Much has been written about stage spankings, but so often little attention has been given to the tradition of backstage spanking traditions and similar escapades at showbiz parties.

Leading ladies and chorus girls were often spanked to bring the production luck, especially if they were new to the cast.

New chorus girls were sometimes hazed and disputes settled with a spanking.

That’s not all.

There are many stories about after production parties where scores were settled and cheeky starlets were put in their place.

Even in recent years Britney Spears was rumoured to have been spanked backstage by Jon Bon Jovi after teasing him.

Back in the 1960s there was a legendary party in Paris attended by no lesser person than Catherine Deneuve and Bridget Bardot. The story goes that one particular new actress tried to stir up trouble between these two screen legends until Ms Deneurve decided to put the girl in her place.

“Come with me little girl,” she said, “I want to show you something.”

Eager for the personal attention of the great actress, the starlet followed he rout of the room. Moments later shrieks were heard and on rushing out, party patrons discovered the former cheeky starlet across Ms Deneurve’s knee for a sound spanking.

The pictures above are a random selection of the moment being captured. The first is unknown and maybe an outtake or publicity still. The second is a ‘staged’ spanking prank of chorus girl caught in a compromising position with the stage manager.

The final one is of horseplay on the back lot of movie stage in 1923.

Digging around on an old hard drive under what appeared to be 100 years of dust and grime some interesting old pictures turned up. It is pretty certain that Great-great grandfather didn’t actually take them (although who knows?) so they were not bequeathed in a will. In fact the exact origins are unknown. A good many were found on a Brazilian vintage erotica blog about two or three years back and the rest have been there even longer. Some of these have been seen before, although as with the ones above, appear to be from a series.

The quality is very variable and some pains have been taken to clean them up. At least eight were somebody’s scans (several were over a thousand pixels across and far too large for usual web publication).

One or two have archive marks denoting a museum collection from about 70 years ago, but most are un-watermarked. No identifying information has been deleted.

Most of the pictures are Edwardian, although some may date from the late Victorian period and one or two are perhaps as recent as the 1920s. Whether or not they were ever included in a ‘what-the-butler-saw’ machine is open to doubt although the first two appear to be consecutive.

Make of them what you will. They will be published in three parts during this coming week.

Found these two pictures in a vintage image folder on the hard drive. No doubt others have posted these before but they are unfamiliar to me.

It is anyone’s guess what is going on in the first picture, but a lot of business men seem to be inspecting a cane mark on the woman’s thigh. It is crying out for a caption competition.

The next picture is equally unusual as it does not look like the run-of-the-mill posed erotica of the time as both women have clear marks as they stand in the corner. The woman on the right even appears to have cane marks.

It has been a while since we have had a little history post. This is a short snippet about a maid probably sometime between the world wars.

As you probably know, in England until the Second World War and even up until the late 1950s the middle classes and even some well-paid workers had ‘a woman’ who would come in to help the lady of the house clean-up and do the laundry.

These were often middle-aged women or poorer neighbours looking to earn some extra cash and who would work for several different employers much like char-ladies or cleaning companies operate for some households now.

Sometimes younger women or especially immediately following both world wars, refugees from Europe, would be more formally engaged as maids and often work for just one family. They rarely lived-in, although this could happen, but as one might imagine in lower class households, where they were perhaps much less likely to stand on ceremony, these girls were often considered a friend or part of the family.

This was all above board and for the most part we can assume not the least spanking-related. However, it seems there was at least one exception as this shows. The exact source of this anecdote is unknown and must be rather dated by now but it was republished on a vanilla blog about social history back in 2006.

It begins with a rant about ‘kids today’ and the usual assertion that ‘a good hiding never did me any harm’ etc.

“Even in our 20s, we could still expect Dad’s belt if we stepped out of line and we never resented it.  One time even Agathe our maid got a good hiding.

She was from Belgium and used to teach me French sometimes. She was only a couple of years older than us and I remember that she used to speak funny. I got the belt once for making fun of her when she first came, but she didn’t mind and was really nice about it.

One day some money went missing from Mum’s housekeeping. It was only a few shillings and most of the money was left alone, which pointed to me or one of my sisters taking it. To be honest we had taken money before, but usually put it back before Mum noticed.

On this occasion as no one owned up the three of us, Kath, Jane and I were all for it despite our protests. Kath and I got walloped arse up over the back of the old settee in the front room one after the over and Jane, who was at work, was to get it when she got home.

I don’t know how Agathe found out, but I remember being surprised to see her on her day off. One look at her face and it was obvious what she had done. Mum was furious, but as she had the money to give back Dad took her to one side and found out she had some problems.

The only thing that bothered me about it was that Jane wasn’t going to get the same as us.

Then as Agathe was about to leave she suddenly stopped and spoke to my Mum. I didn’t hear but the next thing I know she is taken into the front room and after a couple of minutes we hear the sound of a belting.

That was the only time as far as I know and we were all pretty impressed that she took it without fuss. The only time it ever got mentioned after that was when Jane teased Kath, who was the eldest, that she wasn’t too old either and that she herself had got off one.”

One can only speculate as to Agathe true motives that day, but maybe she was even less innocent than she made out. It’s a great story nevertheless and pity that it is only a glimpse into the incident.

Here a couple of vintage pictures that make the most of mirrors to enhance the shot.

The advantages of such pictures, especially in a spanking context, are obvious.

It also makes me think of a comment once made on a spanking forum.

A young lady hated being spanked in public at parties, which is to say she loved hating it. But she couldn’t decide if she minded people seeing her bottom etc most or whether it was trying to avoid people’s eyes.

