by Leland Mays
In the spring of the year 1889, I traveled to the bustling city of North Andover for a brief sojourn at the home of Mr. Enos Fuller. That august gentleman was, at the time, the owner of four textile mills that dotted the Massachusetts landscape. He was, therefore, an important client of Waymore and Sons, the accounting firm in whose employ I was engaged. Mr. Fuller was also a friend of my father, Charles Moss Sr. Fuller insisted that I join him at his residence, as I audited the books at his North Andover mill.
The Fuller estate sat on a hill commanding a view of the city and the Merrimac River. The house itself, in the Dutch Colonial style, was well-manicured outside and sumptuously furnished inside. Having been a childless widower for many years, Fuller's only companion was his niece and ward, Lorena Collins. With her blue eyes and honey blonde curls, Lorena was, at the age of nineteen, an enchanting specimen of womanly pulchritude. Henry, the butler, and Doris, the cook, were the other residents of the household.
My first evening began well. I dressed for dinner, putting on my best waistcoat and bow tie. After waxing my moustache, I added pomade to my dark hair and then parted it in the middle. Satisfied that I looked the proper gentleman, I joined Fuller and Miss Collins.
After a delectable pot roast dinner, we enjoyed a dessert of peach tart with cream. The talk turned to women. Lorena, who up to that time had been a model of decorum, began to offer, shall we say, extremist views regarding the fair sex.
After a brief discourse, she concluded, "And of course we women must have the vote. Do you agree, Mr. Moss?"
"The vote?" smiled I. "But surely you jest. With little education, and possessed of a capricious nature, on what basis would women make their choices."
"First, women are no more capricious than men. Second, we women deserve, and must have, the same education as men," declared Lorena, her cheeks now taking on a rosy hue. "Up to and including college. The doors of all Ivy League schools must be thrown open to us."
"What! Women at Harvard or Yale? Balderdash!" exclaimed Fuller.
"You desire the vote?" I repeated. "And the right to attend any college you choose? Really, Miss Collins, you go too far. Why, what would ladies then demand? Careers in business or government? The freedom to come and go as do men? I've never heard such poppycock."
"It is nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Lorena, her face now grown flushed. "It is the future. In fact, a man in Germany, Karl Benz, has just invented a machine, a carriage, able to move on its own power, without the need for horses. It seems to me that a woman could operate such a carriage as easily as a man."
Fuller and I exchanged glances, quite dubious at this claim. We were unprepared, however, for the next outlandish statement from the young lady.
"I see the day, gentlemen," she said in all seriousness, "when a woman may leave her house in the morning, drive her carriage to the polling station if it is election day, and cast her vote along with menfolk. Then she may continue on to her work at a place of business. It could be a business firm that she herself owns."
Fuller and I gaped in amazement at Lorena for a few seconds. Then, I burst into laughter at this latest absurdity, crying, "Oh, ho, ho! Miss Collins, you are a caution! What an imagination you have!" Fuller, his face now red with annoyance, exclaimed, "Stuff and nonsense!"
Glancing to her uncle and then to me, Lorena said, "Uncle Enos is an old fogy. But you, Mr. Moss, young and educated, should see the merits of women taking their rightful place..."
"That's enough, Lorena!" said Fuller, drumming his fingers on the table. "We'll have no more of your flights of fancy. I'll deal with you later regarding your conduct tonight. Now, could you postpone the women's revolution long enough to help Doris clear the table? Meanwhile, Charles and I will repair to my study for brandy and cigars."
After an hour of mens' talk and a snifter of brandy in the study, I excused myself and went to Fuller's library to prepare for the next day's examination of the books at his mill. One can imagine my shock when, a short time later, the silence in the house was shattered by an appalling noise. The sound which impinged itself upon my startled ears was that of something hard striking flesh. I rose from my desk and went to the library door. The air was rent by muffled cries coming from Fuller's study, the cries of a woman in dire distress.
I shuddered as I realized that it was not the cook being summarily chastised, but rather Lorena. In a most doleful manner, she sobbed, "Oh, oow! Please, Uncle Enos! Oh I beg you sir, no more!" In between these shrieks of grief came the whap, whap, whap of wood smacking a lady's derriere.
I may say here that I am a mild-natured man, unaccustomed to the hurly-burly of the world. Thus, I felt not only surprise that a gentleman of Enos Fuller's caliber should spank the young lady in his charge, but also a sense of moral outrage. The fair Lorena had not been reticent to express her radical ideas at the dining table. But that seemed no reason to punish such a lovely flower; most assuredly not by means of a paddle to her backside.
Filled with righteous indignation, I marched to the study and gave the door several sharp raps. The sound of the spanking ceased, but Lorena's forlorn sobs did not. After a few seconds the door opened. I looked into the angry, red face of Enos Fuller. Then my eyes were drawn, and here I must confess further horror, my eyes were drawn to the naked buttocks of young Lorena. At that moment she was bent over Fuller's desk, offering me a clear view of that region of a woman which never before had my eyes beheld.
