‘Corporal, I don’t like to be kept waiting! My orders are to be acted upon immediately!’
Feeling her stomach swirling with unaccustomed sensations, she replied, ‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir, at once.’ Fingers fumbling, she unbuckled her belt and unbuttoned her trousers and pushed them down to knee-height. Even though she was wearing rough and itchy long-johns, she felt naked before him. Her face reddened with shame – and something else. What was it, though? Anticipation, daring, devilment?
The tip of the cane flicked the flap at the rear of her long-johns and sent an odd spasm through her loins. ‘Sir?’ she whispered.
‘I used to chastise my late wife, soldier.’
‘Yes, sir.’ On impulse, she added, ‘I’m sorry for your loss, General.’
‘Aye. Thank you, Corporal. You know, I used to chastise her on her bare ass.’
Inwardly, Charley groaned, knowing and fearing what he was going to demand next.
‘Bare yours, Corporal.’
Without replying, Charley reached behind her and unbuttoned the flap at her bottom; it dropped down and she was surprised to experience a flow of pleasure as she felt a draught of air on her exposed buttocks. It didn’t seem possible, but her face was hotter still at this ignominy.
‘Good. Obedience is very necessary – remember that, soldier.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll do anything you require, General, just please don’t muster me out,’ she begged. ‘I promised our parents I’d look after our Jimmy.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, ‘though I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Now, bend yourself across my desk. But gently does it, I don’t want this week’s campaign torn.’
‘Sir,’ she whimpered, suddenly conscious that it would not only be her naked bottom visible to her superior officer. Obediently, Charley carefully leaned over the trestle table, her chest on top of the war map, offering up her white twin globes.
‘Delightful. You shall get six strikes against you, soldier. Will you accept this punishment?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied weakly and bit her lip in anticipation of the pain. It was a long time since her father had laid into her with the strap, and not on bare flesh either; usually when she’d been defending weak-willed Jimmy.
The sudden stinging across both her buttocks made her gasp; it was so unexpected in its timing and sheer refined pain. She clenched her fists and tried to study the map, but all the words were upside down. Her head swam and she felt giddy. And that was only the first of six.
‘Plead for another stroke, Corporal.’
Taking it as an order, Charley gritted her teeth and said, ‘Please cane me again.’
‘Politely,’ he remonstrated and lashed out, hitting her left globe at an angle.
She winced and felt sure she could sense the welt already rising there. Her lower lip trembled and she bit it.
‘That was an extra stroke, because you didn’t address me correctly.’
‘Sorry, General,’ she whimpered. ‘Please cane me again, General. I deserve it!’
‘That’s more like it!’
The next stroke caught her right buttock.
‘Four to go!’ the general explained, his voice taking on a thick throaty tone.
Charley closed her eyes, willing those incipient tears at the corners to dry up. She noticed that there was a surprisingly warm tingling around her bottom. It wasn’t the heat of pain, though – she had her memories of her father’s strap to compare. This was something quite alien to her experience.
The next strike caught her unawares; lower down, where the buttocks met the tops of her legs. It should have been uncomfortably painful, yet her body responded in an unlikely manner. She sensed a warm moistness between her legs. It was a familiar sensation; she’d enjoyed Josh Trent’s clumsy attentions in the barn those weeks before Jimmy was called up. But why on earth should the general’s cane evoke such private and, she had to admit, quite exquisite, emotions? Right now, she wanted to hide, the shame of this was too much.
‘Three to go, my dear!’
She nodded, and a pervasive longing for more threshed through her body. She felt her pelvis pressed against the table and her simple awareness of her sexuality spurred her on. Boldly, she said, ‘Punish me, General, I deserve it!’
‘As you wish!’ The cane descended again and her entire lower regions felt on fire. At no time before had she experienced such longing.
‘Two more, dearest corporal!’ His words seemed thick with desire.
She arched her bottom towards him, wanting – no, needing – more. ‘Cane me again, General, please!’ she panted, her high cheekbones warm and flushed, as were the cheeks of her bottom.
