Return to 1873: Part 2

Return to 1873: Part 2

by ‘D’

My Diary for December 1873

Tuesday, 28th December. Morning

I went to bed in tears last night but feeling wonderful too as my Master locked me in my sleeping irons, promising me that he would be even more severe with me unless I behaved better today.

I did not sleep as well as before and it took me a time to go to sleep because of the pain and joy I felt. My hand throbbed non-stop but so did my crutch more pleasurably from his ministrations. But I am running ahead of myself.

Normally before punishment I am locked in the cupboard downstairs. Yesterday, I was gagged and blindfolded, hooded and then sat on the bench at the back of the schoolroom for a while, so I could focus on my failings and on the punishments to come. After a time, still hooded, blind and silenced, I was dragged across to stand in the centre of the room. There my Master removed my left glove and informed me that, as I had spilt ink on the white gloves I had worn earlier, my hand would be the recipient of the punishment to come. I was to hold out my hand, supporting it by my other gloved hand, and then to await my punishment.

I stood there, shaking and moaning silently within, but with my whole body electric with anticipation, my crutch betraying my excitement. Wearing my coifs and with the thick hood fastened down over my head and face so that I felt half suffocated, I could not hear anything beyond the darkness of my own fear-filled world. Then there was an appalling pain across my open palm as my Master drove the rod down to administer the first stroke of my punishment.

Because I had not heard the rod cutting through the air before striking my hand, the impact caught me by surprise, making the pain of impact seem worse than it might have been. I know I would have filled the room with my cries had I not been gagged. But, almost before I could assimilate what had happened to be, another and harder blow fell across my palm. This time I howled into my gag, distressed at the awful pain and appalled (as always) at how the pain make me shake from head to toe with desire and want. Had I not been silenced, I would have begged my Master to hit home even harder with the next stroke.

But the stroke never came and I felt bereft waiting for it for what seemed an age. And then it impacted horribly with my hand, making me stagger and sending lights up in front of my eyes like a firework display. It was SO SO hard to hold my position; my legs seemed to have turned to jelly and I was shivering all over. I think I screamed so loudly that not even my effective gag could hold back the sounds that filled my head and made me body shudder as though hit by an vast electric shock. The blow was vicious but I could not wait for the next one. When it came I was torn by the agony of its impact and the onset of an incipient orgasm. But that event was drowned by the terrible impact of the rod smashing home across my flesh again. My legs gave way and I recall staggering forward. Blindfolded and hooded I can’t say what really happened next but I think I was dragged across to the table, and bent back over it, my Master throwing back my petticoats and skirts before unfastening the crutch strap of my corset so I felt cold air strike my private parts that I could feel convulsing.

He used me with total brutality, not minding if he hurt me, leaving me still hooded and gagged, while I dissolved into a series of orgasms or maybe it was just one that seemed to last a lifetime; I don’t know.

I think I must have fainted. For the next thing I remember was feeling him still inside my body, now using another opening, yet with me at long last being able to see and hear and cry out. When he had finished with me, he stood back, tidying his clothes as I helplessly slipped to the floor to lie there, my hand sending arrows of pain up my arm as, unaided, I seemed to continue to orgasm. It seemed like a dream; maybe it was my imagination. But I think I had yet another orgasm as I lay in a tumble of clothing on the floor half under the table,

In the end my Master brusquely informed me that I had half an hour to undress, see to my toilet needs, wash and eat my supper which was in the other room. With that I turned and left the upper floor, locking the door on the stairs behind him. Some how I managed to drag myself into my bed room, where he had left me a meal of bread and cheese as usual but, wonder of wonders, with a segmented orange as well. One handedly I undressed, used the pot and then – for once satiated and not wanting to touch myself – washed and ate my meal as I prepared for bed. Some how I managed to do everything before he reappeared, grim faced as always. But, when he saw me kneeling by my bedside as though in prayer, he smiled and handed me a chocolate!!!

“For being such a brave little girl,” he said.

Today I think I can still taste that delicious chocolate on my tongue. Oh I know that’s just my imagination but it was such a delightful and utterly surprising treat. Opposing that delight, my left hand still throbs and it swollen, it’s palm laced with the marks of the rod’s blows. Putting my glove on that hand this morning had me fighting back moans of pain and biting my lips to prevent my Master hearing me. As I write now, later in the morning, it is throbbing away inside the glove that feels even tighter than normal, showing that it is swollen still. It is really too painful to use, so that I had to scrub my room this morning using one hand only. Unfortunately my Master was just as demanding as yesterday and I missed my breakfast for the second day running, having to made do with just water again after I had re-scrubbed the whole floor.

That done, my Master just ordered me to button up my cape from chin to floor and to go and stand in the corner of the schoolroom, facing the wall. There I have spent all the morning up to now when I have been allowed to sit down to write this diary. My legs are aching and my back is sore from standing to attention for so long. As he pointed out just now, I should be enjoying the rest because, this afternoon, he is going to exercise me till I have reached the stage of wanting to beg him to allow me to stand in the corner once more.


Tuesday 28th December. Evening.

I am totally exhausted. My Master was not exaggerating when he promised me a long exercise period. It seemed to last an eternity and I have no idea how I survived it. Then to make me earn my supper, he made me kneel under the desk so as to pleasure him while he did some reading or maybe writing above me. He made me wear a mask that has just one opening in it, one opposite my mouth. Wearing that, my arms tightly strapped behind me under my buttoned up cape, I had to keep him ‘amused’ with the threat of being further punished if he should get bored or annoyed with my efforts to please him. Now, to add to my still throbbing hand, aching back, and exhausted legs, my knees and thighs are sore from kneeling between his legs to ‘amuse’ him. I have no idea how long I was there but at least I did not disappoint him, for I have been put to work to write this entry in my diary before supper. Then I will be allowed to go to bed. How I have survived today, I am not sure. But I seem to have done so.

End of Entry 2Entry 3



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