Prologue - Life in a Female Household

* * * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

Life in a female household

My dear mother died of grief shortly after my father was killed at the start of the First World War. It was then left to my father’s sister to raise me along with her two daughters. Her husband was also away commanding a regiment of fusiliers somewhere in northern France and, my aunt, far from being enthusiastic about having a thirteen year old boy joining the household, resigned herself to yet further inconvenience of that damnable war and reluctantly allowed me shelter and succour within the bosom of her household provided that my own governess accompanied me and that we accept without question her terms and conditions. To assist her with, what was to her, this loathsome task her younger unmarried sister was also summoned to the household at her behest.

Even though Europe was in the throes of war money was not in short supply for my aunt. Both my father and she had inherited a sizeable fortune some years previously; my father’s share would come to me later but, for the time being, was now in trust to her. As the spouse of a brigadier she received an ample income from the army and my own dear late father’s death in service pension was now allocated to her to provide for my upbringing until I became sixteen. So there should have been funds enough to feed, cloth and educate me in proper style; but all she bestowed was a meanness and frugality that precluded comfort for me of any kind.

It would have been better if I had been just packed off to a boarding school; but my aunt had a dismissive attitude to proper education and felt it would be wasted on me. Having been married to an army officer that was constantly abroad, she was forever lonely and this caused a bitterness towards the male gender and, as far as she was concerned, men were not worthy of acquiring any learning, for through learning came independence. What was good enough tuition for her daughters would be good enough for me. My governess of just two years was to be retained to provide the continuity of my basic education but, other than that, no special provision would be granted.

From the very first day of our arrival at my aunt’s substantial house in the country, the comfort and love that I had been used to came to an abrupt end. My governess Miss Leggett and I arrived at the house with all our worldly possessions packed into five trunks. We received a cold welcome, just my aunt’s sarcasm at the amount of baggage we had brought. She immediately ordered that I should carry all the trunks down to the basement where she and her sister would determine what would be needed. I was hardly able to lift any of the trunks alone, but there was no one else to help, so I struggled awkwardly with each one down two flights of narrow stairs. All the while my aunts scolded me to mind the woodwork or berated me to move faster so I had to run back up the stairs to collect each trunk. Each one had to be placed exactly as they instructed while they rummaged to determine what I should keep. I was exhausted by the time the trunks had all been moved down into that basement but I was not permitted to rest for it was now decided that, as three of them contained Miss Leggett’s belongings, these should be carried up to her room on the second floor. I would like to have been given the opportunity to point that out from the start, but they made it clear that I should never speak unless I was spoken to first.

After going through all of my things and rejecting as unnecessary all of my comforts, my toys, my prised collection of world stamps, the mementos my father had brought me back from his travels, just about everything in fact; the aunts chose possibly the one, and only one, worst thing imaginable for me to retain, a cute sailor suite that I hated wearing and that was at least two sizes too small. Oh how I wished I had thrown that dreadful thing away when I had grown out of it two years earlier. I had come across it again when I had been packing and remembered how much my mother had loved seeing me dressed up in it. I had only ever worn it on special occasions and, when I did, my mother called me her little admiral. Those memories had filled me with sadness so I just could not discard it. Now my aunt was insisting that this was all I should be wearing and that excluded everything else.

“Here, you shall wear this,” she had said. “Now take those things off and put this on. And do it quickly so that we can get rid of those ridiculous long trousers. You’re still far too young to be wearing long trousers. Who do you think you are anyway, because in this house you are just a boy and don’t you forget it? In fact from now on we will refer to you only as boy”

That spontaneous remark had caused such mirth for both my aunts that it was determined there and then that this would most certainly be the case. I was not permitted any privacy while I undressed, so in that dank and dusty basement under the close scrutiny of both my aunts I disrobed of the clothes that I had felt comfortable in for the last time and, with much fussing and complaining from my aunts, managed to squeeze myself into the hated sailor suite while my other clothes were discarded in a pile with other items of declared junk.

Let me describe this garment so that you can understand the reason for my loathing. It was a two piece suit of navy blue velvet; a short tunic with two rows of six large, fabric covered buttons down each side at the front, and a pair of high-waisted knee length pantaloons that normally buttoned below the knee. This ensemble was to be worn with white stockings to the knee, a pair of black patent slippers with large silver buckles and a wide sailor collar fastened at the neck with a bow. I felt so girlish and juvenile whenever I was attired in this way and considered myself then far too adult and serious minded to be dressed in that manner. Additionally, because it was too small for me, I was unable to wear any underwear beneath it. The tunic only just reached my waist and did not quite make it as far as the pantaloons, so there was always a gap of an inch or two at my waist and the arms were too short. The pantaloons were much too tight across my loins and cut me up the back; they finished well above my knees and would not button around my thighs. The slippers were tight and uncomfortable and the stockings were full of holes. I felt ridiculous, humiliated and uncomfortable. This was made much worse by my aunts now telling me how cute I looked, what a sweet little boy I had become and would not my cousins be so thrilled to have one so dainty to play with.

I was to become a play thing for the cousins.

I had not met the cousins yet but was to be introduced to them later that day at the supper table. Not that I would be allowed to sit at the table with them of course; although I was part of the household, I was certainly not part of the family. So, apart from some chores set for me to collect firewood and coal, I was abandoned in my room that afternoon. I had nothing to do and nothing to eat, we had arrived just as lunch was finished and I was starving.

Just before supper I was summoned by my aunt just as everyone else went in to eat and was told to wait outside the door of the dinning room. It was important, she said, that I was not to enter before she had announced to the household of my presence and I was to come in when called.

So I waited as instructed while they ate. I waited while they had soup, I waited during the fish course, I waited during the main course of fragrant roast lamb and the aromas had me wondering when I too might eat. I waited during their dessert of, my favourite, trifle and by then I was desperately hungry.

Then I heard my aunt’s strident voice calling everyone to attention.

“Girls, ladies, please pay attention, I have an important announcement. We have another new member to the household other than Miss Leggett here. This is only important to us in that this new member is a boy. We have never needed to suffer the inconvenience of a boy in our midst before; but circumstances caused by this frightful war have now obliged us to accommodate one. I do not intend that this should disrupt our routine in any way whatsoever however. The important thing to understand though is that boys are dirty, naughty and disruptive beings. If they are given licence they will cause mayhem in any orderly society and so we must be vigilante to ensure this does not happen. Discipline is the key to this; severe discipline. So I propose the introduction of a regimen of discipline that from now on will become applicable to this boy.

“He will be instructed to obey our orders whenever and wherever we might give them and without question. He will not speak without being spoken to and then it will be in a courteous and humble manner befitting his lowly position. He will have his own room; but will not be permitted any privacy, so the door to that room has been removed. He will spend most of his time in that room, except when he is performing chores for us of course; but he will receive his tuition in his room, he will eat in his room and he will remain in his room unless we instruct him otherwise. We will refer to him only as boy.

“If there is any infraction of these rules you are all authorised to punish him; and various implements to enable this will be found hanging in his room as a constant reminder to him of this. The maximum punishment is a birching or a caning; but these must be sanctioned by me. Otherwise, everyone assembled around this table this evening has my express permission to punish him whenever it is deemed necessary. Punishments will be corporal, severe and unmerciful so no protection, that is to say clothing, should be permitted. Furthermore, as punishment is to be applied to uncovered skin, a boy’s bare bottom is the ideal place on which to administer a good hiding. In my experience; the immediate action of stern punishment is the most effective as, then, the recalcitrant might learn to understand the consequence of their misdemeanours.