A fiery inferno almost engulfed her inner being as the cane hit crosswise over all the other welts. She hissed and felt a slight leakage of desire dribble down her inner thighs. Where only seconds before she would have been mortified at her body’s brazen response, now she was revelling in it. She moaned. ‘Again, General, again!’
When it came, the stroke of the cane was almost tender, virtually kissing her flesh, the tip a mere whisker away from her aroused vulva. Shamelessly, she knew her whole body was straining and trembling with need.
Charley bit her tongue, aware that she must not ask for more, no matter how she desired it. Instinctively, she knew that it was not her place to ask for anything now. She must abase herself and willingly take the punishment.
When she felt the general’s large hand brush across her inflamed buttocks, she flinched slightly and almost lost control, aching for release.
His demeanour and touch seemed gentle, in stark contrast to moments ago when he had administered the punishment.
From somewhere he produced a salve and used his finger to tenderly trace it over the weals on her bottom. ‘It is an old Indian remedy, from the aloe, they say,’ he explained gently. The salve cooled the cane marks yet at the same time made her entire bottom and groin tingle quite pleasurably.
‘It will heal you quickly,’ he said.
Her voice was strangely velvety. ‘I don’t think you can heal me, General.’
He chuckled faintly. ‘No, I suppose not. Once you have the taste for it, you cannot deny yourself.’
‘No,’ she purred, as two of his fingers slid down into her thoroughly wet and oozing slit. She moaned and squirmed on the table.
‘I want you, Corporal,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘but just say the word and we will end it. And you can leave the Army.’
‘Take me, General,’ she breathed.
By now, his manhood had been released and she welcomed him into her moist cleft.
His hands gently held her shoulders as they began to thrust against each other.
Despite his earlier concerns about the fragility of the war-table, it withstood their considerable passion.
Two days later, Charley was again standing to attention in General Slocum’s tent. ‘Corporal, I find that your Commander has put you on a charge. Is this true?’
‘Yes, General,’ Charley replied.
Slocum detected an amused glint in her hazel eyes. Her hair was wheat-coloured, unkempt and covering her ears. The lantern light tended to accentuate the contours of her face, notably the high cheekbones and the upturned end of her nose. Her upper lip was quite thick and he found himself wanting to kiss her. ‘What was the charge?’
‘I deserted my post, General, and captured two rebs who were attempting to make off with our livestock, sir.’
Slocum stood and walked round his desk, eyeing her, tapping the cane against his boot. The closer he got, the more she reminded him of his late wife, Dora, who’d been taken away with the cholera, God bless her soul. ‘Deserting your post. That’s a serious charge, Corporal.’
‘I appreciate that, sir.’ She thrust out her chest proudly. ‘I’m ready for any punishment, General.’
‘Very well. Drop your britches.’
He was pleased to note that this time she had already divested herself of the undergarments. No
w he was faced with her pale firm buttocks, each faintly blemished from the earlier punishment. He lowered the cane and walked towards her.
‘Sir?’ she queried, noticing he was standing by her side.
‘Bend over the table, Corporal, just like before.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She leaned over the map and offered up her backside.
Forcefully, he slapped a hand down hard on the right cheek and she let out a half-gasp, half-grunt. He felt the sting of her flesh on his palm and noted the red hand-impression he’d left behind. ‘This is just as pleasurable, but more intimate, don’t you think, Corporal?’
‘Yes, sir. It surprised me, though.’
‘Well, you must be more careful and not make a habit of defying the orders of your superiors.’ He slapped the other cheek and he was staring down at a matching pair of flushed globes.
She hissed then said, ‘It’s difficult, sir.’
‘So I see,’ he said and smacked her again and she moaned. ‘You’ll warm to the sensation faster at each occasion,’ he advised her.
‘I will, sir?’
‘Indeed you will.’
‘In that case, General, I fear I might shame myself should I ever mount a horse again!’