The mirror can be used to ensure that this is not a dilemma, but not in a way that provides comfort to the young lady in question.

One wonders why the girl in the second picture needs so many mirrors positioned just so for looking at her bottom.

By the way, the last picture is of a very young Joan Crawford who was not unknown in spanking scandals. I hated her as a child; she always seemed so cross and superior. One of my earliest spanking memories was hoping she would get spanked I think.

She did in fact get not one, but two spankings, in the movie ‘Forsaking All Others,’ as you can catch up on in this earlier post.

What follows is reminiscent of the sort of stuff the late Alex Birch used to publish on his blog, A Taste of Birch. In it is not certain it didn’t come from there.  If anyone knows the source just sound off.

Firstly though let’s quote Al Capone, an impeccable source for the maintenance of order, when speaking in the same era he said, “What the young need to day is a good sound strapping on their bare bottoms; especially the girls. The youth of today are quite shocking.”

Much has been written about the spanking of flappers in the 1920s here before, it seems to be a period rich in source material. No doubt the culture clash between ‘moderns’ and an earlier generation who grew-up in an Edwardian or even Victorian era had much to do with it.

Mrs JP Kelly wrote a women’s magazine about her young cousin.

“She is such a trial and our family’s reputation is in ruins. I know for a fact that she not only smokes, but steps out with boys. Even though she had now left home her parents are in despair. Only last week we were called to bail her out of jail after a raid on a speakeasy of all places. My husband was so incensed that he took her out back and spanked her hard on the bare bottom. She was quiet enough after this, but I know it has not cured her. Only last week she was seen out with the most awful boys and I know that she still smokes in public. What are we to do?”

What answer she got is uncertain but other magazines of the time extolled the virtue of “taking a belt to where it would do the most good.”

One contributor had his younger sister moved to the country where he told readers, “There they know how to handle her wilful ways. On the farm even grown-up girls get to feel the switch on their behinds.”

One wonders if they were not overreacting but then there must at least be some sympathy for the father who overheard his daughter express admiration for Bonnie Parker and “spanked her bare bottom until it smoked.”

Then there were the girls who flirted with such things for their own gratification. After all it was at this time that the term spanker-at or slapper-at entered the American language and quickly moved to London.

Here is a short set of three vintage images. One of these pictures I have seen before, but the other two were pulled from two different Tumblr blogs, but do appear to match.

Here are two vintage photographs from TipTopper that I have never before seen.

He sent one other, but it has been published elsewhere recently and I didn’t want to detract form the great find of the other two.

In the first the man seems to be wearing golfing trousers? The woman also seems to have discarded a golfing skirt, so maybe she was caught cheating. In the second the expression on the woman’s face adds authenticity as does the trace of a welt on her flank which is where an fake-artist is unlikely to have placed one.

Stumbled upon these on a Tumblr about all yesteryears. Not having seen two of them before I thought it was worth a post. The garden spanking picture is a colourised version of one I published some time ago.

Some of these have been seen before but there are a couple of new ones on me. I particularly like the banner for an intro with a now lost spanking for Louise White movie.

A Zane Grey novel was the inspiration for the 1928 movie The Water Hole, pictured in the rather graining image above. Spanking was a big theme of this book and featured as a major scene in the movie.

The scene at the top of the stairs with the woman in the diaper position is actually rather racy for the time and it is unusual in that the rather respectable woman being spanked has had the minimum of clothes removed. The authentic feel to the scene suggests that the photographer had real spanking sympathies and wasn’t merely making flage porn.

Anyway here is another selection of spanking flapper pictures.

Not so much flappers as a bit of a flap. This was what those flappers’ fathers were looking at in those ‘gentleman’s’ magazines in the 1920s. Another eclectic mix of spanking drawings sent in by TipTopper.

Here is a selection of vintage photographs that either have spanking or a hint of spanking in them.

My favourite is of the two girls hiding their faces as if indulging in some kind of 1930s Face Book style prank. The spanking undertones are undeniable.

Another interesting photo is the very grainy one that has real signs of marks on her bottom. This is unusual for this genre and suggests a possibility of some authenticity maybe.

The naughty ‘school girl’ who accidentally reveals her bottom is a staple and this is from a famous often seen set. But this actual shot is not commonly seen.

All of these had automatic emergency file names, a consequence of being hastily backed up by my old hard drive, so these could have come from anywhere and have been in my collection since at least 2007 and probably much longer.

On Tuesday there is a brief article about war time spanking photography and its role in morale fro the troops at the front.

The intriguing title was that of a sub-file on my hard drive. Most of the material contained there has been published before, although there were an awful lot of newspaper clippings about spanking that had been collected from various sources and would need typing out for publication at some point.

The 1920s does seem to be a golden era for spanking in this regard.

Among the pictures were dozens of movie stills and clips that most of us have seen before and can be found on Chross’s database if you haven’t.

But I did find the picture above from where Lucien Littlefield spanks his screen adult daughter, Carmelita Geraghty in the 1927 My Best Girl. The scene is different from the one found on Chross and may be a publicity still; Just a little movie snippet to brighten your day.

An old grainy picture from just after the First World War and a bit of 60s fun.

Something pretty random.

Petunia had scouted ahead first to make sure the coast was clear. Well it had been her turn and anyway she was the oldest. That left Amelia ‘Bother’ Botherington and ‘Spiffy’ Susie Watkins to sneak up behind in her train.