“In the event that the boy is to be birched or a caned, these will be administered before the assembled household so that everyone might witness justice being done. With severe punishment of that nature, I believe that a period of reflection is necessary for the full impact of the severity of the punishment to be understood; so these would take place some days after the offence. I propose that a period of humiliation also be introduced for the boy prior to these punishments.

“Now unless anyone has any questions I will get the boy in for you all to scrutinise.”

So now I knew where I stood and that my place in the household was at the absolute lowest level. Her words filled me with trepidation for, not only was I to be a play thing to the cousins, they were also permitted, even encouraged, to punish me whenever they wanted and I would have no redress for unjustified actions. The thought of being birched or caned, particularly in front of everyone and without clothes, filled me with absolute terror and, seeing that at least these actions must be sanctioned, I resolved that I would never give cause for such a thing to happen.

Then I was very surprised to hear a young girl’s voice from the dining room. I did not know the ages of the cousins, but I had assumed that, if they were to take the responsibility of corporal punishment to another, then they would surely be mature enough to be reasonable about it; but this voice was that of someone very young; younger than me in fact.

“Mother, I have a question. If we were playing with the boy and he did not do as we asked; say I was playing hide and seek and I wanted the boy to seek me and he refused, should I punish him then?”

Oh this was not good I thought, playing hide and seek with young girls. What other indignities might I have to endure? My aunt replied. “Well there will not be much time for him to play I would hope, but in that case dear you must follow the guidance of your sister. If you have any doubt as to how the boy should be treated just ask Agnes, she has a few more years on you and will know what to do. Now if there are no more questions I will summon him in.

“Boy, come here.”

I marched in and was surprised at how sumptuous this room was. This was nothing like the areas of the house, the basement and my own room, that I had been privy to so far. The basement had been dank and musty and my own room had not been much better except that it was furnished with a bed, a table and a chair, but it was just as cold and very draughty from the bare windows and the gaps between the floorboards. This dinning room though was warm and comfortable with a huge fire burning in the grate; heavy drapes covered the windows and a thick carpet the floor. The table was still covered with the detritus of their feast and many plates were piled up upon it and the sideboard next to it.

I felt conspicuous in my ill-fitting clothes as I glanced around at those at the table. My older aunt was standing at the far end; her younger sister was seated opposite and had now turned her chair so that she could get a better view of me. Down one side, together like a pair of crows in their black attire, were the two governesses, my own Miss Leggett and an older more formidable looking woman with a permanent hard scowl on her face. Seated opposite them were the cousins all dressed up in their coloured finery. Compared with all the others they were a kaleidoscope of pastel coloured satins adorned with frills and bows. The smaller one was about eleven years old, two years younger than me, and looked very spoilt and precocious. Her older sister was much more mature. I would say that she was about fifteen, but she could have been older as her body was fully developed into that of an adult woman and yet her face still had the softness of a young girl fresh out of puberty. They both wore the expression of those that were trying to stifle a fit of the giggles.

The younger one I thought I would find irritating for her childishness, while the older worried me more as a schemer and a sneak. I knew I would have to be careful of her.

“Come on in boy, right in, we wish to see you.” My aunt beckoned, I walked tentatively and stood by the side of the table.

“I am going to introduce you to each member of the household. This is the only time I will do this so pay attention. I will call a name, that person will stand and offer you their hand. In order for you to learn both humility and that person’s name, you will go down on one knee, take their hand, call them by name and say how pleased you would be to serve them.

First of all then, my sister Harriet:”

Harriet was at my end of the table and stood up. I went to her and genuflected before her. She offered a hand which I took. Then I was stuck; should I say Miss Harriet, Aunt Harriet or just Harriet? I sensed the friction of her impatience so I decided on Aunt Harriet which seemed to work as she smiled benignly at me and sat down. The cousins were next; the younger was Gladys and the older was Agnes. Gladys was silly and giggling with embarrassment at my kneeling before her, whereas Agnes was snooty and aloof and snatched her hand away as soon as I bought it to my lips. Then I was around the other side of the table.

“I am sure that I have no need to introduce your own governess, no matter how pleased you might be to serve her,” my aunt chuckled at her own quip, “but I would introduce you to the girl’s governess Miss Mackenzie.”

Miss Mackenzie stood and towered over me. She had the stature of a man and glared down at me, her gnarled hand offered with disdain. It was such an ugly and unfeminine hand that I was reluctant to take it to my lips, but as I did she snatched it away and snarled in a broad Scottish accent,

“Show me your hands boy, and your nails.”

I had not been shown anywhere that I might wash since my arrival. My hands were still grimy from the dusty basement on my sweaty palms and there was coal grit beneath my nails.

“Just as I thought, filthy, typical boy; this will just not do. I feel we must correct this now before our fine clothes become soiled by this dirty boy. Cleanliness boy, you need to learn a lesson and you need to learn it now. In your room you will find a heavy three tailed strap. Fetch it and bring it here, now, at once.”

Earlier I had noticed such things hanging on the wall of my room and had wondered about their significance. Now I feared I was about to find out. There were three straps hanging up, together with some paddles of different sizes.

I was tempted to choose the smaller and lighter of the straps, but I had specifically been told to fetch the three tailed one. This was by far the heaviest and the longest, so this was the one I was carrying when I returned a few moments later to the dinning room.

As I entered everyone stopped talking. Miss Mackenzie came from out back of the table and moved to the centre of the room. As she did, both the cousins turned their chairs around so they could be comfortable as they watched.

“Come here boy and stand before me.” I was only just able to understand her broad Scots brogue. I went to her feeling very anxious of what was about to happen.

“Now hand me the strap.” I did.

“This is not just a strap; in my native country it is called a tawse. This particular three tailed variety is called the Loghelly tawse named from where it originated. The purpose of the tawse is to cause a sharp sting to those on its receiving end so that lessons might be learned. The purpose of the three tails of the Loghelly tawse is to maximise the sharpness of that sting. The two outside tails are heavier than the one between. This causes a stretching of the skin as they land and is followed up by the centre tail landing, a moment later, on that stretched skin. Believe you me, this is extremely effective.” She was smiling malevolently as she described this. “Now take one step back, hold out your right hand with the palm uppermost and keep it there.”

I did as I was told and nervously held out my hand. Miss Mackenzie measured the distance to my hand with the strap and then held it over her shoulder. Her face was a concentration of viciousness, her cold eyes focussed on my upturned palm. Then with a practiced swing and a cruel turn of her mouth she swiped the strap down onto my palm as hard as she could. A burning sting filled my hand and travelled up my arm. My immediate re-action was to pull my hand away and rub it, but I dared not. Then another swipe came down sending more pain coursing through the nerves of that arm. I longed to be able to rub or shake that hand to make the sting go away. I watched as she lined up the third stroke fighting every impulse to draw my hand away. She delivered the third stroke and I knew, from that point on, I could take no more.

“Now the left hand, hold it out and keep it there.”

I really did not want to offer this hand up for the same treatment, my right one stung so much. I brought my punished hand up to the crook of my left armpit and buried it there in an attempt to nurse some pain away.

“Did I say you could do that?” she barked. “Bring that hand out, hold it down by your side and hold out the left one.”

With my right arm hanging relaxed by my side, the pain was unbearable. I gingerly held out the left.

Again she swiped the strap down three times on that palm as well. Tears were welling in my eyes but I was determined not to cry. I looked past her at the assembled household. The aunts were both steadfast in their gaze at seeing a naughty boy being punished. The cousins though were gleeful at this spectacle. Clearly this was the best after-supper entertainment they had had for ages. The only hint at sympathy I saw was from Miss Leggett who chose not to look and had her eyes buried in her lap.