Letting out a great guffaw, he slapped her twice in rapid succession and she let out a squeal. She not only had spirit but a sense of humour. His whole body seemed to thrum with delight at the mere touch of her flesh. His passions had lain moribund since Dora’s untimely death, yet now this corporal aroused them greatly.
Afterwards, they had only just managed to adjust their clothing when Commander Henson called from outside the tent, ‘I’m back to collect Corporal Compton, sir!’
‘Very well, Commander, enter!’ barked the general.
Turning to Charley, Slocum said, ‘I trust you behave yourself in future. Otherwise, this could become a habit!’
‘I’ll do my best, sir!’ she replied.
‘I was lenient with the youngster, Commander, considering he captured two rebels.’
Commander Henson inclined his head and glanced briefly at Charley. ‘My thoughts entirely, General.’
‘Well, we have a tough fight tomorrow, so you’d best leave us and get some shut-eye.’
At the end of Charley’s third visit for chastisement, Slocum gave her a shot of bourbon and she let its golden liquid warm her lips, lips that so recently had pleasured this great general sitting opposite.
Slocum sipped his drink. ‘Commander Henson is no fool, Charley.’
‘No, sir. I imagine he suspects something.’
‘True. He dropped a couple of vague hints this evening over our meal. I took his meaning, anyway.’
‘My Jimmy’s getting a medical discharge tomorrow,’ she added sadly.
‘You seem upset about it?’
‘I’m pleased for him, General. But I think my duty to my brother is done, sir. Now, you’ll have to expose me and give me my discharge papers.’
‘Aye, I suppose so.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I’d dearly love to keep you here with me, perhaps as my secretary …’
‘But I’d have to maintain my disguise as a man.’ Her upturned nose twitched slightly. ‘I don’t know if I could.’
‘No, your fears are correct. There’d be more talk. The men’s morale would be affected, whatever they thought.’ He sighed. ‘Damn this war to Hell!’ he growled and crashed the glass to the floor, where it shattered.
Boston, April, 1867
The servant shrieked as the silver salver fell out of her hands and the three crystal brandy goblets shattered on the wooden floorboards. ‘I’m sorry, general, sir!’ she said, her voice trembling, her eyes brimming with tears.
The retired general gave her a dark look. ‘Clear up the mess then send in Mrs Putnam!’
‘Yes, sir, at once, sir!’
He watched her kneeling on the floor, gingerly picking up the glass shards. Her name was, if he recalled correctly, Enid. She was an attractive young woman, with an enticing behind. At one time he’d have enjoyed chastising her for causing the breakages. Mrs Putnam, the housekeeper, understood only too well. She continually employed pretty serving staff and even on one occasion had the temerity to guardedly suggest, ‘You can chastise any of my girls, you know, sir. At any time. For even the slightest transgression.’
She’d been with the family for many years and knew everything. That should have made him feel uncomfortable, yet oddly it was strangely reassuring. The world had turned insane as a result of the War, but at least Mrs Putnam was one of life’s certainties.
‘You asked to see me, sir?’ said Mrs Putnam, standing ramrod straight in her long black dress. Her face was stern, her eyes deep brown and solicitous.
‘Yes, I think perhaps I need to refurbish the house.’ He eyed the tremulous Enid who stood to one side of Mrs Putnam. ‘I think we could start on the office. Clear it out.’
‘The chastising room – oh, sorry, sir – the office, of course, sir. When should I arrange for the architect to assess the work?’
‘Tomorrow would be –’
‘Excuse me, General, sir,’ the housemaid said at the doorway.
‘What is it, Mildred?’ Mrs Putnam enquired frostily.
Mildred curtseyed to the general. ‘There’s a lady at the front door, sir. Says she’s your betrothed.’ She screwed up her face in consternation.
‘What?’ barked the general.
Mildred backed away.
‘Betrothed?’ queried Mrs Putnam in a high-pitched voice.
