Naughty, naughty boy....

 The hardest part of a period piece is trying to stay true to the period, as best I can. I don't know the Victorian era as well as I would like to, so I'm not sure how well I created the world for this. 

But it's SUPPOSED to be Victorian. So try to remember that as you read.

Naughty, naughty boy

Edmund Harrison pulled closed the curtains, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt as he did. One by one, he closed off the sight of passers by, of the workers on the streets and the paupers in the gutters. He removed his cuff links, placed them with his watch in a bowl by the door. He turned down the lanterns, leaving the room dark.

 As it should be. Such things are best done in the darkness of a man's home, away from prying eyes. Away from examination, away from judgment.

Edmund removed his vest, unfastened his pants, and tossed his shirt aside. The help would pick up after him, as they always did. But for right now, he knew he was alone. The door was firmly shut. He had locked it, hadn't he?

No matter.

He sat back in a chair, cream by his hand, as he began conjuring an image for his fantasy. He imagined the woman, one of those selling themselves in the darkest parts of the city. He would never go to one of those creatures himself, but still he imagined them, the ladybirds. Pictured them in their naked sexuality, in their open legs. The soft leather of boots to their ankles, the bare stretch of leg shown through the slit of their gowns.

He imagined the corset loosely holding in the wares of the women, the lascivious smiles they would flash his way as he walked by, trying to tempt him into parting with his coin so that they would part their legs.

The cream was cool, the flesh hot, and he closed his eyes as he began to do to himself what he would never pay a woman to do for him.

Edmund groaned to himself, changed his position to one more comfortable, and let his mind flow down the dirty streets, up the oft-opened legs to the prize those women so eagerly sell to any who can afford it.

He felt the pleasure starting to rise in his body, started to feel himself float upwards towards the crescendo of pleasure. He was focused so far inward that he did not hear the door unlatch. He did not see the sudden blast of light as the door opened and let in the light from the hall.

It wasn't until Minerva let out her scream that he had any idea she was even there. He let himself go and sprang to his feet.

“I can-”

She held up a hand. “No,” she said. “No, I do not believe that you can. I see quite clearly what you are doing, you awful boy. I see quite clearly indeed.” She shook her head. “Disgusting.”

He moved to cover his nakedness. She slapped him across the face. “You have done more than enough touching yourself, I think. Put your hands at your sides.”

Edmund lowered his hands. Minerva reached out and grabbed him by his erection, using it as a leash as she lead him through the house.

She walked through the house, past one open window after another. He glanced out to see what he could of the street, certain there were people watching, people laughing at him. But they were moving too fast. Too fast for him to make out any details. All he could do was follow where she pulled him, certain that he was being seen, dragged naked through the house. He knew they would talk about it. The shame burned in him.

When she finally got him to the kitchen, she let him go, tossing him chest first against the counter. He gasped for breath, and she looped twine around his wrists, tying them tight. The smells of spices, of herbs and of cooked meat, drowned out the smell of the cream on his lower parts. He heard the sound of metal as a knife was drawn from a block.

“You have brought such shame upon yourself and this household,” she said. “By all rights, I should make you a eunuch, so that you can live your days remembering the price of shame.”

He whimpered and struggled against the rope, feeling it dig into his skin.

She slapped him across his bare ass with her hand. “Oh, do hold still, you silly boy,” she said. “I'm not going to cut it off. One mistake is not irreversible. And you did show at least some decorum. Though why you left your door unlocked is a mystery to me.”

“I thought I had locked it,” Edmund said.

She slapped his bottom again. Then he heard the knife moving, carving at something. “Quiet,” she said. “If you had locked it, I would not have intruded. I would never have known. In fact, I'm sure you have done such hideous acts before. Haven't you?” She spanked him again. “Haven't you?”

The hit brought a tear to his eye, and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“So then you left the door unlocked on purpose. Or so it stands to reason. And why would you do such a thing?” He heard another swipe of the knife, saw something small fly past his field of vision. 

“You must have wanted to be caught. Which means you wanted to be punished.”

She laughed, spanked him again. The skin on his bottom was burning, and he felt his leg muscles tighten. The next hit stung, but not as badly.

“Why though?” she asked, smacking him again, in an upward motion that barely clipped his skin. “Why would you want me to be punished?”

