Birching At An Orgy
This is an excerpt from The Bagnio Miscellany published in 1830, featuring “the Adventures of Miss Lais Lovecock, written by herself, and what happened at Miss Twigs Academy and Afterwards.”
This scene opens with the lustful Miss Lais putting together a hot little birching party, penning a note of invitation:
My dear Tom,
I was glad to hear by your letter that you were so much gratified with my cool retreat. My dear fellow, I assure you the sweet turn or two we spent together in it has endeared it not a little to me and I had sights to me equally ravishing with those you have so elegantly described. Did I not view with rapture, dear Tom, your machine, first gently rise from its pendant state, then swelling to a prodigious size, gradually uncap itself and show its purple head, while its hairy appendages swaggered below, proud of their formidable size. Did I not feel its velvet tip insinuating itself between my close-pressed thighs and longing to be blest?
But I have other pleasures in store. A green birch, in all its verdant beauties, will wait for your noble posterior on the morrow in our pleasure glade. Or, if perchance that target does not totally strike your fancy, I can but offer my own pillows that you so gallantly enjoyed before for whatever rod, birch or otherwise, you might see fit to lay thereupon.
I repeat, my dear Tom, on the morrow, and do beseech you to arrange your very long Longstaff presence, if you will forgive me the humour for this once.
Yours again and again,
L. Lovecock.
After this transcribing, I was again so completely pleased that I did hastily enscribe others, to assemble unto the Love-inspiring bath-place for multiple amours all the pleasingly set-up personages who had formed the cast for the devirginizing of the mixed-sexes pool.
Naturally the first note was for my dear sweet gentle Sophy, pleading that the dear Miss Frigger would indeed arrange for their own accompaniment. “Perhaps that remarkably endowed Mr. Rogerwell…?” I did suggest to her.
Then, after but a moment’s rest to find a replenishment for my now empty saucer of champagne, I took pen in hand to contact the delightful if naturally daring, Miss Lucy Rosecunt. I knew, naturally, that the incredibly vigorous Mr. Bullstones would equally naturally happen to appear on the scene in time for our continued dalliance amidst the soothing waters of the passion bath and the so provocative Birch teasers.
So finishing my writing, I did then indeed see to it that the fresh Birch-feathers would be ready for the morrow’s ecstatic rendezvous.
My Tom did arrive first, though he had but grasped me tightly in his arms and the lengthening rigidness begun pushing from his magnificent crotch against my dear trembling thighs when, interrupting what would have undoubtedly been the merging of my entire young lifetime, did Miss Rosecunt intrude upon us.
She giggled as she fluttered through the door, followed in close pursuit by Mr. Bullstones who was trying to adjust the front of his breeches to hide some — no doubt to him unsightly — bulge.
In short order Miss Frigger and the remarkably endowed Mr. Rogerwell joined our happy group and we moved without further delay to the passion bath and the waiting birches.
We were so passionately inclined by this time that we paired off without ado and sought our separate but together passions without regard for the others present. Fortunately, my own dear Tom Longstaff’s insinuating member had not totally receded from the point of Miss Rosecunt’s intrusion, so he claimed me all to his own without hardly a moment’s pause, pouring into my waiting slit the sauces of paradise in such quantities as to almost make me swoon from delight.
After the first encounter, Lucy pulled from off the shelf one of the birches, neatly tied with a light blue ribbon, saying, “Why, my dear Lais, what is this here for?”
“Oh,” I replied, “I shall presently show you. I and Longstaff mean to whip yours and Sophy’s little bottom till we take all the wriggle out of them and I think the sooner we begin the better, so, Mr. Rogerwell, you just fix her on your ten-penny; and you, Mr. Bull-stones, pin Sophy in the same way.”
They followed my directions, and I and Longstaff each took a rod in hand, ready to operate on their polished arses. At each renewed twitch of the birch they renewed their wanton struggles, both embraced by the arms and fixed on the pricks of their heroes, they could not release themselves, but each effort fixed them more firmly on their neddies, till by the exertion the luxurious moment came, and streams of spunk were running from their bumping cunts. Longstaff then threw down the birch and attacked me in the same way, at each thrust smacking (as he termed it,) the soft cheeks of my round little bum.