“The right hand again, come on get it up.” I could not believe this. Had I not been punished enough? I was filled with the injustice of it all and absolutely sure that I could take no more pain to my hands.

“Oh please, no more” I uttered and I was immediately sorry that I had spoken.

“Did I ask you to speak? No! Then you will have four strokes now instead of the three. You must learn the rules boy. Now get that hand out.”

I heard one of the cousins say “oh goody” and I was so close to tears at this stage that I could not imagine how I was going to get through it with my dignity preserved. I knew that everyone there wanted to see me trust up in my silly ill fitting little sailor suit bawling my eyes out begging to go home; but I was determined that they would not. I offered up my right hand again. Four stinging cracks came down; I somehow managed to put the torment from my mind. Without being asked I offered the other hand and received the same on that. Then it was over. Miss Mackenzie placed the strap over my shoulder and, without saying more, went back to her place at the table and left me standing there. No one said a word, they just continued to gaze, expecting me to break down.

I was glad I was not allowed to speak for, had I done so, I knew that my voice would crack and that I would start blubbering. I stood there holding back the tears, in the middle of the room, with my head hung low feeling totally dejected. My arms were by my side with waves of pain from my blazing palms coursing along the nerves. Everybody was looking at me and I knew that I was red faced with that screwed up expression of someone so close to tears. Eventually my aunt spoke. She told me to go to my room where she would have some leftovers brought up. Later I would clear the table and wash all the dishes before going to bed. I was dismissed.

I ran up the stairs to my room where I lay on the bed and allowed the tears out. I sobbed great gulps of sorrow; at the injustice, at the cruel turn that fate had dealt me, at my mother being dead; if only she was still here, and my father; if only there was someone to take me away from all this.

After a while Miss Leggett came up. I was pleased to see her as she was my one last remnant of hope from my previous life and from her at least, I thought, I would find some sympathy. She stood beside the bed saying nothing and holding a plate of food. I did not really mind her seeing me cry, but wanted to show a brave face, so I stifled my tears for her.

“Here, eat this,” she said thrusting the plate at me. On the plate were cold scraps, some bones from the roast lamb with a bit of congealed fat and hardly any meat left on, some cold vegetables, a cup of water; and no trifle.

“And don’t you ever let me down like that in front of Miss Mackenzie again,” she said.

I was devastated; no kind words, no sympathetic ear to my woes, no there there don’t cry; just disappointment that she had been let down, as if it was my fault.

“You’d better eat that quickly if you want any sleep tonight. There’s loads of washing up to do downstairs and we start your lessons much earlier in this household, six-o-clock sharp.” Then she turned and walked out.

Then I really wanted to die.

Later, during my chores clearing the empty dinning room and washing up all the plates, I found the remains of some trifle in the serving dish. I wiped the dish clean with my still sore fingers and hungrily devoured the remains. It made me feel somewhat better that I was helping myself to something that had not been granted to me.

It was two hours later that I was returning to my room after scouring, what seemed like, every dish, plate, pot and pan contained in the kitchen. Everyone else had retired and the house was in darkness. I was not yet sure of the plan of the house and, in the dark, was not able to find my way to my humble bed. In my blind stumbling and feeling my way around, I accidentally pushed open a door that had not been latched.

“Get out of here this instant.” A young voice screeched.

I recognised this command as coming from Agnes and realised that I had ventured into the cousin’s bedroom by mistake. I wondered, and dreaded, what the ramification of this simple mistake might be.

I awoke at dawn, although to say that I awoke is not true for, in fact I had barely slept. The bed had been uncomfortable with no pillow or sheets and only the thinnest and scratchiest of a blanket that was not much more than an old sack. I had been cold, hungry and filled with anxiety at my future existence in this heartless household. So, much earlier than I needed to be, I was sitting at the table wondering if any breakfast might find its way up to me when Miss Leggett came in with a chunk of yesterday’s bread and a cup of milk which I eagerly fell upon.

“Your lessons will commence in ten minutes, so be prepared.” Is all that she said.

A few minutes later I heard giggling on the landing and then Gladys was pushed into the room followed by Agnes both wearing silly grins and their night clothes. Agnes spoke up in an exaggerated haughty voice.

“You illegally entered our bed chamber last night. What have you to say for yourself?”

I hated her tone and knew from the way they were both smirking that trouble was brewing, so said nothing.

“Well speak up boy, what have you to say?”

I looked at her, anxious to finish my bread and milk, and continued stuffing bread into my mouth.

“You insolent wretch, I have spoken to you and I expect an answer. Or perhaps we should just tell mother that you came into our room last night intending to molest us? I am quite sure that mother would consider the molestation of young girls to be an offence worthy of a sound birching. Come on Gladys, leave the boy to his dry bread and let us go and inform mother of this impudence.”

I feared they would do just that.

“No wait,” I pleaded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come into your room but it was dark and I did not know where I was. I could not see.” I hated apologising to them for what was a totally innocent action, but had to stop them running to my aunt.

“Well that’s a likely story, I don’t think.” Agnes put her hands on her hips and pretended indignation. “What do you think Gladys? Do you think he was just stumbling around in the dark, or do you think he had lustful and improper intentions?”

Gladys giggled and copied her sister by also putting her hands on her hips. She clearly could not understand what Agnes was referring to, but went along with the charade.

“Honestly, I was trying to get to my room and did not see your door. Please don’t tell my aunt.” I hated pleading to her when it was so obvious to me that this was just a game, a game at my expense.

“Well I’m just inclined to have you birched before the entire household.” My heart sank. Would she do that I wondered, on a whim for her own amusement. I did not know her yet, but from her scheming manner decided that she would gain considerable enjoyment from such an action.

Then she noticed the paddles and straps hanging on the wall and started fingering them. She took down one of the paddles. An oval shaped affair of thick leather. She held it and tested its flexibility. She began tapping it against the palm of her other hand. Gladys was watching enthralled.

“I wonder what the effect of this would be on a naughty boy’s bare bottom.” Agnes was looking at me as she said this, Gladys giggled.

“I’ll bet it would sting like crazy and make the skin very red and hot.” Agnes continued to tap the paddle against her palm and then she brought it down much harder.

“Ouch.” She gasped and began rubbing her hand with the other. Gladys yelped with delight at this jape and began squirming with glee.

“Oh yes, that stings horribly. I certainly wouldn’t want my bare bottom to be on the wrong end of this. But, I suppose if I was a naughty boy and I had been caught molesting girls, it might be worth my while if it was offered instead of a birching.”

I certainly had no intention of asking her for it but I had no choice; I knew that if I did not go along with her game she would tell her story to my aunt. My only salvation from this predicament would be if Miss Leggett returned to start the day’s lessons. I had to spin this out a while longer. So I decided to play the same game as her.

“Would you really spank me with that on my bare bottom?” I asked her. “Have you ever spanked a naughty boy before?”

“Oh I would spank you very hard, I know what to do, believe me. There’s nothing to it really.” She was now gleaming at the thought. “I would take down those ridiculous blue velvet trousers of yours, right down to your ankles; order you across my knee, and then simply spank you as hard as I could with this. I would then keep on spanking you until you were begging me to stop and your bottom had turned bright red and was scorching hot all over.”

Gladys was getting quite excited at the thought of all this fun. “Oh go on Agnes, you must. I want to see his bare bottom turning red.”