‘Ah, Rufus Konstantin Slocum, I’ve found you at last!’ All eyes moved to the doorway where a radiant woman now stood. She wore a deep green silk dress with frills. A matching hat slanted to one side atop wheat-coloured hair done up in an attractive chignon. Her hazel eyes flashed mischievously and her small pert upturned nose twitched once.
‘Corporal?’
She smiled, lips lightly painted red. Gliding across the floor, she offered a white-gloved hand.
‘Charley, how’d you –?’
‘I’ve been looking – or rather, aching – for you for a long time, sir,’ she whispered.
As he took Charley’s hand, he eyed Mrs Putnam. ‘Ignore my request about the – the office. I think it is about to return to its old use once more.’
Leaning over the solid mahogany desk, her dress and petticoats pulled up around her waist and her lace bloomers encircling her ankles, Charley offered her bare buttocks. ‘Sorry I took so long to find you, General.’
‘These years have been empty without you in my life,’ he said, ‘and for that I must chastise you a great deal.’
‘I expect nothing less, sir.’
‘Very well, then,’ he said and removed the tawse from a secret drawer under the bookcase.
‘Chastise me, General. Please!’
And so he did, with great pleasure.
Historical note:
At least sixteen women are known to have enlisted in the Union Army, many to accompany their husbands, brothers or lovers. Most were discovered only when wounded or killed. Eight women were known to have enlisted in the Confederate Army.
The Happiest Days
by Amelia Thornton
The final bell resounded through the hallways, and the entire class erupted into their usual roar and disordered scrambling to get out of the room as quickly as possible, almost falling over each other in their desperation. I just sighed. I had long tried to get them to stay in their seats at the end of the lesson; tried to remind them that the bell was a signal for me, not them, and that I would dismiss the class when I felt it necessary. But it had become such a chore to repeatedly drum it into them, it seemed wiser just to leave it. None of the other staff seemed to bother anyway; often letting their pupils pretty much rule the lessons in the first place. So sticking to such a minor point so resolutely seemed only to serve to make life more difficult for myself.
Not that I was a soft touch, or anything like that. Oh, no. I knew full well they all hated me,
all called me a bitch, all dreaded my lessons like a hole in the head, but I didn’t care. All I had wanted when I first started teaching was to actually be the one guiding these young adults into their futures, giving them not only the knowledge to pass their exams with flying colours (despite knowing that physics was quite unlikely to be anyone’s favourite subject), but also the knowledge of how to face life, how to be decent citizens of this society. Which was rather a lot harder than I’d thought it would be.
I picked up the heavy pile of books to mark over the weekend, slung my handbag over my shoulder, and headed out to the car park. With a little smile to myself, I thought about what was waiting at home for me; my one treat to make me forget all my responsibilities and authority for a little while and to just be myself. By the time I turned my car into the garage and bounded up the steps to the house, I was practically walking on air, my whole body tingling with excitement. I always got like this on a Friday.
The house seemed empty, just like it always did, and I dumped the books hurriedly on the kitchen worktop before racing up to the bedroom. There had been a bit of traffic on the way back, and I knew I was probably running a bit behind schedule, but didn’t concern myself with actually checking the time or anything as sensible as that. No, there were more interesting things occupying my mind.
There, lying on my bed, was my smart pleated skirt, my neatly ironed blouse, my bottle green and navy striped tie. At the foot of my bed was a pair of sensible, flat Mary Janes, a pair of white kneesocks tucked into one of them, and a battered old leather satchel. It had taken us ages to find it on Ebay, since I’d insisted on only getting a genuine one, but it had been worth it. Things were just made to last back then. Leisurely I dressed myself, savouring the feeling of crisp cotton against my skin, the coolness as I pulled my fresh white knickers tautly over the cheeks of my bottom. I loved the way the skirt felt as it brushed against my bare thighs, just that little bit scratchy and uncomfortable, but like an old friend all the same. Pulling on my navy wool blazer from the wardrobe, I picked up my satchel and headed down the hallway.
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