They both thought that Petunia, Spiffy’s elder sister, was a bit wet, but she did have her uses. First among these was that she was the oldest of the three and therefore took all the heat when Aunt Hortensia and Uncle Mort were discussing why they were not yet married. Another use of course was that she could easily be impressed upon as the senior girl to take all the risks for them.

The risks being, getting caught after one had sneaked out to the ‘speakeasy’ in town for a snort and a spot of sizing up the boys with some chums. Alcohol not being outlawed in Hampshire, well not yet anyway, the speakeasy was actually the Red Lion, which was hardly that dare as the vicar and his wife were known to frequent it on Friday nights. But that was about as racy as Haughton got and the Country Mouse Flappers, as they were informally known, just had to put up with it.

It didn’t matter that they were all now over 21, well damn well near it in Spiffy’s case, as Aunt Hortensia was of a mind that young women should not be considered sentient until they were at least 30 and even Petunia at 24 just did not yet qualify. As for Amelia and Spiffy, it was unthinkable that they should be anything but seen and not heard.

The thing of it was, that in their own little ways none of the girls entirely disagreed with Hortensia, not in spirit anyway. After all this was Hampshire and there were limits. Nor did it trouble them overmuch that Hortensia and Mort weren’t actually blood relations to either of them. It was just that no girl worth her salt could stand by such fusty rules no matter how sensible; certainly not girls who aspired to be the snazziest flappers in all Hampshire. Well Petunia didn’t, she thought it all very silly. But she didn’t altogether count and anyway she just had to be included otherwise they couldn’t be a club as no one who was anyone had ever heard of a club with only two members.

No it would not do to knuckle under without a rebellion of some sort, it wasn’t the modern way and it certainly wasn’t dare. And in any case, without the danger and friction of rebellion there was just no fun. Getting caught and punished, while tiresome, was just an occupational hazard.

But what neither of the girls was ready to admit was that these carefree days of dare were coming to a close. Amelia even secretly suspected that Petunia had rather set her heart on getting married, although why anyone would want to marry Charles Ingram was anybody’s guess; he was positively ancient.

“Listen up, I think Petunia’s been captured,” Spiffy whispered loudly. Captured sounded so much more dare than caught, she thought with a grim satisfaction.

The bubbly blonde had two little frown lines marring her forehead under short tight curls. Her eyes were just a little too large and deeply blue to be fashionably beautiful, but then as style went she did stick out so in all the wrong places.

“Are you listening to me?” Spiffy hissed.

Amelia eyed Spiffy’s big behind as it made a bid to escape the obscenely short hemline and muttered “ah-huh.”

“I said, I think Petunia’s been caught,” Spiffy whispered again.

Amelia crawled from behind her and alongside to peer around the same corner.

She was somewhat more fashionably sleek than her friend, as was her dark brown hair which was cut to a neat bob that hung to her shoulders to frame her triangle face. The daring fringe covered her brow entirely and was a frequent subject of scolding from Hortensia who was wont to ask, “How ever can you see anything?”

“I think you are right,” Amelia giggled, the aforesaid hair curtaining her face.

“Are those other two frightful girls with you, I thought they were in their room?” Hortensia could be heard saying.

The door to the drawing room must have been open for the house was old and solidly built like Amelia’s grandmother who had once owned it and who had now retired to Brighton. It was a ghastly place, the girl’s always thought, the only thing Amelia liked about it was the black and white checked tiles on the hall floor which matched her favourite dress which was the bees knees.

“Our goose is cooked; shall we go and face the music?” Spiffy suggested.

“Not on your life, that just wouldn’t be jazz. Besides we will be kept in and miss the village dance if we do,” Amelia replied.

Spiffy might have answered that they could always sneak out anyway, but she supposed that was beside the point.

“Come on,” Amelia whispered.

The two girls crawled like the trench-bound Tommie’s they had seen in their childhood news reels, although no British Army sergeant-major would have suffered his men to waddle-so as they moved about on all fours and certainly not with the backsides sticking up in the air.

“Aunt Hortensia, please,” Petunia squealed.

“Mortimer, do your duty,” Hortensia could be heard saying.

“Ooh, oh, this is shameful, I will die,” Petunia whined.

Petunia was so wet, Amelia thought with an eye-roll. But as they got to the door and peeked in they could see the cause of the girl’s distress. She was skirt up, bloomers down with her bare bottom mooning up across Uncle Mort’s knee. Luckily Hortensia was focussed on the sinful girl’s bare behind and did not see the two younger girls in plain view framed by the door. Had the erstwhile flappers indeed been on the Western Front then Kaiser Wilhelm might have had rather more luck in his conquest of France and perpetrating the downfall of the British Empire.

“Ooohch, ah,” Petunia squeaked as his the palm of Mort’s hand stung her bare bottom, “This is awful, oh don’t let him auntie.”

Amelia and Spiffy exchanged smirks and paused far longer than they ought as they enjoyed the proceedings. Then Amelia nudged her friend and on hands and knees they scurried on up the hall to the foot of the stairs.

Inside the drawing room Petunia was spluttering in staccato distress as she yelped and wailed her way to sobsville and a tomato red bottom. Amelia and Spiffy were openly giggling now, so much so that they were heedless of the creaking stairs and this time they were heard.

“Is that you Amelia, Susan?” Hortensia cried.

The two rebels were still in a muddle when the older woman came into the hall and they only just managed to get to their feet.

“Oh there you are,” Hortensia said sharply, “I had feared for a moment that you had been out on some escapade like Petunia here.”

