Flossie’s List

Story by Delany Silver from Februs 2

Oh dear!

Flossie Jenkins looked down at the ledger in the kitchen and blanched. Her heart beat fast in her satin-clad bosom as she studied the pencil-written list. The ledger was full of misdemeanours, her misdemeanours — any one of them worthy of a thrashing from her mistress’s fair, white hand.

It’s not right! thought Flossie in anguish.  She tried so hard to be a good girl, but Madam Woo was so exacting and strict. The slightest fall from grace meant a spanking. Or a strapping. Or a caning or the dreaded, so dreaded birch rod.

As she ran her finger down the roster of sins, Flossie felt her plump bottom glowing already; with a ghostly burning hotness that reminded her of her last chastisement.  A slippering for ‘making free’ with the young ladies of the Academy, all topped off with a barehanded spanking for carelessly letting Madam Woo hear her speak the dreaded nickname. Mrs Aurelia Woolstencraft knew full well what her staff and pupils called her, and had once — in a tender and intimate moment — told Flossie that she actually quite liked it. But even so, any mention of ‘Madam Woo’ in her earshot was a sovereign excuse for a punishment.

And there it was again, noted several times. ‘Disrespect’ — followed by that other oft-appearing crime ‘making free with the young ladies’.

‘But I do have to do it!’ muttered Flossie, prodding at the words on the list. Most of the so-called ‘young ladies’ at the Woolstencraft Academy were older than Flossie herself, and were delinquent chits who’d been sent here for a taming before marriage. And the only way Flossie, as a housemaid, could keep them in line, and make them tidy their rooms and their clothes, was with the occasional slap or pinch. She didn’t have to do it in the strictly formal way that Madam always employed. That was, make them bend over the end of their beds with their posh white bottoms naked… But she liked to do it that way! It was a thrill, a naughty, stolen thrill to see them bounce and cry and clasp at the redness that she’d created.

The trouble was that Madam Woo considered discipline to be her sole prerogative. When she was thinking straight, Flossie knew that Madam was the only one who could summon a bad girl to her room, instruct her to take down her bloomers, and make her bend over for a well-earned smacking. Go bottom up over the ottoman, the hard chair, the edge of the chaise longue, or even, and most fearfully, over Madam’s warm, strong lap. Flossie knew all that, but she still couldn’t help herself…

And she’d been over that lap herself, last time. She recalled the awful, breath-taking moment. She’d been punished first over the arm of the chaise. Made to lean across it, face down, with her skirts and petticoats pushed up across her back whilst Madam made a fire on her bottom.

Oh lor, those blows had hurt! Thick slices of stinging heat, laid on with a leather bedroom slipper, each one placed with the precision of a surgeon. Flossie had sobbed and protested, not only because it hurt so much, but because she knew how much Madam enjoyed a fuss. Her mistress’s eyes flashed bright as gems when she heard you whimper and whine, and her pale, scholarly face would flush a most delightful rosy pink. And afterwards, in the lateness of evening, the bell would ring, summoning Flossie to Madam’s private sitting room. There to perform a final and most intimate service. Oh my…

Now those moments were extremely nice, and not painful at all, but unfortunately Flossie found it difficult to think of them with the prospect of a spanking ahead. A spanking such as she’d had after that session with the slipper!

‘Now then, Flossie,’ Madam had said, her voice soft and grave, ‘let’s have you across my knee.’

Oh, the shame of it! Shuffling across the room, to a fate even more painful than ever. That was something else that Madam enjoyed.  Her victim’s ignominious progress as she crept towards her fate — hobbled by full, lacy drawers that tangled around the ankles, and clutching at skirts and frillies to keep them immodestly high. Madam required that knees be on show, and thighs, and lush glowing haunches. All that and — oh dear! — much more.

And yet there was also a certain sweet comfort in it all. Madam was exquisitely gentle when she wasn’t spanking you, and her body was always warm and fragrant. Flossie gasped, remembering how it felt to be lying there, bare-bottomed and with her breasts pressed hard against Madam’s firm, parted thighs.

Madam always gave you a moment to calm yourself before moving on. She let you lie across her while she stroked your hair, listened to your sobs and snivels, and tested your readiness for more. Her long, graceful fingers would slowly ride the lines on your bottom, pressing at the heat, and then sliding lightly down into the cleft. And just when you were starting to squirm for quite a different reason, she’d say, ‘Now keep still, Flossie, I’m going to spank you now…’

Flossie had butterflies inside her. ‘I’m going to spank you,’ she whispered, imagining Madam Woo’s soft tones. Madam never shouted or raved, but her very quietness could chill you to the bone. Flossie could just hear her chanting all the sins on this list, her beautiful face reproachful as she slowly enunciated each one.

