Blushing at Both Ends (22 page)

As her spanking progressed, her outraged yells gave way to tearful pleas for forgiveness. But Walter felt no pity; rather, a fierce joy possessed him. Lillian was a delight to spank: her gasps and yelps warmed his heart, and her bottom, so soft and sensitive, bouncing beneath his vengeful palm, appeared yet more beautiful now it was blushing bright red. He could happily have gone on spanking her all day.

But at last he paused and Lillian believed her ordeal was over. Then to her horror she saw him pick up the riding crop that had fallen from her hand. ‘Oh no, Walter! Please! Not that!' she wailed, but her tutor was merciless.

‘You tried to strike me with this, young lady,' he told her, disregarding her frantic pleas. ‘I think you may come to regret it.'

Swish-CRACK!

‘Yaaa-haaah!' squealed Lillian as the slender crop cracked across her already anguished bottom. A crimson stripe sprang up against the scarlet of the spanked cushions. Walter regarded it with satisfaction, then went on to print two dozen more alongside the original, until the whole expanse of the girl's bottom glowed dark red. Lillian writhed desperately, begging for mercy. ‘Owwww! Oh, Walter, no more, I beg you!
Owwww!
Oh stop, please! I'm sorry! Aaaah! Oh, it hurts so!'

After the 25th stroke, Walter stopped and let the sobbing girl slide off his knees to the woodland floor, where she lay whimpering face-down, her blazing mounds on display. Walter leant down and gently stroked her hair. ‘Goodbye, Lilly,' he murmured, then mounted his horse and rode off down the valley, his
mind
seething. He would never see her again, he was sure, and the thought stabbed his heart; yet there was pleasure in knowing that he had chastised her as she so richly merited. What none of her high-born suitors, no matter how provoked, had ever dared do, he – the penniless tutor – had achieved. Of that at least he could be proud, come what may.

It was late in the afternoon by the time Walter regained the Hall. Seeking out Mr Cartwright in the library, he tendered his immediate resignation. The old man received the news with regret but, recognising Walter's resolve, made no attempt to dissuade him.

Loath to spend even another night at the Hall, Walter asked a parlour maid to enquire about trains and arrange for the post-chaise to be brought round, then repaired to his room to pack his things. While he was so engaged, there came a light tap at the door. ‘Come in!' he cried, expecting the maid with the train times, and continued to pack without looking round.

‘Walter.' The voice behind him was soft and sweet and low.

He swung round. ‘Lilly! I thought – I expected never to see you again, after . . .'

‘After you'd spanked me so unmercifully?' She smiled ruefully, and her hand strayed involuntarily to her still tender rear. ‘Indeed, you were very cruel. But you know –' she moved closer and touched his arm, gazing up at him appealingly ‘– I think perhaps I deserved it. What you did was quite unforgivable, of course. But what I said was no less so. So may we not forgive each other for our unforgivable faults?'

She was very close now. There was a softness and submissiveness in her expression that he had never seen there before, and a hint of tremulousness about her lower lip. She had never seemed more adorable to him. He held her close and kissed her, and for some time there was silence in the room.

Finally, Walter spoke. ‘Lilly – dear, sweet, infuriating Lilly – will you marry me?'

‘They will call you a fortune-hunter, Walter,' she responded teasingly.

‘Let them call me what they will. I have known what it is to be poor, and have learnt the value of money. With me as your husband your fortune will be far safer than with any of those titled drones. Once more, will you marry me?'

She shot him an enigmatic look. ‘Tell me, Walter, if I become your wife, will you still be so cruel as to spank me?'

‘Certainly, my darling, with the greatest of pleasure – very soundly, and whenever you deserve it. As a loving and conscientious husband with your best interests at heart, I could do no less. Now, for the third and last time: will you marry me?'

‘And what, pray, will you do if I refuse?' she enquired, glancing up at him coquettishly from beneath her lashes.

Walter smiled. ‘Then, my beloved, I shall once more put you across my knee, bare your impudent bottom and spank you smartly until you say yes.'

‘In that case,' she murmured with a provocative pout, ‘I shall
not
say yes – for at least the next five minutes . . .'

13

‘Spank Me Baby, Don't Mean
Maybe': the Missing Chapter
from
Brave New World

IN A RECENT
article on ‘Spanking in Literature', I noted that Aldous Huxley often betrayed an interest in the subject, and that ‘spanking references, if no actual spankings' showed up in several of his novels. A few months later, I was intrigued to receive a packet from a post-graduate student working at a certain Southwestern US university that holds an extensive collection of Huxley's papers
.

Both the post-grad and the college must remain anonymous, since she tells me she found these pages in a file marked EMBARGOED – NOT FOR PUBLICATION. But it's clear that what we have here is a hitherto suppressed episode that Huxley originally intended for his best-known novel, the 1932 satirical futurist classic
Brave New World.