“Oh no, Aunt Hortensia,” Amelia said quickly. It went entirely without notice that Spiffy was still facing up and not down the staircase, an alignment quickly amended by a curt right turn.

“You’re looking for Petunia no doubt,” Hortensia continued her monologue, “Well she has been a total fright, come and see.”

Amelia and Spiffy exchanged looks and then affecting reluctance strolled casually down the stairs to the drawing room.

“Ow,” Petunia yelped as well she might for her bottom was indeed tomato red now and getting darker and shinier by the spank.

“That’s quite enough now. Put the little hellion in the corner for a spell.” Hortensia was becoming bored with the whole affair.

As she was set to her feet you could forget the daggers, Petunia looked bloody great broadswords in her sister and fellow ward’s direction, but not for long. For on sanction of another spanking she was directed to the corner and “on no account let your hem slip.”

“I want to see that naughty bottom until it thoroughly cools down,” Hortensia scolded the girl.

“But auntie I am too old for this and Uncle Mort will see,” Petunia whined even as she obeyed.

“Nonsense girl, now do as you are told,” her guardian snapped, “I don’t know what you are suggesting.”

Uncle Mort did and gave the other two a wink.

What followed was a rather awkward late evening gathering as Petunia cried softly in the corner nursing four very red cheeks while her secret partners in crime tried hard not to giggle as they watched her. The only other sounds were the mantle clock, which painfully pinned the seconds of the young woman’s ordeal, and the occasional rustle of Mort’s newspaper.

Uncle Mort was a stern but friendly cove who was only a little above 40 and who had served with distinction in the Great War. He wasn’t overmuch given to fussy dressing, but he did sport a rather walrus-like moustache that more properly belonged to an earlier age.

Aunt Hortensia was rather younger, although by how much the girls could not tell. She liked to give out that she was a matron of the old school, but she had scarcely been out of school herself when the war had come, although in its dying days she had served as a nurse.

She wasn’t a complete fright when it came to fashion either, and often went in for hobble skirts that had been very dare when she had first obtained womanhood, which if one was not 20 and 21, had not been so very long ago. So quite how it was that she had been chosen to oversee the girls when their respective parents had gone out India, none of them were sure. But everyone agreed that both Mort and Hortensia, for all their posturing, were more relaxed guardians than either of their cane-wielding fathers. Perhaps far too relaxed, Amelia pondered and as she considered this further, she wondered if the Country Mouse Flappers didn’t need a more worthy opponent.

*

“Spiffy,” Amelia said thoughtfully as they lay on her bed.

“Mm,” Spiffy answered absently.

Somewhere Petunia was still crying and Spiffy could well imagine that she was in her room melodramatically lying face down on the bed as she bemoaned that the world was against her. For Spiffy and Amelia it had been a narrow escape and she revelled in the fruitiness of it as much as she might if she had heard that Petunia had been carried off by pirates. Big hairy whip-wielding pirates who would tie one naked to the mast and…

“Spiffy are you listening?”

“Oh… eh, yes, you were just saying…” Spiffy wondered what she had missed.

“I was about to say that don’t you think we get away with cold blooded murder?” Amelia said impatiently.

Spiffy frowned and then sat up.

“I suppose,” she said carefully, “What do you mean exactly?”

“Well I know that we do get caught like Petunia was, sometimes at any rate…” Amelia pondered aloud.

“Not as often as poor old Petunia,” Spiffy scoffed as she cut in.

Amelia joined her in a laugh and then frowned again.

“Yes, but what I mean is…” she sighed, “Look what if we never got caught?”

“Not ever?” Spiffy tried the idea on for size and wasn’t sure what that world would look like.

“Not ever,” Amelia said emphatically, “Just hypothetically I mean.”

“Oh hypo-whatsit, well I suppose it would be rather fun in a way…” but she broke off uncertainly.

“Would it though? I mean wouldn’t things get a little dull? Think of the village dance. It is a dreadful little commonplace jig when you think about it. So why do we go?” Amelia was excited now and willed her friend to see what she was driving at.

Spiffy pushed her lower lip out and shrugged.

“Because Hortensia doesn’t like us mixing with the apprentices and those travelling salesmen types I suppose,” she finally decided.

Amelia winced and made a gesture which asked ‘and so?’

“If we push her too far then we have to box clever or she boxes more than our ears,” Spiffy answered with a shrug.

Amelia sat up and tucked her legs under her knees excitedly and bounced up and down.

“Yes that’s what I mean, we don’t want to get caught but it is always possible. Get captured and pay the piper. Otherwise it is just like a game of forfeits without the forfeits.” Amelia’s eyes danced as she studied Spiffy for a glimmer of understanding.

“But… it’s not that big a deal anyway is it? I mean… well I mean, listen to Petunia, she absolutely hates a smacked botty and having Uncle Mort see her bare behind but we…” Spiffy began to see what Amelia was driving at.

“…we know that it is pretty grim when it happens, but afterwards it is just a bit of a lark. You know like at school, we compare marks and rub on a bit of cold cream and it all gets a little bit… you know…” Amelia completed Spiffy’s sentence with a blush.

“Yes well a young lady doesn’t talk about that kind of thing,” Spiffy said pompously.

“Well forget that part then, but we can’t can we? I mean to say, it’s like…”

“Pirates,” Spiffy said excitedly.

“If you like,” Amelia wasn’t sure, she always thought about white slavers, but maybe it was the same.

“It would hardly be exciting if they only spanked a girl,” Spiffy said in a dreamy voice. She thought about shameful exposure and whips and…

It was the same then, Amelia thought and blushed again and then mockingly said, “By Jove she’s got it,” covering her own little foible. Then she added with a sigh, “At last.”