----//----

When she turned the page, Flossie seemed to hear the knell of doom. There at the foot of the list was Madam’s bold signature and the words ‘See me. The sitting room. Four o’clock.’

Like a scared rabbit, Flossie glanced toward the old grandfather clock in the corner of the kitchen. It read five minutes to four. Just enough time to run to the looking glass, straighten her cap on her untidy red curls, and smooth down the creases in her apron. Her silky black dress was a mass of crumples too, but it was too late now to go and change it. Filled with a curious blend of fear and longing, she made her way up the stairs to the upper landing, then stood dithering, just outside the door to the sitting room. Her belly felt tight and her bosom was heaving. She wanted to run, run as far away from here as she could; yet at the same time she felt the wildest, most passionate urge to rush into the room beyond and fall down on the floor at her mistress’s feet.

Torn between these two, she almost leapt in the air, when, in the distance, the old clock chimed four. It was time, and with a heart beating so loud she could almost hear it, she rapped on the dark, forbidding door.

‘Enter!’ answered the familiar bell-like voice, and the frightened Flossie obeyed.

‘Good afternoon, Flossie,’ said Madam formally as she turned away from the window, where she’d obviously been admiring the garden. ‘I trust you understand why you’re here?’

‘Yes, Ma… Ma’am,’ stammered Flossie, as flustered by Madam Woo’s beauty as she was by the thought of what lay ahead.

Mrs Aurelia Woolstencraft was certainly the most handsome woman Flossie had ever seen. She was tall and slim, with a face as perfect as a Madonna’s. Her skin was pale and her lush, tawny hair was drawn back into a starkly-coiled knot. Her eyes were dark, and her mouth was red, and her expression was remote and thoughtful. She had a figure that managed to be both curvaceous and delicate at the same time, all clothed in a sober black dress with just the thinnest line of pure white lace at her wrists and her long, slender throat.

‘Well, then, how shall we begin?’ enquired Madam coolly, approaching from the window and taking hold of Flossie by the wrist.

Flossie felt pinned by that sure, intent look. Mesmerised as if by a magician or hypnotist. She was being asked to select her own punishment, decide which of many cruel implements would mark her rounded white bottom.

And there were many to choose from. The tawse. The cane. The strap. Even a whip with seven long tails. Flossie hardly dared think of them all, yet they filled her mind anyway, like an unforgettable arsenal of pain. She’d had them all at one time or another, yet she knew that not one of these artificial objects could hit harder than Madam’s strong hand.

‘Spank me, Ma’am,’ begged Flossie, knowing now what she wanted most, and throwing herself ungracefully at Madam Woo’s feet to plead for it.

‘Get up, silly girl!’ ordered Madam, looking taller and straighter and sterner than ever from where Flossie was crouched on the floor. ‘Get up and show yourself to me.’

Flossie staggered to her feet, the familiar command ringing magically in her ears. She felt an unthinkable yearning, in her belly. A lewd and unseemly softening. To expose herself was a thing of shame, yet she craved it, her fingers fumbling with haste as she hauled up her skirts and held them in a bundle at her waist, showing Madam her lacy white bloomers.

‘All of it, please, Flossie,’ her nemesis instructed in a voice as quietly calm as ever.

Struggling with the different layers of her clothing, Flossie managed to retain a hold on her skirts whilst at the same time unbuttoning her voluminous drawers. Her whole body trembled finely as she let them fall to her ankles to reveal her belly and thighs.

‘Turn.’

The single word was like a blow in itself, and Flossie sobbed, just once, as she clumsily obeyed. She could feel Madam’s gaze like a radiance on her bottom, like sunlight, like starlight. Her flesh seemed to shiver as if the look could burn and mark as cruelly as any spank. She felt, and heard Madam move closer, then shook like a leaf as cool hands cupped the lobes of her buttocks and squeezed them to test their resilience.

‘Do you really want to be spanked?’ asked Madam, her face against the nape of Flossie’s neck. ‘You know I can hurt you just as much with my hand…’

Knowing it was the utter truth, Flossie answered, her lips quaking as she spoke. ‘Oh yes, Ma’am, spank me! I deserve it! Hurt me, Ma’am, smack me with your hand, I want it so much!’

‘But we’re not here to do what you want, Flossie,’ said Madam Woo with a faint, very silky emphasis. ‘We’re here to punish you for many, many misdoings. I think I should choose the implement…’ She paused then, still squeezing and mounding at the flesh contained in her fingers. ‘But perhaps, afterwards, I might permit you a spanking.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ sobbed Flossie, her hips moving slowly, her bottom pressing backwards to meet Madam Woo’s firm grip.