He pulled against his bonds, waiting for the next hit. He felt a gentle rustle of cloth against his bare backside. He heard her humming softly as she carved something. He took a breath in through his nose, realizing that one scent was stronger than the others. A scent that was growing stronger and stronger with each slide of the knife as she carved -something.

He took another smell, and she laughed.

“Yes,” she said. “I see you recognize the smell..”

She rubbed his already stinging bottom. Then he felt as she pressed a bit of butter against him, between the cheeks of his ass. She chuckled at his whimper.

Then came the pressure. The pressure as she slid the long piece of ginger into his ass.

He shook his head as she pressed. “Please,” he said. “Please no.”

She laughed. “Begging,” she said. “I like that. But it will bring you no mercy. You deserve no mercy. You want none.” She pushed it deeper in. The burning began. “And so I shall give you none.”

She slapped his ass again, and he tried to tighten up and absorb the pain. But as soon as he did, as soon as he tightened, the fire inside his rear flared up. The pain tore at him, and tears flowed down his face. “Please,” he said. It was the only word he could manage. “Please.”

She spanked him again. He gasped.

She spanked again. She laughed.

Then she walked around, leaving the ginger inside him, letting the burning continue.

She bent down so her eyes were level with his. “If you remain relaxed back there,” she said, “It will not be as bad. The more you tense, the sharper the burn. Take your punishment as you are meant to. I will remove it when I am finished. Tell me you understand.”

He nodded.

“Say that you do.”

“I--” he whimpered, shifted his feet, trying to find a position that didn't hurt, that made the burning go away. But there was none. There was no place he could stand, no distance he could set his feet. As long as the ginger was inside him, it burned. Burned.

“Say that you understand,” she said.

“Please.”

She grabbed his chin, pulled his face up to look into hers. “Say it,” she said.

“I,” he took another breath. “I understand.”

She smiled. “Excellent.”

She took up a potato and sliced it in half. One half she put into his mouth. “Bite on that if you think it will help, you disgusting filth.” The other half she put on his back. He felt her press something into the potato, then heard a faint hiss. A drop of hot wax hit his skin, and he winced.

“You must hold out until the candle burns down,” she said. “If it goes out because you moved, I will be forced to start over.” She patted him on the head. “So do hold still, unless you want me to start over.”

The first swat was with her hand. He tried to stay relaxed, stopping his legs and his ass from tensing, trying to minimize the burning. He felt his whole body twitch, felt the potato slide to the side a bit. She hit him again, and he twitched, making the potato slide a bit more. The third hit made him scream into the half potato in his mouth, made him tense and jerk, made the ginger burn like a poker in his rectum.

The potato fell, and he heard her chiding laugh. “Looks like that's the way it has to be,” she said. “We have to make sure it will stay, don't we?”

He bit through the potato as she poured hot wax on his back. It fell to the floor, and he spat out what was in his mouth. He screamed at the sensation of the hot wax pooling between his shoulder blades, was still groaning when she pushed the candle into the pool of wax.

“We shall have to start again, yes?”

She stepped away for a little while, the hot wax slowly cooling around the candle. Another drop his his skin, cooling quickly. But his ass burned. The cheeks burned, the ginger burned on the inside.

He heard her walk back, slapping something against her hand.

The first swat of the paddle made him tense, which increased the burn. The second swat had him crying again. He shook his head back and forth as she hit him a third time, then a fourth. “Please no,” he said. The words ran together “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.”

She laughed and hit him again.

“Quiet,” she said. “Take your punishment like a man.” Another swat.

He was sobbing. She reached down between his legs and turned the ginger, bringing a whole new burning sensation. She laughed, and he cried.

“Take it,” she said. “The candle will burn out soon.” Swat. “Take the punishment you know you deserve.” Swat. “You are a filthy creature.” Swat. “Disgusting.” Swat. “You want to be punished. You love being punished.” Swat.

She stepped back from him, rubbing a gentle hand on his burning skin. “You do love it. Say that you love it.”

He whimpered.

“Tell me you love it when I paddle you,” she said. “Tell me.”

He shook his head as she hit him again and again.

“Tell me,” she said.

“Tell me or I'll stop.”