“Oh I see, you think… what do you think?” and then with less certainty Spiffy asked, “I mean I get it… I think, but… well what can we do about it?”

“We need to up the stakes a bit,” Amelia said thoughtfully, “We need to give Hortensia more opportunity to catch us, you know, to test our mettle a bit, but also we need…”

“…bigger consequences, I know, I see that, or at least, I see what you mean. But even supposing I agree, how do we… arrange that?” Spiffy sometimes despaired of Amelia’s grasp of the details.

Amelia thought of writing to their fathers and letting slip that they were running wild, but they might send for them or pack them off to Brighton. But at least it was an option worth considering. But then what? It might get Petunia a good thrashing, she paused to think of the older girl howling under the cane or worse, but it wouldn’t make Hortensia any better at catching them, would it?

Not that she wanted to get capture. But it didn’t seem very dare of them to be able to get away with so much and face so little consequence on the few occasions they were caught.

“What about that mad bird, what was her name? Mable something, you know, that friend of Hortensia who is awfully Bohemian and a stickler for discipline at the same time.

“You mean Edwina Maple,” Amelia gushed, “Oh yes, she is very modern, well after a fashion, such strange ideas. If we invited her down for the summer and…”

The two young women got into a huddle and began to draw up plans.

*

It took a lot of dare and rebellious thinking; not to mention a couple of undignified sacrifices, but finally Amelia and Spiffy came up with a plan.

For the purposes of their operation they had to exclude Petunia, which meant their little club had to have sub-committee or a club within a club, the name of which had yet to be decided. Abortively they had kicked around a few ideas whilst writing letters to both their fathers and a certain Edwina Maple; all in the name of Uncle Mort and Aunt Hortensia of course. There were no outright lies, but just hints that advice would be welcome.

“What about the Hellfire Girls,” Spiffy suggested.

“Catchy, but it does rather outshine the Country Mouse Flappers for a name,” Amelia said doubtfully, “Besides it does sound rather mannish.”

“Oh we can’t have that,” Spiffy agreed.

“What about the Devil May Care Club?” Amelia fluttered her eyelashes, this was quite fun.

“Oh yes, the Devil May Care Club for Beastly Punishments,” Spiffy made moustache with her pen and fluttered back.

“Oh quite dreadful punishments,” Amelia giggled, “We shall be keelhauled naked in front of the townsmen’s guild.”

“And whipped.”

“And thrashed until we can’t stand up.”

“Or sit down,” Spiffy said archly.

The girls collapsed in heap of giggles.

*

Miss Edwina Maple was youngish and had style. She wasn’t exactly a flapper, being an actual woman above 30, but nevertheless Amelia and Spiffy thought she was very dare. She wore her reddish brown hair bobbed like Amelia’s, but she had her fringe just on her eyebrows for that more intelligent appearance. The flapper look was modified in other ways too. For instance she wore black and white checks, but small ones, and none of her hemlines rose above three or four inches below the knee.

The only thing about her Amelia didn’t like was the woman’s nose. It was too big and pointed, so quite marred her beauty and made her look hawkish. Spiffy didn’t agree, although she didn’t say so. But she did rather think Edwina’s eyes were rather calculating, cynical even.

Now they were all sitting in the garden. Well, all but Amelia and Spiffy who had opted to stand and lean against the balustrade between the veranda and the rose garden; the consequence of a bothersome but necessary part of their plan.

Only the day before Amelia and Spiffy had been ‘caught’ coming in late with the distinct smell of alcohol on their breath. Mort had spanked them both soundly and after an hour in the corner they had been sent to bed without supper.

“You are having trouble with your girls,” Edwina said simply.

Hortensia who had rather a short-term view of the world quite forgot that she hardly ever caught the girls out and instead remembered recent events as typical and asked, “How ever did you know?”

“You wrote to me,” Edwina replied, not the least surprised that Hortensia had forgotten.

“Did I? Oh… I must have done,” Hortensia said hesitantly. Then she remembered the letters from Major Botherington and Colonel Watkins out in India. “That’s what messrs Botherington and Watkins told me. How did they know? Both letters arrived within the week.”

“You make them sound like a music hall act,” Edwina said pleasantly.

Mort and Charles Ingram both laughed, the latter having called on the off chance of something. No one but Edwina noticed, but Charles stole a glance at Petunia.

“The gels parents don’t you know,” Hortensia said seriously.

Edwina leaned forward and patted her friend’s arm and said, “I had rather gathered that.”

“Oh yes I see,” Hortensia affected to laugh.

“What did the good military gentlemen advise?” Edwina asked.

“Oh the usual parental cautions, the colonel even said I was too soft on them, but he did refer me to an old disciplinary colleague of his, a certain Major Merriman.” Hortensia sighed, “He said the man might have some ideas if we needed them, but left it up to Mort and I”

“And does he?” Edwina asked casually without looking up from stirring her tea.

“Major Merriman recommended a good dose of the cane and even went as far as to suggest the birch rod after a sound… oh, what was it? Something to do with figs or ginger or some such diet…. What do you think? ” Hortensia took on a pensive look and leaned forward as if she might miss some great pearls of wisdom from her friend. She was desperate to appear modern, but she didn’t want to let anyone down, least of all the girls.

Edwina ran her eye over the three young women and allowed a small delicate smile to play across her lips. Spiffy glanced at Amelia who was doing her best to look demure, but Miss Maple looked like a cat a mouse; a country mouse perhaps.