“Yes I suppose we must,” with mock reluctance she addressed her sister. “It’s either that or we have to wait a few days to see him being birched. The insult that he caused us by entering our room is immediate and so immediate action is required I think. Get up boy, get off that chair and bring it to the centre of the room.”

I had to delay this longer until Miss Leggett returned. I slowly lifted myself from the chair making great play of brushing the bread crumbs from my clothes. I laboriously moved the chair as she had instructed and, after clearing the crumbs from the seat with an exaggerated sweep of my hand, bade her sit down.

“Now boy stand just here.” She indicated the place at her right hand side. I obeyed, slowly.

“I shall now remove your trousers. Gladys come closer, you should observe this.”

She began fumbling with the buttons, clearly no expert.

Just then, to my relief, I heard Miss Leggett’s footsteps. She was annoyed to see both the girls in my room as she entered.

“What is going on here? Agnes, Gladys, you should not be here. Your mother ordered that this boy should not disrupt your routine and here you are, both still in your nightclothes. Now get out of here this instant. Get dressed and be about your business.”

The cousins were startled by Miss Leggett’s, for them, untimely return. Agnes was about to say something but thought better of it. She scowled at Miss Leggett and said to me, “We’ll be back this afternoon to finish off this business”.

She replaced the paddle on the hook, and then they both left with a scamper, as if it was just another game.

My lessons with Miss Leggett were the usual tedium except that, by starting two hours earlier than I was used to, the morning dragged on and on. All the while I was contemplating the idea that Agnes and Gladys would return later. I felt that they would certainly carry out their threat and did not relish the thought. The idea of being bare bottomed over the knee of a girl just a few years older than me while her gleeful younger sister looked on, was more than I could contemplate.

Eventually the lessons ended. Miss Leggett had given me volumes of work to prepare before the next day and it was while I was ploughing my way through it that Agnes and Gladys arrived back in my room.

“Well boy, you know why we are here,” that haughty tone from Agnes again, “remove yourself from that chair and place it here. I need to sit down to punish your bottom properly as it deserves.”

I did not want to play this game.

“Oh go away Agnes” I said “I have all this study to do before tomorrow and I do not have time for your games.”

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear; did you hear that Gladys? The boy is refusing to obey our orders and he believes we are playing games. I think you should fetch Miss Mackenzie to deal with this. Then I think we should inform mother about his behaviour last night. It would seem that he is to be birched after all.”

“Oh very well, do as you must.” It was obvious I had no way out of this. I had better get it over and done with and give these silly girls their amusement. They would not be happy until I did. So I placed my chair in the middle of the room and Agnes sat down upon it.

“Now stand here while I remove your trousers.”

The event had only been postponed for here I was, exactly where I had been that morning, with Agnes fumbling at the buttons to my fly.

The next thing my pantaloons were down around my ankles and the chill of the room touched my nether regions. I felt silly and vulnerable standing there with the short tunic finishing above my waist and with two silly girls scrutinising my nakedness. Agnes was fascinated by my penis and could not take her eyes of it.

“Gladys, come closer, I want to educate you.” She beckoned her sister.

It could well have been that Agnes was old enough to have had some experience with the local boys, but Gladys, with her cloistered existence in a solely female household, would never have cast her eyes on a boy’s penis before and curiosity compelled her to come closer. She came to stand opposite me to Agnes’s left.

Agnes pointed at my private parts.

“These are the bits that only the male gender has. They are the cause of all their problems.”

“But what are they for?” enquired Gladys, intrigued.

“You are not yet old enough to know that dear sister; but they are used for all the dirty things that they do. Here, lift up that long sausage thing so that I might show you what’s underneath”, Agnes instructed.

“I’m not touching that. If they do dirty things with it, then it will be dirty.”

“Yes Gladys, I am sure that you are right. In that case, please fetch a basin of water and some soap, we shall wash it.”

While Gladys was out of the room Agnes began to fondle my bottom. She was stroking, prodding and pinching the flesh. All the while she kept up a description of how she was going to punish me severely; of how she was going to make it rosy red all over and how much she was going to enjoy it. She told me how she was going to make me squirm and what fun it would be. I had resigned that I would have to take part in this game so remained stoic throughout not saying a word lest she devise further torment for me. Soon Gladys returned struggling with a basin over-filled with water. She put it down awkwardly on the table spilling much of the water over the books I had been working from.

“Good girl” said Agnes condescendingly. “Now boy, get yourself over there to the table so that we can wash your bits.”

We all gathered around the table. Agnes soaped up lather on her hands and began transferring it to my penis. She moved her soapy hand up and down the shaft, occasionally gripping it tight between her thumb and forefinger. As a thirteen year old I had experienced many erections, and this is what began to happen now.

“Oh look Agnes, it’s getting bigger” exclaimed Gladys. “How big does it get?”

Agnes continued to play with and stroke my shaft.

“We will have to find out, but we must not go too far otherwise it will spit at us. It is like a snake you see and will get angry if you annoy it too much. You can see already how red in the face it has become.”

She peeled back the foreskin and began squeezing the end. I was enjoying what she was doing; but also did not want her to go too far either. On the occasions that I had done this to myself, the feeling had overwhelmed me and left me feeling extremely sensitive afterwards.

Once the shaft was rigid and sticking up like a barber’s pole, they then focussed their attention on the sack beneath. The water was cold as Agnes began to apply her soapy hand to my scrotum. This brought a gasp from me.

“This is what happens Gladys, they start gasping, the snake begins to throb and then it spits out its juice.” It was clear then that Agnes had experience of the local boys and had done this before. “So we had better stop this now.”

“Can I just hold it and see what it feels like? It should be clean by now?” Gladys was not going to be denied her turn at this game. She tightened her little fingers around the pole and moved them up and down, occasionally squeezing the head, while Agnes continued to massage my balls with both hands.

I began to groan as I could feel that, at any second, that overwhelming sensation that had left me so exhausted and sensitive before was building within me and I would climax.

“That’s enough now Gladys,” Agnes stopped abruptly leaving the climax hanging, “come, we should splash some cold water on it now to rinse off this soap.”

The cold water was a shock, but I was grateful of the relief it brought. It did nothing for the stiffness of my organ though that continued to stick up, rigid and swollen.

“Now I think that we should punish this naughty boy and paddle his bare bottom until he cries.” Agnes kept up this narrative to Gladys as if I did not exist. Gladys was enthralled at all the new experiences her sister was showing her.

“So come on boy, it is time now for your thorough spanking. It will be even more thorough now due to the delay from this morning I assure you.”

I remained standing there and felt even more vulnerable naked with my dick sticking out so far. Agnes went to the wall, selected the same hard leather paddle and then sat down on the chair. Whereas this morning she had been wearing a nightdress, now she had on all her finery. She gathered up all her skirts right to her hips displaying smooth, plump, white thighs. Her white stockings were held just above her knees with garters. Beneath the gathering of her silken skirts I could see fancy lace knickers at the triangle where her thighs met. She gestured with a wagging finger and ordered me over.

“You have been a naughty wicked boy entering our bed chamber without permission. I hope that you are sorry for what you have done, for now I am going to punish you severely until you beg me to stop. Then I am going to just continue except much harder. Now get across my lap this instant.”

I went down placing my pelvis against her thighs and my penis between them. She closed her legs tightly around it. I was a mixture of feelings. I enjoyed the feeling of having my stiff organ nestled between her soft thighs; but I was very apprehensive about being spanked with that hard leather paddle. Gladys was looking on with an expression of intrigue mixed with superiority. Agnes now pressed into the small of my back to hold me down.

