell wet upon the selfsame voluptuous columns of flesh against which her hips increasingly pressed. She was quite sure that she was melting now beneath the heat which the birch had induced and longed for nothing so much as what the Captain was about to present her with.
Henry had mounted many a young filly on heat and saw a chance now to add to his laurels. A nod from Belinda was all he needed, and now he received it. It would not be the first such trio of lust in which either had participated. Preparing for the event as Henry cast down the birch Belinda forced Pamela’s head not only down but farther up toward her. Having secretly drawn her skirt up higher, she brought Pamela’s mouth to nuzzle against the front of her drawers which were so split back and front as to present her always to the best advantage.
With a quick cry, Pamela thus found her lips tasting the excited juices of her Mistress while in the same heady moment her birching-master knelt with his penis exposed behind her.
“Ah! No! Oooh! Oh!”
Pamela wriggled and cried, conscious that she must not reveal that she had entertained the staff of life before. In doing so, her lips moved in unison with her hips, causing Belinda delirious sensations. Quite confident of quelling any rebellion, the Captain thereupon gripped Pamela’s bottom at both sides and with one long, manful thrust buried his lance exactly where he intended it, between the petulant lips of her slit.
From the 1895 erotic classic Venus In The Country.