“You know I think I can help you. What else did the major say?” Edwina asked innocently.

To most definitely and daringly be concluded…

A conclusion to yesterday’s tale.

The cigarettes were foul and even Amelia suspected that walking down the middle of the road after midnight whilst swigging a bottle of brown ale was less than ladylike. But Spiffy had to agree that it was very dare and totally modern.

“I don’t really like smoking,” Amelia spluttered and made as if she had a bit of fluff on the end of her tongue.

Spiffy took a long drag as if savouring a fine wine and then coughed.

“I do see what you mean,” Spiffy said absently, “Perhaps we should try absinthe instead.”

“Or opium,” Amelia agreed.

“Is that dare? I mean I had a great uncle who smoked opium and he was ancient. And didn’t Sherlock Holmes smoke the beastly stuff too?” Spiffy asked.

“Sherlock… oh you mean the deerstalker chappie, detective of some sort wasn’t he? Surely that is quite dare.” Amelia countered.

“Well yes it would be but…” Spiffy took another slow awkward drag on her cigarette and coughed. By that time she had quite forgotten what she was saying and drank some more brown ale instead.

An owl hooted nearby and both girls stopped and tried to spot the bird in the old oak at the side of the lane; it who-hooed them again. Spiffy wondered if owls hunted better in the full moonlight and switched her gaze to the silver sphere that seem to be caught in the spindly branches of a beech tree. It was quite beautiful, she thought, and tons better than smoking.

“I have been thinking,” Amelia said.

“Well you should, it is the modern way and totally dare,” Spiffy said encouragingly.

“No silly, I mean I was thinking about this Major Merriman chap that Edwina introduced Hortensia to,” Amelia said seriously, “Or was it the other way about? Anyway… eh… what was I saying? Oh yes. I mean he is rather handsome and all that.”

“Jolly strange though,” Spiffy countered. She remembered his swagger stick and comments like ‘fillies need a damn good thrashing now and then.’

They had met the man yesterday and Edwina, who had now become more or less a permanent feature in the household, had persuaded Hortensia to let him come to stay also. He was a tall ramrod straight sort of cove with broad shoulders and the most distinguished sideburns. Amelia had been quite smitten from the first, although she had to reluctantly admit that a man who was at least as old as Hortensia could not be very modern and certainly wasn’t dare.

“Remind me, are we getting captured tonight or not?” Amelia asked.

“Oh not, I think, my behind is still a little tender from that last spanking and while the major is around… well you know, corner time and all that,” Spiffy wrinkled her nose in distaste, although that might have been on account of the cigarette that she now surrendered to the roadside with a flick.

Amelia’s stomach did a little flip and she thrilled at the thought. Were army majors like pirates, she wondered? But she thought it better not to ask.

“Hortensia will be in bed by now anyway,” Amelia sighed. The woman was really no challenge when it came to japes.

*

The side window was open as they had left it and gaining entry to the back room was no challenge at all. But Spiffy imagined that she was sneaking aboard an anchored ship and made to be quieter than she needed. Although usually up for such games, for some reason Amelia wondered if the army took women and wondered what the discipline was like.

“Oh what oh,” Spiffy gushed as they finally made it.

“What oh,” Amelia agreed half-heartedly.

The only real risk was getting up the one hall past the drawing room where, if they were up, Hortensia and uncle Mort would be sitting. But tonight the door was closed with no sign of a light from under it. Amelia felt a pang of disappointment at the challenge.

A dull thud followed by a slow rattle then a clunk startled them. With a giggle both girls hunched down and shushed each other. Somewhere up the hall from the stairs was some masculine laughter and another rattle-roll of what they now realised was a game of billiards in progress. From the sound of it, Mort, Charles and Major Merriman were still up and at it with the whisky and cigars.

Spiffy rolled her eyes and stood up.

“Come on,” she said, “Up the wooden hills to Bedfordshire.”

Amelia cast an inquisitive glance at the billiard room door and the shrugged her agreement. There was no point being quiet now, Hortensia would be deep in the arms of Morpheus and there was no chance of being captured. Indeed, once they reached the top of the stairs they could hear the sound of rather feminine heavy rhythmic breathing that was akin to, but mercifully short of actual snoring.

“Good evening ladies,” Edwina said brightly as she stepped from the shadows, “We were looking for you earlier for a four at bridge, but you were not in your rooms.”

Spiffy lurched visibly and Amelia’s head prickled from the sudden shock and she clutched her chest in fright.

“Oh you gave us quite a scare,” Spiffy gasped.

“I sent Hortensia to bed, but I thought I had better wait up for you,” Edwina said pleasantly, “After all your guardians have asked me to help oversee your guidance.”

“How kind,” Amelia said in a neutral voice.

“Yes, quite,” Spiffy was more nervous.

“Where have you been to such an hour?” Edwina sounded stern now, as she could be when the theatre of her life demanded it.

The girls exchanged looks, each wondering if the other had the same buzz of nerves.

“Just to the speakeasy,” Amelia said carelessly.

“The where?” Edwina wondered if she had misread the situation.

“She means the Red Lion,” Spiffy supplied hastily, “It is alright, the padre goes there all the time.”

“Is this the same Red Lion that Hortensia and Mort have specifically forbidden you to frequent or is there another?” Edwina said tartly.

“It looks like we’re captured Spiffs,” Amelia said more breezily than she felt.

In fact she hadn’t felt as apprehensive about getting caught in mischief since she had come out and landed on Hortensia from school at 18.