Then I felt the sting as the paddle was slapped down across both cheeks of my bottom. It did not hurt as much as getting the tawse from Miss Mackenzie, but it did make my bottom feel very hot. She slapped me again and the sting began to build up. Over and over the paddle was brought down and all the time my bottom just got hotter and hotter. She kept it up for what seemed like ages; I was amazed at her stamina for the onslaught was remorseless. After a while I began to feel very uncomfortable and wondered when she might stop.

“Is that it yet?” I enquired

“Shut up” is all she said and continued spanking.

Gladys had moved around to my rear end and I could hear her urging her sister on as each slap came down.

“Oh that was a good one Agnes, look at the way it makes his cheeks ripple” or “Do it like that again it made a lovely noise” or even “Do it harder Agnes and make him squeal”.

Eventually I was, not so much squealing as, crying out as each spank landed. Then I heard Gladys say, “I want to see his face as the spanks come down”, and the next thing she had grabbed hold of my hair and lifted up my head. Her face was now no more than two inches away from mine and she was peering at me.

It was disconcerting to see such a sweet face leering at me with an expression that I read as; I hope this is hurting you.

I stuck my tongue out at her and she slapped me hard, for one so young, right across my face. Then she smiled at the effect this had on me and slapped me again from the other side.

All the while my bum cheeks were getting hotter and hotter and, by now, the discomfort was unbearable.

I tried to bring my hand back to protect my blazing rear end.

“Gladys, grab his hands. He must not reach back,” was Agnes’s reaction to this. Gladys left go of my hair and pulled each of my wrists forward. I was then powerless to prevent the continuous flames licking at my cheeks.

I was absolutely desperate now; I could no longer take the scorching I was getting. The pain was intolerable; I had to make it stop.

“Please, that’s enough now. You must stop this at once.” I pleaded.

“We must do nothing of the sort” Agnes was indignant at my insistence. “We can do anything we like with you boy, and you can do nothing about it. Now be quiet and take your punishment you naughty boy.”

From somewhere she produced a fresh onslaught of harder and faster spanks.

“Oh no, oh stop, youch oh please stop,” I heard myself saying. “Please, I beg of you no more.” My legs were kicking, I was struggling to get up, but she held me down and Gladys kept hold of my wrists. “Oh no more, youch, please that’s enough, no more,” I was pleading at the top of my voice.

Then she put down the paddle, I felt it in the small of my back as she began to caress my blazing bottom. It was such a relief for the spanking to stop and to have her cool hand stroking the sore surface of my cheeks.

“Gladys, come here. Come and see how red it is now.” Gladys let go of my wrists.

“Oh my, that looks so sore. Can I feel how hot it is?” I felt Gladys’s smaller hands following Agnes’s around the globes.

Agnes was rolling my still swollen cock between her thighs.

“It’s not fair I can’t see the spanks come down when I’m holding his hands.”

“Well you’re the one that went that side. You wanted to see his face you said.”

“Well now I want to watch the spanks land. Can’t you do something to stop his arms from moving? Can’t you tie him up or something?”

“We haven’t got anything to tie him up with silly. Look maybe if I hold him differently.”

Agnes shifted her position on the chair and brought her right leg out from under me. Then she pushed me down further across her lap so my nose was nearly touching the floor. Then she encircled my legs with her right leg and I was trapped.

I felt the paddle being picked up again. She took a deep breath and proceeded to wallop me for dear life. Hard and fast slaps rained down on my poor sore cheeks. Now I was desperate and pleaded with her to stop. My legs were wriggling and my fists were drumming on the floor. I do not know what they must have thought in the rest of the house for I was shouting my lungs out and the noise of that, the spanking and the drumming of my fists must have been considerable. No one came to my rescue though and this went on for at least fifteen more minutes.

At last Agnes wore herself out and the onslaught petered out to some very hard spanks with long gaps between. I was bawling my eyes out. I was also exhausted by my struggling and lay across her lap like a wet rag. My cock though was enormous. Somehow; from being rolled between soft female thighs, the thrusting of my hips, the contracting of my buttocks and the wriggling of my legs during the ordeal, it had affected that part of me and it was now stiff, throbbing and now pulsating on the inside of Agnes’ thigh.

“Come on boy up you get” Agnes ordered “and stand in that corner with your red bottom on view. Put your hands on your head and do not move until we permit it.”

I shuffled to the corner pleased to get away from my tormentors. They were highly amused at my efforts to move quickly with trousers still around my ankles, making comments about the way my red bottom was wiggling. I stood there as instructed with my hands on my head. My bottom was on fire and throbbing great waves of pain all down my legs. It felt twice the size as normal. My penis felt three times the size as normal with its bulbous head stuck out in front pulsing at the same rate as the throbbing pain.

Behind me the cousins continued with their torment.

“Now that’s what I like to see, a naughty boy with a bright red bottom, sorry for his sins.” Agnes was saying.

“It looks so sore and hot enough to fry some eggs on” from Gladys.

“It was good when he was squirming Agnes, that was my favourite bit” again from Gladys.

“I liked hearing him beg. That was my favourite bit. All boys should be made to beg to girls, just so that we can take no notice” this from Agnes.

“Do you think he’s had enough yet?” from Gladys

“For entering our bedroom without permission, I would say that he has; but we still have to deal with the matter of his earlier refusal to obey orders.”

“Are you going to punish him some more on his bare bottom then Agnes?”

“Well, I’m considering what Miss Mackenzie would do and, as his bottom is already punished enough, I think we should strap his hands.”

“Oh goody, yes we must. I loved it when Miss Mackenzie did that last night. It looked so painful. Oh please Agnes, will you? Strap his hands; but do not let him pull his trousers up while you’re doing it. That way he will look so silly and it will be so amusing”

I was listening to all this going on and wondering when their humiliating games would end. When would they tire of tormenting me? I prayed it would be soon, but there was no way out of this that I could see. I would just have to endure it, but vowed that I would get my revenge in some other way and then contrive to get away from this hateful place as soon as I could.

Next to my corner the straps and paddles hung on the wall. I noticed as Agnes replaced the paddle and then select one of the straps. It was not the same one that Miss Mackenzie had used; I was grateful for that but it looked just as vicious. The memory of last night’s punishment still remained and I now felt very apprehensive.

“Come on then boy, you now have to be punished for questioning my orders earlier. Come on quickly” she gave me three hard swipes with the strap across my upper thighs to spur me on, “out from that corner and into the centre of the room with you.”

I shuffled into the centre where Agnes, like Miss Mackenzie, was standing with the strap over her shoulder trying to look stern. Somehow the sweetness of her face and the way she was dressed in pastel coloured frilly satin looked out of place with her severe demeanour. This amused me and I could not help myself from smirking.

“Is that a smile I see on your face? I hope not as this is no laughing matter.” Her stance and mock haughty manner made me chuckle even more.

“Wipe that smile from your face this instant.”

Why is it that when you try not to laugh and someone orders you not to, the one thing that you have to do is laugh out loud? This was happening to me now and I could not help but snigger uncontrollably. Agnes was furious and started whipping the strap to curl around my legs. It stung like crazy and had me jumping about on the spot. Gladys became delirious with glee at my antics and began jumping around with me, giggling. This made Agnes even angrier.

“Gladys, keep still and be quiet” she ordered her sister, “If you want to do something useful, grab hold of his bits to stop him from jumping.”

“What bits do you mean Agnes?” Despite everything, this increased my mirth even further.

