A Hundred Years Ago

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

A Hundred Years Ago

(***, M/F, Severe, non-consensual spanking, paddling, caning, strapping)

A woman feels she was born too late. (Approximately 1,129 words. Originally published 2017-12.)

Why is it so hard for a girl to get a good spanking? A hundred years ago I wouldn't have had a problem. Why back then girls were spanked all the time for hardly anything!

There was more of a class system a hundred years ago. If you were poor and worked as a servant, you'd be subject to discipline by your master. House maids might get flogged by the housekeeper, while the cook was no doubt happy to punish any scullery maid that oversalted the soup or burnt the chicken.

Even rich girls weren't immune. Nannies and governesses had full authority to physically chastise, as did tutors and teachers. It was routine and normal. Pretty much anyone in a position of power could use it to smack a girl's naughty bottom. The most common would be parents and relatives, but it wasn't unknown for vicars to correct a child or even a mature young lady like myself.

Husbands, of course, were not the wimps of today. They were real men back then and wouldn't hesitate to tan a girl's arse if she showed him disrespect.

God, I would have loved to have been born back then. To feel the sting of a real cane, the swish of the birch on bare skin, or a proper smacked bottom just before bed must have been incredible. Those weren't token beatings, either, but genuine suffering. I get wet just thinking about it.

I'm not sure what I'd like better: being a mischievous schoolgirl touching her toes for the cane in the office of the Headmistress, a lowly maid baring her bottom for spilling a dish, or maybe a humble wife draped over the lap of her handsome husband as he warms her buttocks to sizzling with his hard palm and perhaps a leather slipper or small wooden paddle. All three scenarios sound so lovely I don't know how to choose.

I do fancy the cane. It's exquisite, the pain sharp and biting, and just a few strokes leaves your butt gloriously stinging with hot, glowing stripes.

But then the master's birch is even more severe, and more public. I've heard of maids being whipped right in the dining room in front of guests, her bare buttocks on show for everyone. How wonderfully humiliating. The prospect terrifies me, yet that's what makes it so appealing.

A private spanking from my lover and husband is not without its charms, however. Even if he's displeased with me and is harsh with his correction, I wouldn't mind, for every spank would just be proving his love for me. If he didn't love me, he'd just throw me out in the street. They did things like that back then. Women had few rights, if any. Much better to suffer a bare paddling than be exiled forever with no prospects.

Of course, none of these events will actually happen, because I was born a hundred years too late. It's such a shame, because I've got the body of a woman from back then. By today's standards I'm considered "hefty," at least in the hip and rump. I suppose that's what drew me to earlier eras. I used to feel bad about my body, puzzled and ashamed I couldn't be waif thin like so many of the girls at school, but then I discovered that 100 years ago my body type was ideal!

I have hourglass curves, you see. I'm not a fat blob. My waist is much narrower than my hips. I'm just not petite or pole-shaped. My arse is large and round, the mounds plump like dough rising over the edges of the pan. It's perfect for smacking, I think. And such sturdy cheeks can surely endure a great deal.

Yet I was born in a time when such things are considered gauche and passé. Oh, there's the fringe of BDSM which is considered hip in a niche manner, the whole toy "50 shades" craze. But I'm not interested in play. I want real. I want genuine punishment, real adventure that chills the marrow in your bones.

I love the whole idea that in the past a girl my age would have still been subject to such discipline. There were even finishing girls where I might be enrolled until I was in my early twenties -- and those schools could be brutally strict. Use the wrong fork for the salad, slurp your soup, or burp, and you'd be in the Headmistress' office feeling the sting of her cane across your bare bottom. At age 21, it wouldn't be a mere six or eight, either, but at least a dozen. It could even be more if this wasn't your first offense. How awesome would that be?

I work as a secretary, except we're not called that any more. I'm a "personal assistant." My boss is an executive of 20+ years. He's portly with graying hair and dour disposition. I just dream of him calling me into his office, showing me a mistake, and offering me the choice of the sack or a sound paddling. It'd never happen, of course, as he terrified of the slightest impropriety. He treats me like a leper. I'm not even allowed in his office alone with him without the door being left wide open.

A hundred years ago it wouldn't have been an issue at all. Bosses spanked their secretaries all the time. Ten minutes late for work? It's skirt up and panties down for ten hard swats on the bare buttocks. Screw up an important appointment? That's a full dozen, with a follow-up six a week later as an additional reminder.

Even a full bottom like mine would feel it with the big boards they used as spanking paddles back then. Those things were thick and solid, requiring real men to swing, and the fairer sex wasn't spared a thing. I can just imagine my big ass collapsing under those blows, the meat jiggling furiously, and the bright redness spreading across both globes. Oh, it would be so gloriously awful/wonderful I can't bear to think about it any more. Since it wouldn't be BDSM play, I couldn't negotiate my way out of licks or change my mind. I'd get the full dose, like it or not.

Sigh. It's such a curse being born in the wrong time. The worst part is I'm sure there are thousands of girls from back then who would jump at the chance to be in my time. If only there was a way to swap places. She could have cell phones and Facebook and I'd get strict men with canes and leather straps intent on teaching my big arse a lesson. I'd be a slow learner, you can bet on that!

The End

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