“You have been naughty, naughty girls and both deserve a good sound spanking on your bare bottoms,” Edwina said with faux severity and not a little relish.

Amelia felt a rush of blood to her head and words caught in her throat as Spiffy muttered something she didn’t catch.

“I suppose we had better get it over with then,” Spiffy added sullenly. “Will you… or Uncle Mort…?”

Then she remembered the major and Charles would be present and felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

“Oh no, I think not. You are too accustomed to a quick smack bottom and some transitory shame. I have your measure my sweet young girls; you are brats both of you. I am going to see that you are disciplined properly for a change. Now go to bed and think on that,” Edwina told them.

“Yes ma’am,” Amelia whispered almost meekly, but Spiffy was more spirited and glared at the woman.

Then Later in Amelia’s room they both lay on the bed looking up at the gently spinning ceiling.

“This is a rum do,” Spiffy said angrily. “I mean I know we wanted to make the rebellion worthwhile and invited in some decent opposition, but how were we to know the rules had changed. Surely we deserve a by? And now we know this Edwina is no pushover we can be more careful.”

“What do you think she will do to us?” Amelia whispered with dread and a hint perhaps of eagerness.

“Oh, I bet we will get a spanking from Mort and that will be the end of it,” Spiffy sounded almost disappointed.

“But the major and Charles…” Amelia gasped as she remembered.

Spiffy clutched at her friend in wide-eyed horror. This was beastly, she thought, but maybe, she consoled herself, it was also a little dare too.

*

The following afternoon, glad for once to not be the centre of attention, Petunia had taken Charles’s arm and had persuaded him to go for a walk with her. This was a blessed relief to Amelia and Spiffy who now only had the Major to contend with as a witness when they were punished; and that was quite embarrassing enough.

“I say, are you sure about this?” Mort asked as he eyed the two girls standing on the veranda dressed only in short slips and their stockings.

Hortensia too looked uncomfortable but seemed to be mollified when Edwina nodded.

“Persistent fault displays disrespect,” the Major said evenly.

“Quite so,” Edwina agreed.

Only Mort looked unconvinced, an attitude perhaps subliminally transferred to the Major, for the latter rose from his garden chair and made to leave.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said to Mort.

Spiffy was openly relieved, although Amelia felt a strange pang of regret for some reason and closed her eyes. She could see Major Merriman on a horse in a white uniform and chewed on her lip.

“Just a minute,” Edwina interjected, “Hortensia… don’t you think we could avail ourselves of the major’s expertise?”

Hortensia looked indecisive and Mort frowned.

That morning the guests and they had come to an understanding about how to proceed.

“You remember what we discussed?” Edwina pressed them.

“Ah…” Mort stroked his moustache and became pensive.

“You really think they deserve to be caned?” Hortensia asked.

Spiffy gaped and Amelia opened her eyes in horror. The garden held birdsong now to torment them with the ordinariness of the day.

“Surely major, you are a man of the world and when duty calls…?” Edwina sounded exasperated.

“Put like that,” Mort said, his eyes now firmly on his wife.

Hortensia blushed and wondered if all of this wasn’t getting beyond her control.

“Can’t you cane them yourself Mort?” she tendered.

Spiffy tried to catch Hortensia’s eye with a significant look of protest but Amelia could only shrink into herself and tugged down the front of her slip as she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

“Spank them soundly yes, duty and all that, but caning is an expert job,” Mort said thoughtfully, “Must be done properly for the girl’s sake.”

“And as for the rest…” Edwina said demurely.

“Oh yes,” Hortensia said brightly, having forgotten the details again.

“Oh I… I think perhaps for gentle young ladies… my remarks were for…” the Major was decidedly uncomfortable now and wished he hadn’t spoken. Earlier he had been thinking of the tough army wives and the rugged courtesan types who required figging before a caning just to get them to take notice.

“I have some experience of these delicate matters,” Edwina offered, knowing his mind. However she had already resolved to suggest that such things be reserved for future use. Not that she thought the girls weren’t ready. No it was their aunt who was too soft.  “Hortensia, make your mind up to it, these girls have been running rings around you for months. They are laughing at you.”

“We weren’t laughing,” Amelia blurted.

Hortensia gave her a sharp look.

“But you have been playing me up and running rings… well as Edwina says?” she said.

Neither girl answered and dipped their heads.

“That’s it,” Mort growled getting to his feet.

He grabbed the nearest girl, in this instant Amelia, and dragged her across his lap. Her slip rose behind and offered the assembled grown-ups a good view of her fashionably pert derrière.

“I say,” the Major gasped.

Previously Mort had spanked to get attention, being somewhat apprehensive about harming his charges, but today his eyes had been opened and thoroughly fed up with his wife’s handling of things brought the full weight of his arm down with a will.

“Uncle Mort,” Amelia shrieked.

“Uncle Mort nothing my girl,” Mort snapped and spanked her again as the opening to a long volley.

“Ooh, it wasn’t meant to be like this,” Amelia wailed, her legs kicking theatrically like a woman running in a hobble skirt. “Ah… Mort… I mean Sir… I mean ahh…”

Spiffy clapped her hands to her mouth and watched her friends spanking with awe.

“Major, you have a cane to hand?” Edwina said quietly in his ear.

He nodded dumbly, his eyes still locked on Amelia’s pretty behind, which to his mind was by now pretty red.

“Perhaps you could fetch it,” Edwina whispered, adding gently, “Once they are waiting in the corner of course.”

Major Merriman nodded.