“The bits between his legs you stupid girl. Grab a hold of them tightly and squeeze them hard until he stops.”

I felt Gladys’s little fingers grasping at my balls, and then she got the other hand around my erect organ and gripped hold as tight as she could. This had an immediate effect on me and I had to keep still.

“Good, that’s better”. Agnes stopped whipping my legs and became more controlled.

“Now maybe we can punish this boy as he is due. Gladys, you keep hold of his rude bits and squeeze them hard if he disobeys. Boy you hold out your hand and keep it there.”

The backs of my legs were stinging where the strap had landed; my swollen bottom was still throbbing waves of pain all down my legs and up my back, my swollen penis was rigid and pulsing in Gladys’s little hand and my balls were being squeezed until they hurt. I did not think twice but held out my hand as instructed.

Agnes’s anger had subsided somewhat but she was still annoyed and this showed on her face. Her sweet expression had now contorted into one of malice; her lips tight and her eyes cold as she took aim with the strap.

With a flash of speed it came down from over her shoulder smacking down hard onto my upturned palm. It was like someone had placed a hot iron where it landed. I waited for the next with my hand outstretched. There was the flash and then the heat; and my hand burst into flames again. One more stroke, I thought, and then I can change hands and get some relief.

A third stroke landed and I took my hand away.

“I thought that I told you to keep your hand outstretched. Put it back.” The look of grim determination on Agnes’s face as she ordered me was enough for me to hold my hand out again.

“I was going to give you six to each hand, now for that, I’ll make it ten. So keep it there, or do you want me to add some more?”

Gladys was thrilled at this display of cruelty from her sister; she chuckled and celebrated her pleasure by rubbing my cock up and down and squeezed my balls tighter.

I awaited further punishment.

Agnes was true to her word and swiped the strap down hard; ten strokes in all. My hand was numb by the end.

“Now the other hand, I haven’t got all day.”

Gladys continued to rub my cock and to squeeze my balls. If it had not been for the pain from my hand coursing up my arm and dispelling any thought of pleasure, I would have enjoyed what she was doing. Instead, equilibrium was maintained between the pleasure from my erect organ and the smarting from my hand.

I held the other hand out to receive the allotted ten strokes. They came without a break or rest from the agonising pain; both my hands were blazing and numb by the end. I was ordered back into the corner where I stood flapping my hands like a penguin to ease the pain. My bottom still burned, the backs of my legs were still tender and my organ was by now absolutely desperate for some relief from the mammoth erection it had endured all this time.

I waited in the corner for further instruction, but none came. After a while I noticed I was alone, the cousins had quietly just left the room. If there had been a door to the room I would have closed it right then and given myself some relief albeit with sore hands but, with the room open to the entire household, I did not dare.

Part 2

Life for me in that female household continued along those lines, more or less, on a daily basis for the next few years. The cousins continued to torment me and get me into trouble. Sometimes I would get myself into trouble through my laziness or by being cheeky, usually because I was so fed up with being reminded of my worthlessness that I felt I had to complain; but all it ever got me was a good hiding or a stand in the corner flapping my hands about to ease the pain.

My aunts remained heartless and mean. Aunt Harriet, as it turned out, was worse than her elder sister who, at least for all her bitterness retained some dignity; but Aunt Harriet, once she had experienced her command over me, became indulgent and would involve me in practices that I felt extremely uncomfortable about.

To start with she would never engage with me when others were around. It would only be when I was either working alone somewhere in the garden, or in the house when every one else was out; and she would sidle up to me and find some pretext to complain; I would not be working hard enough or I was too untidy in what I was doing. She would ask me when I had last been punished and then demand that I remove my trousers so that she could see what evidence remained. My punishments were so frequent that there would always be some marks upon my buttocks. She would hold me very tightly and closely over her slightly bended knee and then spend ages examining my bottom. She would pinch and prod, stroke and finger the flesh, sometimes even parting the cheeks and fingering my anus. All the while she would be breathing heavily and, it seemed to me, getting quite excited. Often she would put one arm right around my waist, pulling me even tighter towards her, and then take a hold of my penis from the front with that hand and fondle me until I became aroused, while pinching my bottom cheeks with the other. This would always end with her deciding that I needed more punishment and I would be ordered to her room that evening.

On every occasion, no matter what time I arrived at her room, I would always catch her as though she was getting ready for bed and she would be undressed down to her underwear. She was much younger than my other aunt; I would say in her early twenties and she had a good womanly figure. For me at that age, she was an adult and so warranted all the respect I would normally show an adult; but it was awkward for me being with her attired in clothing that displayed all her womanly attributes. I did not know how to behave at those times and she would sense this and exploit my ill at ease.

“Come on get undressed” she would say matter of factly, “Naughty boys need to be punished nude.”

So I would strip off and stand there feeling vulnerable. Aunt Harriet always favoured a hairbrush to spank me with and, once she had picked it up from off her dressing table, would walk slowly around me a few times while I stood there shivering, tapping the brush against the palm of her hand while she described what she was going to do. Sometimes, while she was standing behind me, she would be lightly tapping my buttocks with the back of the brush. I could never understand why she did this, it did not hurt one bit although I suppose it did serve to remind me of what was coming; but all the while she would be telling me what chubby cheeks I had. Often she would say that it was such a shame I was punished so often as, once in a while, wouldn’t it be nice for her to start with a milky white bottom and turn it scarlet red. I generally got the feeling that, instead of punishing me for some misdeed, she was spanking me for her own gratification. I could believe that kind of wanton behaviour from my evil cousins, but not from an adult. I supposed it was because she did not have children of her own that she did this and needed to explore these things on someone else.

Regardless of what I supposed, she spanked me really hard with that hairbrush and I came to loath it even more than the strap. The thing was that the spankings would go on for ages with many interruptions when I would be ordered into the corner with my sore bottom on view. During these interruptions I would not be permitted to look anywhere but straight ahead while Aunt Harriet lay down on the bed behind me, presumably to recover and gather her strength. Her recovery process was odd though as I would hear her moving around rhythmically and then she would utter little gasps before she ever settled down to rest. Sometimes, after a particularly long spanking with many interruptions and periods of recovery, she would be really sweet to me and sorry that she had punished me so much. Then she would lay me down on her bed while she rubbed cold cream into my swollen buttocks. On occasions I was even invited into her bed with her. I used to like being between the soft sheets with her and being warm for a change and all she ever wanted was that I put my hand between her legs and stroke her there a bit; sometimes she did the same for me. I did not mind as it was the only affection I was ever shown, but I was always disappointed when I got thrown out of the warmth before dawn and had to return to the cold of my own room.

Sometimes my governess Miss Leggett also insisted that I attend to her between her legs. Usually it would be after I had been punished by Miss Mackenzie and she would feel usurped by the older woman. On these occasions I would be ordered to her room with the instruction that I bring the Loghelly tawse. It was her view that, if my hands had been strapped then my bottom should be punished in the same way. Then I would be bent over the edge of her bed, she would remove my trousers and lay into me with the tawse over and over again. I was never told how many I was to get, but it was always understood that, if I should try to protect myself or move out of position, then the whole thing would start over again. She would strap me so hard and fast that it would be inevitable that I moved, and then I would be given a choice.

“What am I to do with you boy?” She would say. “First you show me up in front of Miss Mackenzie and now you cannot even respect me enough to take your punishment without whimpering. I am so tired of strapping your chubby cheeks like this, but you need to be taught a lesson. The only way you can show contrition is through an act of subservience. So, unless you want me to start this all over again tomorrow morning, you will kneel between my legs right now and get that tongue of yours working double time.”

