by Leland Mays
Knock on a stranger's door, and you never know what may unfold. Take, for example, an incident that happened to me in autumn of the year 1884. At Laurel Street, in one of the finer neighborhoods in Stamford, Connecticut, I opened the gate in a picket fence and walked up a flagstone walkway past well-manicured grounds. Arriving at the portico of a fine old Colonial-style home, I lifted the heavy bronze knocker and rapped several times.
A maid, well into her middle age, answered. "Yes?"
"I wish to speak with the master or lady of the house."
"Your name?"
"Arthur Whitlock."
Her eyes brightening, she said, "Yes sir, this way please."
She led me into the parlor and, to my surprise, reached out and took my derby hat I held in my hand. As mine was a brief, formal visit, it was a breach of protocol to take a man's hat. However, I let it pass. Almost at once there appeared in the doorway a handsome lady in her forties, bedecked in a stylish floral print day dress, all poufs and pleats and gathers, that covered her from neck to ankle.
"Arthur Whitlock?" she smiled.
"At your service, madam. I'm calling because my ..."
"Yes, yes, of course," she smiled effusively as she took my hands. "I'm Lydia Delaney. It is a pleasure to meet you, young man. A pleasure! Now, you are just in time for dinner."
"Dinner? Well really, I hadn't ..."
"Oh but I insist!" declared Mrs. Delaney. "My husband Henry will be here shortly. In the meantime, let me introduce you to ..." here the lady paused, her eyes twinkling, "...our Caroline."
Still holding one of my hands, she led me across and down the hallway into a library. Near a brick fireplace, in which burned a cozy fire, sat a young woman at her knitting. Only when she looked up, smiled, and then rose did the full effect of her presence manifest itself.
I gazed in awe at a creature the likes of whose beauty falls upon a man's eyes only a few times in his life. Caroline's hair was a thick auburn mane, massed in the back in the style of the day. Her long-lashed eyes were deep azure. From her brow came her nose in a straight classical line, like a modern day Aphrodite. The girl's white, lace-covered blouse, with a raised collar enclosing her long graceful neck, accentuated the rose blush on her cheeks.
"Caroline, dear," gushed her mother, "this is Arthur Whitlock. Mr. Whitlock, may I present our daughter Caroline."
Pleased that such an exquisite flower had bloomed here in Stamford, I gave a slight bow as the girl curtsied. When she extended her soft hand, I placed there a gentleman's kiss.
As was the custom, I turned to the mother, on whom one would lavish praise for rearing this angel. "Mrs. Delaney," I smiled, "your daughter is as pretty as a picture. May I offer my congratulations to you and Mr. Delaney. Both of you must be proud."
"Oh we are, we are! I just knew you would find her pleasing, sir."
I glanced back to Caroline, whose smile was of course that of a demure young lady. Yet even then, I believe, in hindsight, there lurked in her eyes a hint of cheekiness; of thoughts too audacious to express.
Mrs. Delaney bade me sit on a sofa near the girl, saying, "Now, Mr. Whitlock..."
"Call me Arthur, if you please, madam."
"Then I shall. Tell us, how is your family? I trust your father, such a charming, gracious man, is well?"
Charming? I thought. Gracious? Only on those occasions when he is not drunk. But good manners dictated that I reply, "He's fine, thank you. But how is it that you know my ...?"
"And your mother?" interrupted Mrs. Delaney. "Is her dropsy better?"
"You mean, her phlebitis?"
"Oh, of course."
"Yes, thank you. The cold compresses seem to help."
We then heard a commotion at the front door, accompanied by a man's gruff voice. Soon the master of the house, Mr. Delaney, entered the library. He was quite corpulent, with thick mutton-chop sideburns that made up for the lack of hair on his head. He greeted me no less genially than did his wife. A lively conversation ensued.
Here I must pause to say that as we talked, I reflected on the egalitarian nature of our society. Not for us, mind you, are the strict social orders of the Old World. No. Out of the wilderness we have carved America, a nation where a man deems all other men to be his peer.
Consider, for example, what had just happened. The Delaneys, wealthy and urbane, apparently knew of my family, which was quite poor by comparison. Yet I, whom they had never met but knew only as a member of that humble family, was made to feel as welcome as if I were a prince. My breast swelled with pride that I lived in a country where a man, regardless of his station in life, is greeted warmly at every door.
Soon Mr. Delaney said, "Arthur, this long day has left my throat parched. What say we adjourn to my study for an aperitif? For you, sir, I would offer a taste of my best sherry."
I readily agreed. Soon he and I were ensconced in fine leather chairs, a glass of sherry in hand. A plate of goose pâté sat on the coffee table before us. Once more I smiled at how my hosts spared nothing to make a young stranger feel at home.
"Well now," said Mr. Delaney, "I trust you find Caroline pleasing to your eye? A jewel, is she not?"
"Oh quite. She is loveliness itself."
"Then might you like to go walking with her? Chaperoned by our maid Irene, of course."
My esteem for the Delaneys grew by leaps and bounds. Not only did they have a luscious peach of a daughter, they seemed willing, yea, eager to thrust her into my arms. What good fortune, I thought, to meet parents like these!
"It would be my pleasure, sir," replied I.
"Then of course, after a month or two, perhaps holding hands?"
"I can imagine nothing better."
"Fine, fine," nodded Mr. Delaney. His mien darkened slightly. He lowered his voice, saying, "But now that we have, so to speak, reached an understanding, Arthur, I must tell you of a singular quirk the girl possesses."
"Yes?"
Now looking me in the eye, he said, "Caroline was a very high-spirited child, you know. Impetuous to the last degree. There was, for example, that time she poured soup over the head of a state senator dining with us. She also went through a stage where she would sneak up behind ladies visiting us and set their dresses on fire. The less said about that, sir, the better!"
