Yesterday morning I watched a wonderful English period piece (that period being early 19th century). Our heroine was from very common stock yet she had an uncommon imagination. She parlayed this advantage of hers into a series of floridly romantic novels that became all the rage among the young female readers of the day; much to the wonderment of her humble working class family. She soon had them ensconced in a grand estate. Many subplots and trysts ensued, making for delightful early morning entertainment. The movie was adapted from a book written by Elizabeth Taylor. I thought, wow! who knew Liz had such a fine Victorian novel in her!? Alas it was another Elizabeth Taylor who lived in England during that period. She was likened to Jane Austin in her writings.
When the movie was over, as it was still somewhat dark, I found my eyelids getting heavy and I knew it was time for my morning nap... I stretched back in my lazy boy and gratefully surrendered to the arms of Morpheus to sleep...perchance to dream...
Prudence awoke to the keening of the peacocks on the great lawn. She brushed her chestnut locks from her eyes and contemplated another day at Maundering Hall, the great estate of The Earl of Somerset, Lord Edgar Chichester III. Prudence had been favored with exceptional good looks (her large doe eyes of hazel flecked with gold and her flawless alabaster skin) and she had been much admired by all in the little country village of Somerset where she had been raised. That did not change the fact that she came from a family of decidedly low pedigree. Her father was the village cobbler and spent his days bent over his work table squinting in the poor light of the few candles the family could afford, turning out the modest and somewhat misshapen footwear worn by the local villagers, peasants all. For this long and arduous labor he was paid mere tuppence which forced her poor mother, despite six mouths to feed, to spend hours every day laboring as a fish monger. From six in the morning till almost tea, she wheeled her rickety wooden barrow through the muddy cobble stoned streets. In a large wicker basket lay the day's catch. "Herring! Lovely Fresh Sole! I've got cockles and mussells alive alive-o!"
Her parent's meager income could not support such a large family and it was decided, with much sorrow and many tears, that Prudence, being the most presentable of the litter, should go into service. Thus she found herself waking in the predawn to the cries of the peacocks to begin another long and arduous day as a scullery maid at Maundering Hall. In service, the scullery maid is at the bottom of the pecking order. Her first duties of the day consisted of cleaning out the hearths above stairs from the former night's fires. If there were any hot embers still banked they were to be snuffed out before she was to lay the day's new fires. She was to tidy up around the hearth and see to it that the brass andirons and all the fire tools were polished to a gleaming shine. In laying the day's fires she had to make sure that all the paper, kindling and firewood were laid, just so, to the satisfaction of the master. If a flaming brigand were to fall from the fire and cause smoke to escape the chimney she could expect the traditional punishment.
The master, it must be said, took some delight in administering this 'mild' bit of discipline. Such discipline consisted of the offending scullery maid and the master retiring to his private quarters whereupon the poor maid was made to bend over the master's lap and a robust spanking of her bare bottom ensued. The strokes were delivered directly by the master's bare hand and humiliated more than injured. The spanking usually elicited a spout of tears from the unfortunate victim and the master soothed the poor girl by gently caressing her sore and reddened bum...
Prudence found that, no matter how carefully she laid the fire, she couldn't seem to avoid the master's gleeful attention to the administering of this 'mild' discipline. Eventually, she resigned herself to taking it all in stride and chalking it up to being, despite her prettiness, the lowest girl in service. One evening she was surprised to learn that Lord Chichester III's eldest son, Master Edgar Chichester IV, had gallantly offered to relieve his father of this burdensome punishment. Prudence found herself blushing at the thought of the young master seeing-- perhaps admiring--her tender, virginal white flesh in such an intimate area. The young master was a handsome and cocksure young man giving to fox hunting, grouse shooting and other such sport favored by the landed gentry. She had often found herself admiring his handsome aristocratic countenance and thought she had seen him, occasionally, return her furtive looks. With some trepidation flavored with a certain aroused excitement, she found herself being led into the young master's bed chambers. "Now Prudence, dear, you know it has long been tradition here at Maundering Hall to instruct the staff, especially the young female servants, in the proper execution of their duties. This instruction occasionally calls for a bit of mild discipline. The spanking you are about to receive should be viewed only as a bit of punishment for a job not properly done and nothing else. As I lift your skirt and apron and pull down your panties and bend you over my thighs, I want you to know, dear Prudence, that this deed is as distasteful to you as it is to me."
The young master then proceeded to accomplish the aforementioned undressing and commenced the spanking. Prudence was surprised at the relative gentleness of his touch and found herself tingling with a strange pleasure at his...
Suddenly I woke with a spasm in my injured right shoulder. What the hell was that? I was caught in a dream from some Barbara Cartland novel! I don't know whether to blame the English breakfast tea or my early morning movie. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. Too bad I woke up before I found out if I was eventually going to be 'rodgered' by the handsome young Edgar Chichester IV... I sometimes call my friend Nicole in the morning in the hopes of catching her before she embarks on her busy day. "Sneedy! What are you up to you wascally wed headed wabbit, you!" said I. "If you must know", said she, "I'm wearing the quilted bed jacket my dear late mother gave me and I'm propped up by my collection of fluffy pillows. I'm eating my breakfast bon bons and reading the latest Barbara Cartland novel. I'm going to cut this short because I have to find out if the young master is going to have his way with the fair young scullery maid. Goodbye and don't call me back! I'll call you later, if I've a mind to!" (with apologies to Nicole who, as far as I know, doesn't read "those kinds of novels". All in good fun, Sneedy!
Love and disses, Mickey da Mayor
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