I would be so desperate by this time that I would agree to anything and, after she had sat on the edge of the bed, removed her draws and opened her legs, I would be down their lapping away like a cat at the butter. It would only be after the deluge had flooded four or five times, that I had licked it clean each time and had my ears compressed by her thighs over and over again that I would be dismissed.

Despite the efforts from the cousins to get me into serious trouble, thankfully, a birching or a caning was an infrequent occurrence. Whenever it happened though the magnitude of the occasion affected the household for many days. This was why my aunt seldom sanctioned such extreme measures and instead would often decree an on the spot group spanking. This would involve me being stripped naked and I would be passed around all the ladies a few times to be dealt with as they saw fit. Miss Mackenzie would strap my hands, Aunt Harriet would hairbrush my bottom, Miss Leggett would then take the tawse to it, Agnes would put me over her knee and use a paddle and, while I was still being held tightly there, Gladys would do a damned good job of strapping the backs of my legs. After a few rounds of this kind of treatment my aunt would then finish me off with a stringent tongue wagging which, after everything else, would be sure to have me bawling like a baby, still naked, smarting all over and quivering there in front of the assembled household while the cousins laughed. I hated those occasions, but that was nothing compared to a birching.

The cousins loved it when a birching was announced, for them it was Christmas all over. They would be excited for days before hand, Gladys in particular, and she would skip around the house singing, “There’s going to be a birching” to the tune of Ring a Ring of Roses to the absolute annoyance of everyone. For me it was a hateful drawn out affair of humiliation and anticipation, culminating in the most savage and bitterest pain you could imagine.

It always seemed to be in February or November when this occurred, particularly cold and grim months in northern England; and I believe my aunt sanctioned these events at that time of the year just to alleviate the tedium. The announcement of the forthcoming punishment would be proclaimed to the household five days before the event at the breakfast table. I would not be present of course as I was always excluded from the collective meals, so the first I would know of it would be when I heard the steps of the entire group on the stairs coming to my room.

They would assemble around the door, the cousins in jubilant mood while my aunt, in sombre tones like a justice declaring the death sentence, informed me that I was to be birched before the entire household on the morning of such and such a day. I would be stripped of my trousers there and then and these would be taken away. They would not be returned until seven days after the sentence had been carried out. So for the next thirteen days I was to be seen bare bottomed by everyone including any visitors to the house. A plaque would be pinned to the lower edge of my sailor collar at the back; a card with two thick black arrows pointing down with the words NAUGHTY BOTTOM between. I was to wear this at all times until my trousers were returned.

It was up to me to prepare the birch rods. This involved, firstly, collecting the branches from the estate. The cousins

would be encouraged, and would always want, to help me with this task so, whereas they would be all wrapped up warm against the bitter cold, I would be climbing trees while semi-naked, cutting and gathering the branches for my own whipping. The cousins were of very little help of course, they would only be there to ensure that I was gathering the stoutest and whippiest of branches that were up to the job. They would search the trees for the youngest and longest branches, usually the ones at the farthest reaches and would be shouting their instructions up to me from the ground to cut this one or the other one. This job would take the best part of the morning as thirty six branches were required in total. Six bundles of six branches were deemed necessary to ensure that I was soundly whipped. Often, once I got them down on the ground, some of the branches would be rejected by Agnes for not being whippy enough to sting properly. Agnes had a very definite idea of what was required.

“Look Gladys, this one you see is the proper length and straight enough, and when it is trimmed will have these perfectly nasty vicious little tips at the end. These will cut nicely into his bare skin and give a most satisfying sting.”

There would be frequent demonstrations across my own poor frozen backside.

“Here boy, stand just here and let me show Gladys the effectiveness of this branch.”

She would bring the birch twig whistling down on my naked rump a few times causing the most horrific pain that would have me yelping and jumping around like a mad thing to the uncontrollable glee of both girls. I would be absolutely dreading the thought of what was to come when a bundle of six were used when this was the affect from just one. Then she and Gladys would both examine my backside with close scrutiny to see the pattern of the welts.

“Look Gladys, note the distinctive birch welt here; the depth of colour and thinness of this line is such a true indicator of how acute the sting from this birch will be.”

Gladys loved these educational trips into the woods. Agnes was always very liberal with her demonstrations; and when we would be returning, me out front carrying the birch bundles with my red striped bottom on view, there would be Gladys skipping along singing, “There’s going to be a birching” all the way to the house.

This was not the end of the preparations however, for now I would have to bind the groups of six rods together and prepare vats of brine where they would soak for the next few days prior to their use. This operation took place in the basement where I would boil up gallons of a vinegar and water mix to dissolve the salt. My aunt and Miss Mackenzie, who was an expert on these things, had instructed me on the occasion of my first birching. The fear and anticipation of the event that this had caused me at the time had been overwhelming. Miss Mackenzie had talked about the twigs swelling, becoming heavy and nicely saturated with the acerbic solution and how, once the skin had broken, the sting would be magnified in a most satisfyingly excruciating way. I would be recalling those words as I gathered, trimmed and bound the rods before immersing them in the vats of hot brine, feeling extremely anxious of what was in store for me.

More humiliation awaited me before then however.

My aunt was the chairperson of the local Wives at Home group. This was a group of officer’s wives whose husbands were all away at the front. Somehow she always managed to arrange a meeting of this group at the house on the day after the birches had been prepared and I would be charged with serving these good ladies their tea and crumpet during their visit. So that they would not be offended at the site of my private parts, my aunt permitted that I wear a frilly white pinafore while performing this duty. Although this eliminated my embarrassment in one regard it did nothing to save the chagrin of having my bottom, still baring the marks of fine red welts, on view to these ladies together with the Naughty Bottom plaque. This would become a talking point as soon as I entered the room and my aunt would bask in the limelight of this conversational piece. I would be passed around all the ladies to have my marked bottom closely examined. Sometimes Agnes would have been so enthusiastic with her demonstrations the day before that the ladies would assume I had already been birched.

“Oh no my dears, he is to be birched in three days time” my aunt would gush exuberantly.

“I assure you that following the birching he is to get blood will flow; in fact it will not be over until it does. He will be marked from the waist down to the backs of his knees.”

Then a conversation would ensue about the effective punishment of naughty boys, the merits of caning or birching, use of a whipping bench, whether or not to secure the body, in this or that position, the construction of the birch rods; and then my aunt would order that I fetch one of the bundles from the vats to show the ladies. This would be brought into the room and they would all want to have a go at swishing it through the air a few times to determine its effectiveness. They would roll the soft skin of my bottom through their thumbs and forefingers just to get a better idea of how deep the rods might cut. Some would not be able to resist pinching just that little bit more to make me squeal. The worst of them would even be forward enough to ask if they might be permitted to witness the event. My aunt, particularly if she wanted to impress any member of the group, would usually invite one or two to take part at the execution. I am sure that the stalwart members of the Wives at Home group were always happy to attend these regular meetings at my aunt’s house.

The penultimate day of anticipation would always arrive sooner than I wanted. This was the day that I had to construct the whipping bench, again under the close scrutiny of Miss Mackenzie. It was not so much construction as assembling, for all the parts were available around the grounds or in the basement. First I would need to drag out a heavy oak chopping horse from the woodshed into the courtyard at the back of the house. Then I would stuff a long woolsack tightly with straw. This would be the cushion on which I was to lay and it was secured to the top of the horse. I would screw eyelets into the legs of the horse, close together at the back and wide at the front. Then I would screw a wide band of leather to one side of the horse with a corresponding buckle to the other. Once it had been examined and the security and rigidity of it approved by Miss Mackenzie, it would be ready.