The plump hemispheres of her bottom were, needless to say, bright red owing to the wrath of the paddle. Her skirt, petticoats, and chemise had been thrown over her head, so that I saw only a mass of her clothing above and beyond the crimson mounds of Lorena's derriere. Her long silk drawers lay in a pile around her ankles.
"Yes, Charles," asked Fuller in a gruff voice, "what is it you want?"
I must confess that the sight of Lorena's bottom, literally glowing from the spanking so cruelly administered, left me speechless. I gazed in awe at this singular aspect of the female anatomy. After a few seconds, I heard Fuller's voice again.
"Speak up, man! Why did you interrupt my task?"
Finally tearing my gaze away from those sorely smitten buttocks, I looked at Fuller, my anger now rekindled. "What is the meaning of this!" I cried, gesturing to the young lady.
"Considering Lorena's outburst at dinner, sir, it should be obvious. I am giving her a well-earned spanking. Now kindly excuse yourself, Charles, so that I may finish what I began."
"No, I will not! I may be a guest in your house, Fuller, but it is my duty as a gentleman to intervene when a lady is so callously treated."
Fuller stepped back, motioning for me to enter the room. I did so. Drawing his hand over his chin, the man said, "So, lad, I surmise that you disapprove of me paddling the girl? Are you filled with outrage, perhaps?"
"That and more, Fuller! There's no excuse for ... for ... Really, sir, must Lorena continue that pose? It's shameful enough to spank such an angel. But to force her to remain bent over, displaying her buttocks like a tavern strumpet, I say, is going too far."
I was further shocked when Fuller stepped to Lorena, who, still sobbing bitterly, attempted to rise up, only to be pushed back down by her uncle. At the same time, he gently smacked her reddened cheeks with the paddle, which instrument was of thick birch, with holes along two rows.
I gulped. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that each smack, however restrained, set off a brief ripple across Lorena's buttocks, as might a pebble thrown into a pond. The sight of those ripples, which could only arise in flesh of the most soft and pliant nature, gave me a masculine thrill. Nor can I gainsay that the young lady's derriere was becoming, with each passing second, more fascinating to my eye.
"Let me explain my predicament, Charles," said Fuller as he continued to gently swat his niece's bottom. "You heard the fantastic ideas Lorena expressed at dinner. Well, this little minx is always on a soapbox. Whenever I invite a potential suitor for her to my home, the fellow is at first becharmed by her smile and feminine beauty.
"But then Lorena commences a lecture such as she gave tonight. Within moments the young man is reaching for his bowler and headed out the door. I ask you, sir, how will I ever marry off this lass? She thwarts my every attempt with her impertinent and outspoken manner. I punish her in the time-honored way, as you can see, but it seems to have little benefit."
At this point, something inexplicable happened. Fuller's voice began to fade, as if he were speaking from far away. The soft whap of the paddle striking Lorena's bottom, by contrast, became as loud as the tolling of a bell. By now my eyes saw nothing but the lovely red glow of her alabaster smooth buttocks. I could scarcely breathe as I studied her nether cleavage, which, at its lowest aspect, widened to reveal dense tufts of russet hair. Her soft thatch confirmed what I had always suspected. Namely, that women do indeed possess hair covering their most secret place.
"I tell you, I'm at my wit's end," came Fuller's barely audible voice, "and I ... hmm. Charles, my boy, I cannot help but notice your own fascination with young Lorena's bottom. Here's an idea. Perhaps a few swats from you, a gentlemen close to her age, would impress upon this girl the merits of holding her tongue."
After a few seconds I realized what had been said. "I? Spank Lorena?"
Fuller answered by offering me the paddle. A devious grin on his face, he said, "Yes. Let's see if a young buck like you has the gumption to carry out a man's duty."
I took the paddle. I wish I could say that I did so reluctantly, that I had no desire to inflict more pain on a bottom that was already red and burning. But no. A few moments ago, I had charged into the room as Lorena's knight in shining armor. But now I was so aroused by the beauty of the girl's well-spanked derriere, so seduced by the idea of giving it more whacks, that I was not only willing, but eager to put the paddle to good use.
I laid my left hand on Lorena's shoulders. I expected an outcry from her as she realized that she was to be spanked by a man she hardly knew. Oddly enough, however, she only gazed back at me, her face tear-stained and flushed.
"Miss Collins," said I, "I hope you will accept these smacks in the spirit in which they are offered. Namely, to instill within you the economy of speech that is the hallmark of a true lady."
I slammed the paddle into Lorena's bottom. It flattened both cheeks. A loud whap! reverberated within the room. From Lorena's lips came a mournful, "Oooh!"
I was thrilled to the core! I was overwhelmed by a powerful urge to spank the very daylights out of the maiden now bent helplessly before me! I raised my arm. Down came the paddle, again and again. Smack, smack, smack! it sang as wood collided with that part of a woman so soft and luscious that it seems expressly designed for such punishment.
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