*

The spanking over, a rather tearful Amelia was made to stand and face the outside wall on the veranda with her hands on her head so that the hem of her short slip rose up off her bare bottom.

Mort had then turned his attention to Spiffy who made an even bigger fuss as she was spanked.

“Got a seat for it any rate,” the Major said in admiration.

But although he was appreciative of Susan Watkins heroic bottom, it was the more slender dark haired Amelia that held his focus.

Mort spared no efforts on Spiffy and spanked her for even longer than he had spanked Amelia. He reasoned that a he had set his head on two completely red bottoms and if Susan needed more work it was his duty to supply the effort.

“Oh gosh, Uncle Mort, Sir, ouch, please, nooo ouch…” Spiffy wailed out protests as they came to mind, “This really isn’t jazz, ooh…”

No but perhaps it is very, very dare, Amelia thought from her position in the corner. Despite fact that her face was hot enough to boil water for tea on, she couldn’t help wondering what Major Merriman thought of her.

“Now my girl, let that be a lesson to you,” Mort scolded as he finally allowed Spiffy to stand.

“Oh we are far from done yet I think,” Edwina said ominously.

Amelia thought of white slavers and gulped. Spiffy thought that her bottom stung worse than it ever had, damn Amelia and her crazy plans. She risked a look over her shoulder at Mort. He was not exactly the answer to a maiden’s prayers, but he did look a little pirate-like she supposed.

*

“The young can be so very foolish,” Petunia said imperiously.

She and Charles had returned from their walk in time to see the first caning. Now the two of them sat taking tea with the Major, Mort, Edwina and Hortensia while Amelia and Spiffy heaved sobbing breaths as they struggled with ‘corner time.’ Only the corner was in fact the flat wall next to the French windows where they both stood with the hands on their head and bare bottoms neatly displayed.

Earlier Charles and Petunia had watched Major Merriman slice a dark rattan cane across Amelia’s bare bottom as she bucked a yelled whilst leaning over the back of a garden chair. It was obviously quite an ordeal for the girl as well as a vigorous assault on her dignity.

The Major had ordered her to bend right over and thrust her bare bottom back at him as he struck in hard with the cane. Each biting stroke laid expertly one below the other. Every three or four strokes he had stopped and scolded her to make her keep position, a trial that she failed so often that in the end she received no less than seven penalty strokes on top of her allotted 12.

“Oh you beast, you beast,” Amelia sobbed once the correction was complete.

“Not a bit of it,” Major Merriman said severely, “You deserved every one of those.”

“I suppose,” Amelia sniffed, “But… ooh, it h-hurts so.”

“Meant to my girl, and I hope you have learned your lesson,” the Major scolded her.

“Oh yes indeed Sir,” Amelia said earnestly, “Well quite for the moment anyway. Although I expect…”

“That’s the ticket. Keep up this attitude and I’ll take you into London next week and a spot of dinner,” Merriman said brusquely, “Now for the other one.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” Spiffy said wringing her hands.

“Cane does the talking and if you don’t listen I’ll have Miss Maple here take you inside for a good figging and you’ll spend the afternoon thinking on it before hand,” the Major barked at her.

“But, but, but…” all she could think was Petunia seemed to have Charles and now Amelia was well on the way to securing the Major, who did she have?

“No but’s about it, bend over that chair at once or I will certainly offer you some penalties,” Merriman ordered.

Spiffy made more of a fuss than she ever had and once Petunia was settled in her seat she couldn’t help but to tease as she had once been teased.

“Don’t be so wet Susie, you know you thoroughly deserve a drubbing, now be a good sport and present your big BTM as you should or I will be compelled for family honour’s sake to ask the Major to give you another dozen. Isn’t that right Aunt Hortensia?” she chortled.

“I-I suppose it is. Come on Susan do attend, after all this is for your own good,” Hortensia chided her young charge.

But unused to quite so robust a punishment, Spiffy yelled quite a bit and on several occasions she launched herself upright, bringing the proceedings to a halt.

“Now do that again and I will start the whole thing over,” the Major cautioned.

“I am so dreadfully sorry,” Spiffy wept, “But it does hurt so… yeow.”

The next stroke interrupted her apologies and she shot to an upright position and clamped her hands to her throbbing bottom.

“Very well,” Major Merriman sighed, “We will start again.”

Spiffy, who had already had near a dozen plus a few penalties spluttered into sobs, but profusely apologising she bent back over and offer up her behind for sacrifice. In fact it wasn’t until much of the afternoon was stowed away and more tea was ordered that Spiffy joined Amelia at the wall.

“They have been thoroughly dealt with in my view,” Charles offered as he took in the welted tramlines that stood out on both girls’ reddened tails.

“Do you approve Charlie?” Petunia gushed, taking the man’s arm.

“Indeed I do,” Charles replied, “You can expect a good dose of the same once we are married if I get one jot of trouble from you.”

“Oh yes Charlie,” Petunia agreed even as she blushed.

“Do I take it…? Do you have an understanding Petunia?” Hortensia asked eagerly.

“Oh yes Aunt, Charlie popped the question and I… oh look,” Petunia offered up a ring she had been shielding from eyes.

The all-round congratulations were interrupted only by Edwina who cautioned, “And don’t think you are out of the woods yet as far as the Major and I are concerned,” she scolded her, “You will deport yourself like a lady from now on and you can expect the same until you are safely married.”

Petunia blushed but didn’t argue.

No one noticed Amelia looking back over her shoulder to catch the Major’s eye, no one but the major that was; and he winked.

The end of this cycle.