I was not permitted to stay in the house the night before my punishment, so I would be locked in the woodshed at sundown. Here I would stay to await my fate in the morning. I would be shaking with fear and shivering with cold huddled in the most comfortable corner I could find. There was no bed there so I would gain what comfort I could from sawdust and any old piece of sacking I could find to wrap around myself. Even today, whenever I get that curios aroma of sawdust, woodchips and sacking, I am reminded of those fearful nights spent in that woodshed and I still tremble with anxiety.

The vats containing the birch rods would remain in the basement overnight less they freeze outdoors, but in the morning Miss Mackenzie would let me out to bring them up into the courtyard. Then she would order that I strip off completely and return me to the woodshed while the family and any invited guests assembled outside and gathered around the bench. Even after all the anticipation I had endured during the previous five days, this five minutes of waiting was by the far the worst.

When the time came, Miss Mackenzie would open the door, I would be led out by the ear and begin my walk to the bench. I would be so delirious with fear that I would hardly notice my surroundings, but somehow the eager faces of Agnes and Gladys at the front of the group would always make an impression. My aunt would be standing on the right hand side of the bench; Miss Mackenzie would take up her position on the left. I would lay my chest against the sack and the wide leather band would be drawn tightly around my middle. My arms and legs would be secured top and bottom and then I was in place, totally secured, defenceless and quite unable to prevent whatever was about to take place.

I would lay there shivering with cold and anticipation, waiting while my aunt relayed the offence and my sentence once more. I would be trying to anticipate the sting from the first strokes, trying to prepare myself; but despite my efforts I would always be taken by surprise. There would be the distinctive whistle of twigs through the air and then in quick succession from left and right two bands of fire would touch my bare flesh and have me gasping. The pain would be phenomenal.

I know there are those that say a birching does not hurt until after the first few strokes; they are wrong, they have never been birched from both sides on a cold February morning. There is nothing else that stings as much as when those vicious twigs bight into naked flesh. It is as though red hot wires have been dragged across sensitive skin.

My aunt and Miss Mackenzie together would keep up a steady barrage one after the other. I would be screaming, pleading, begging for it to stop. My body would be in convulsions, shaking and pulling against the bonds. I would be too delirious to think of anything other than the searing pain that engulfed every fibre of my body. The fires of hell could be no worse than that remorseless assault to my young body.

Perhaps I would be aware of the momentary pause when the birches were changed for fresh ones, or more than likely I would notice an increased acuteness to the sting as the new rods bit deeper and fresh brine seeped into the wounds. Sometimes I would faint and Aunt Harriet would be standing by with smelling salts to bring me around quickly, but always the punishment would continue inexorably until all the rods had been spent and blood flowed freely down my thighs from ruptured flesh.

After release, the four ladies would carry my semi-conscious body and lay me face down onto a couch indoors where I would remain with surgical dressings over the open wounds until I recovered. The dressings would be changed regularly, usually by Aunt Harriet who had some medical training. Sometimes, on the understanding that it was strictly for educational purposes, the cousins would be allowed in to see me. In my semi conscious state I would hear their gasps of horror as the dressing came off; they would peer at the wounds and ask if they could touch, but were always refused on medical grounds, they would still have to examine my wounded buttocks as closely as they could however.

It would take two to three days before I fully recovered and was able to walk again, but then it would be duty as normal. Apart from their insistence that I wear the Naughty Bottom plaque, the adult ladies would generally go easy on me; but the cousins would be eager to get their hands on my bottom as soon as they could. It would not be that they wanted to punish me for anything; they just wanted the excuse to have me lying over their laps while they examined the results of the birching, tracing the lines of the marks with their fingers, pinching the welts, prodding the tenderest parts and generally causing me as much discomfort as they could.

A birching was by far the worst thing that I ever had to endure but, now as I think back, the torment and abuse that I suffered at the hands of the cousins was the overwhelming memory that I retain from that hateful period of my life.

The abuse, mistreatment and neglect did eventually come to an end however.

In the year of nineteen eighteen, at the eleventh hour, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the armistice was signed, the war was over and the troops came home. I had lived in that household and been victimised by the cruelty of those ladies for almost three years by that time. Unlike many who had been totally broken by the war, my uncle returned to the household in a victorious mood. He had commanded one of the last successful campaigns of the conflict and had been impressed by the sacrifices and bravery he had encountered from fellow soldiers, all good men. He was horrified when he set eyes on the undernourished, submissive and terrified wretch that I had become and of the treatment I had endured while he was away. He was determined to put things right. I was fed and clothed properly for the first time in ages. I was enrolled at a fine public school where I was so eager for proper education that my thirst for knowledge caused me to excel in all subjects. I gained entry to Oxford where I achieved a first in world politics and was quickly recruited by the Foreign Office for a career in the diplomatic service.

A fulfilling life for me eventually began in earnest.

As for the ladies; well Agnes became a suffragette and a militant feminist. She was eventually arrested for indecent behaviour when discovered in a lesbian liaison with one of her cohorts. She spent two years in Holloway Ladies Prison doing hard labour and was disowned by the family. She came out a broken young woman and earned a brief living as a prostitute before she died of syphilis at the age of twenty one.

Gladys became pregnant by a Polish immigrant guest-working on a neighbouring farm soon after my uncle’s return. He was a totally unsuitable husband and this was acutely shameful to my aunt and uncle. Under aged and out of wedlock she was sent off to a Magdalena Convent to give birth and to have the child adopted. There she stayed and eventually joined the silent and closed order of The Carmelite Sisters. There was no contact from her ever again after that.

Aunt Harriet stayed on at the house and soon became my uncle’s lover into whose bed she climbed from that point on. She bore him twin bastard sons that were, despite their unorthodox parentage, extremely well looked after and who would no doubt also gain entrance to Oxford and live fulfilled and happy lives.

Miss Leggett was retained, as governess to the twins during their early years and then, as part of the household.

My aunt never got a divorce but she and Miss Mackenzie were moved into a separate cottage on the other side of the estate. They became reclusive in their own company and out of their minds in their isolation. I only ever saw them once again and I hardly recognised them when I did.

I had returned to the house to introduce my new society bride to my uncle. I was showing my wife around the estate and we were walking among the trees when we noticed an older woman cutting down branches. We had not expected to see anyone else there and decided to observe her in case she was a trespasser. It was her long grey hair that made her look old we realised for, when she walked, she was erect and agile enough to be only in her forties. We hid and followed her as she made her way cutting branches and young saplings as she went. Then we came upon a modest cottage on the edge of the woods, to which she was heading.

Outside the cottage we witnessed the most bizarre scene like something out of Macbeth. An older and taller lady was standing beside a fire on which was standing a cauldron of boiling liquid. The smell of the steam from the cauldron touched my nostrils and I recognised it right away. It was the smell of boiling vinegar and salt.

“Do you think they are witches?” my wife whispered to me as we hid within the bushes. But I realised that they were not and I knew exactly what they were about. This was confirmed to me when I heard the broad Scottish brogue from the tall one beside the cauldron ordering the other one to hurry up.

“Come along, do you think we have all day. You’ve got all those branches to prepare before sundown; good bundles of six branches and you’d better soak them properly. I want nice fresh whippy twigs from good stout branches; and then it’s off with those clothes and into the woodshed with you. You have an appointment with Madame Birch in the morning.”

(The End)