"Indeed!"
"Of course we applied the usual means of discipline, namely a paddle to her backside. But here, Arthur, is the peculiar part." He paused; then said, "Now, I trust you are the soul of discretion. Nothing I say here must reach the ears of another, you understand?"
My curiosity thoroughly piqued, I replied, "My lips will remain sealed."
"I should hope so." Now Mr. Delaney's voice was little more than a whisper. "We spanked Caroline often and thoroughly, you see. But strangely enough, she has ... well, she has developed a fondness for the paddle, if you will."
"My word."
"Oh yes. To the world she is a proper young lady. But if a week passes when we do not spank the lass, she begins to act most disgracefully toward us. Caroline has reached a point, sir, where a sound spanking is not so much punishment for bad behavior as a reward for good behavior!"
I looked at the man, utterly astonished. "Well, if that don't beat the Dutch!"
"It's true. Again I say, you must never breathe a word of what I've told you to anyone. Oh, the scandal that would follow! Caroline's good name, the most precious currency a woman may hold, would be ruined."
"Who could have imagined?" murmured I. "It defies all logic."
Mr. Delaney rose and began to pace, waxing philosophical. "Yes, Arthur, those of the fair sex are a joy to behold. Their voices are like music. But I tell you now, my boy, that the mind of a woman is a dark, mysterious labyrinth that no man can hope to penetrate or understand."
The maid Irene then appeared, saying, "Shall I bring more goose pâté , sir?"
"No ... uh, yes. But have Caroline bring it, if you will, Irene."
The maid turned and fluttered off. Continuing his revelations, Mr. Delaney went on. "There is more, I'm afraid. You would not think it possible in a well-bred girl, but Caroline apparently feels ... well, sexual impulses. I blame it on this modern age, you see. Whenever she has these desires, she is compelled by her obsession to be punished by the very man who aroused her. Why, just last spring, we caught Captain Meriwether, of the White Star Line, spanking Caroline out behind the gazebo. The man claimed she had begged him to punish her for wicked thoughts, which, knowing the girl, I don't doubt a'tall."
"Naturally, we feared the Captain would tell others of Caroline's obsession. But he was called to his ship that very day to embark on a voyage. A week later, the ship and all hands on board, including Captain Meriwether, went down in a storm. I don't need to tell you, sir, what a stroke of good fortune that was!"
Then Caroline herself appeared. She did not so much walk as glide across the floor, glancing at me as she did so. "Here is more pâté , Father," she said in her dulcet voice.
"Thank you, Caroline," said her father. "I've had a most interesting chat with Arthur, dear girl. It seems the one quality he admires, indeed, demands in a lady is her complete and unquestioning submission. Is it not so, young man?"
Deciding to go along with this odd drama, I got up from my chair and replied, "Uh ... yes, quite."
I watched in fascination as Caroline's calm demeanor changed. A blush appeared on her cheeks. Was that a hint of perspiration on her brow? "I thought so," the girl murmured. "You enjoy subduing womenfolk, do you not? Bending us to your will, even if it means our abject humiliation?"
"That's my game," said I, now warming to the charade. "Because, you see, I know how young ladies cannot help but have wicked, wicked thoughts." At this Caroline gave an almost inaudible moan. "Yes, indeed," I went on, "the most lewd, shameful ideas come into your pretty heads. And it is the duty of a man to apply the one sure remedy."
"I see," came Caroline's response. Swallowing hard, with a tremor in her voice, yet eagerness plainly written on her face, she went on, "You would punish a girl for her thoughts. Subject her to pain... yes, excruciating pain, leaving her abased and stripped of all dignity! Tell me you would!"
I mustered an evil leer, saying, "Had I a paddle, young lady, I would show you ..." Suddenly, as if by magic, Mr. Delaney thrust just such an implement into my hand, having kept one in his desk drawer.
"Here you are, my boy," he smiled. "It is well-worn but quite serviceable."
The sight of that paddle electrified Caroline. Her eyes grew large; she trembled. She gazed at it as might a dope fiend at his cache of opium. In short order Mr. Delaney left the room, closing the door behind him.
As startled as I was at this bizarre turn of events, I was no less so amazed at the alacrity with which Caroline raised her skirt, petticoats, and chemise; then, bent over the arm of my chair. As she did so, she undid the ties to her long drawers, and let them fall to her ankles.
Now my eyes were greeted by the sight of the young lady's naked derriere. It was not so slim as to be boyish, nor was it excessively wide or massive, as one often sees, for example, in fishmongers' wives. No, her buttocks, and the cleavage which led down to a thicket of dark hair between her full cheeks, were nothing less than feminine perfection in so far as that part of her anatomy goes. I never again expect to see a derriere so lovely as that which Nature had endowed Miss Caroline Delaney.
Looking back at me, now panting like a racehorse, the girl said, "I am at your mercy! Punish me, sir. You see, when Mother introduced us, I so wanted to kiss you on the lips!"
"Oh you shameless tart!" I exclaimed as I landed the first hard Whap! on her nether cheeks. "But that is not the sum of your iniquity, I dare say!"
"No! At the last Fourth of July celebration, I pulled up my dress to adjust my stockings. I allowed men to see my legs, sir, my legs!"
"Unforgivable!" I cried as I began to land one hard smack after another on her supple nether cheeks. "Yes, you are quite the doxy! Before I walk with you, my little coquette, I'll cure you of all thoughts of debauchery, mark my word! Let this spanking be the start of it!"
"Aah! Yeess! Do it!" I heard amid the Smack! Smack! Smack! of the paddle. "Oh it burns, but it is what I deserve! Harder, if you please!"
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