‘Don’t be too eager to thank me, Flossie,’ said Madam softly, ‘Now go to the cupboard and bring me the brown leather tawse.’ With a last pinch on each cheek, she propelled Flossie forward and away from her.

‘Oh, no! Not the tawse,’ wailed Flossie inside as she edged awkwardly to the cupboard, trying hard not to trip over her bloomers. Madam Woo was a perfect mistress of the tawse and she could make that thin band of leather do anything she wanted. Make it cover an undefended bottom with a blanket of scorching red pain. Flossie was shaking uncontrollably as she reached in and took down the implement, but even so she managed to bring it to her mistress without stumbling, falling or bursting into hot tears of terror. Eyes cast down, she held it out to Madam, then bit her lip as those pale, cruel hands took hold of it and offered it back towards her as a part of the ritual.

Still clutching her clothing, Flossie leant forward and kissed the cool, smooth leather.

‘Now then, Flossie, don’t prevaricate,’ murmured Madam Woo as Flossie pressed her lips to the tawse and kept them there, imagining the strap all warm from her own flaming bottom. ‘Let’s have you over the chaise, there’s a good girl.’

Feeling doomed yet exalted, Flossie draped herself carefully across the brocaded roll at the head of the French chaise longue. She felt Madam fussing lightly with her clothing, arranging the black satin and the froth of lacy white cotton beneath. She almost moaned aloud as featherlight fingers roved across the contours of her buttocks, then really did moan when the fingers withdrew. Her hour was almost upon her…

‘Be brave now, Flossie.’ The words hung in the air, and Flossie still seemed to hear them when the tawse first made contact with her bottom.

The pain was so hot and hard and shocking that she squealed out immediately, high and clear. Her fingertips gouged deep into the cushions of the chaise, and she wiggled and shuffled to try and ease the smarting soreness.

‘Keep still,’ said Madam Woo, her sharp voice making Flossie even more ashamed and mortified. Why couldn’t she be brave and strong for her mistress? Bear her blows in stillness and quietude instead of resisting like one of the spoilt young things of the Academy who knew no better.

As she stiffened her body, another blow fell, carrying with it all the power in Madam’s steely wrist. Flossie pressed her face into the upholstery, wetting it thoroughly with her tears as she struggled to contain her distress. The torment in her bottom was enormous, after just two strokes, and she didn’t think she could endure much more.

‘Come on, Floss,’ cooed Madam Woo coaxingly, ‘this isn’t like you. You’re usually so good for me.’

‘It hurts, Ma’am,’ howled Flossie as two more blows fell, destroying her control altogether. She wanted to be good. Good for her darling mistress. But she seemed to have lost all her fortitude. She waggled her legs furiously as the tawse lashed down again, once, twice, three times. The pain felt like a storm of fire now, blooming in the rounds of her bottom and flowing on down through her belly and her hot, quivering privates. Sliding forward and clawing at the brocade beneath her fingers, she pressed her hungry body against the unyielding arm of the chaise.

‘Wicked girl,’ hissed Madam Woo, not sounding very kind at all now as the tawse began to rain down in earnest.

Flossie couldn’t think straight. She could scarcely form a thought at all. She could only feel the heat and the stinging, burning pain in her bottom. Her whole world seemed grounded in those glowing lobes, and in the hand and the leather that hurt them again and again and again. She whimpered and yowled, and wriggled and rolled on the arm of the uncomforting chaise. And when finally, Madam Woo took her shuddering and helpless across her lap, Flossie wept in both ecstasy and suffering, lifting her red bottom upwards and begging with her flesh for more smacks.

----//----

Oh dear, thought Flossie dolefully the next day, as she stood in the kitchen with the ledger. A stroke had been put through each of her misdemeanours, a red line that ruled them out and deemed them over and dealt with. Closing her hands around her still throbbing bottom, she felt the redness of her other strokes too — the ones that she’d received from Madam Woo — and wished she could go back to the beginning. Be back in that cool, quiet sitting room, across the knee of her mistress, with her plump buttocks naked and ready.

As she dug her fingers into the soreness of her seat, she seemed to see Madam’s sweet face again, her fierce eyes, and the pink-stained palm of her strong right hand as it’d looked — afterwards — when she’d allowed her sobbing maid to kiss it.

‘Oh Madam, how I love you!’ she whispered, squeezing at the marks of her punishment. ‘How I love it when you smack me and you spank me…’

Looking down at the crossed out list, she made a decision, then smiled. Hobbling across to the draining board, she picked up a precious china dish, and smashed it to the floor with a flourish. Without pausing to sweep up the pieces, she returned painfully to the table and the ledger.

Kneading her sore bottom with one hand, and picking up a pencil with the other, she made a start on a brand new list…