The novel's set in a sterile technological 26th-century utopia whose deity is Henry Ford. Bernard Marx, a top-caste ‘Alpha' tormented by a sense of dissatisfaction with the supposedly perfect society he lives in, is on vacation in New Mexico with the lovely and ‘wonderfully pneumatic' young Lenina Crowne. Though Bernard finds Lenina highly desirable, he's irritated by her mindless
tendency
to parrot the glib propaganda phrases of this ‘brave new world', and to urge ‘a gramme of soma' (a euphoric drug) on him every time he expresses unconventional opinions. Eventually his patience wears thin
. . .

From their hotel window, on the 65th floor, Bernard Marx gazed moodily out at the towers of Santa Fe. Except for the luminous blue sky overhead, there was little to distinguish them from the familiar multistorey towers of Charing T. He turned back to face the room. Impersonal in its luxury, it offered much the same comforts as his own apartment: liquid air, television, vibro-vacuum massage, boiling caffeine solution, soma dispenser, heated contraceptives, synthetic music vents, multiple-choice scent diffuser. Below him, on the lower floors, his fellow guests were no doubt happily engaged in erotic play, or in games of Escalator-Squash-Racquets or Electro-Magnetic Obstacle Golf, just as at home.

Why bother, Bernard mused morosely to himself, when every place was like every other, all offering the same prospects, the same comforts, the same hazard-free, well-regulated diversions. Even, he reflected bitterly, as Lenina emerged from the bathroom wearing only her shell-pink zippicamiknicks and undulated seductively towards him across the deep-pile carpet, her arms raised to embrace him, even the same lush, flawless, infinitely desirable flesh. Lovely as Lenina undoubtedly was, he could no doubt have found other girls just as lovely, just as unhesitatingly compliant, here in Santa Fe. ‘Why bother?' he repeated out loud.

‘Oh, Bernard!' Lenina stopped in her tracks. Her arms dropped back to her sides and she gazed at him with a hurt expression in her eyes. ‘But I thought you liked me. Everyone says I'm awfully pneumatic.' She regarded her curvaceous person worriedly. ‘Am I
too
plump for you? Is that what it is?'

She turned, presenting her rearward charms for Bernard's consideration. Even in his disillusioned mood, he had to admit that they were superb. Lenina's full perky breasts, crowned with rosy nipples, her elegantly turned legs, her moist full-lipped smile, her wide blue eyes and lustrous blonde hair were all in their own way glorious; but her bottom was a triumph of the geneticist's art, honed to perfection over six centuries. Generation after generation of spermatozoa and ova, lovingly selected for the dominant gene of callipygousness, of exceptional posterior beauty, had been painstakingly bred, matched and spliced, nourished and nurtured in optimum laboratory conditions of impeccable sterility; inspected, appraised and approved by team upon team of dedicated biologists; and these delectable twin globes, offered now to Bernard's reluctantly admiring gaze, were the triumphant outcome. Rounded, soft and peachy, a delight to the eye and an irresistible temptation to the hand, Lenina Crowne's hinder parts were the apotheosis of female bottomhood.

Faced with irresistible temptation, who was Bernard to resist? Almost despite himself, his hand reached out to squeeze and fondle the shapely hemispheres, whose succulent flesh the satiny fabric of the zippicamiknicks hugged as intimately as a second skin. Coyly, the twin mounds yielded to his libidinous palping, their tender roundnesses rippling beneath his exploring fingers.

‘Thank Ford,' Lenina breathed to herself as she felt Bernard's tactile homage to her nether orbs, ‘he's all right again.' And, as she had told her friend Fanny, he did have awfully nice hands.

She remained facing away from him until she judged the moment propitious, then turned and wound her arms about Bernard's neck, completing the interrupted embrace. Feeling his body respond to hers, she purred happily, nibbled his earlobe and began to murmur her favourite erotic incantation:

Hug me till you drug me, honey,

Kiss me till I'm in a coma,

Hug me, honey, snuggly bunny,

Love's as good as
soma
. . .

Disgusted, Bernard pushed her brutally away. ‘Oh, for Ford's sake,' he snapped, ‘don't you have a single original thought in your head?'

Lenina gaped at him, confused by this unfamiliar concept. ‘I don't know what you mean,' she stammered, tears filling her blue eyes. ‘Oh, Bernard, I just wanted us to have fun.'

‘Fun? Oh, of course, by all means. Ford forbid that we should fail to have fun when the opportunity presents itself! And then, after we've had fun – what then? More fun, no doubt, and then more, and more. Fun unlimited, fun without end – fun to the furthest reaches of eternity!'

‘But what's wrong with that?' protested Lenina helplessly.

‘Oh, nothing – nothing whatsoever,' Bernard retorted. ‘But if fun's all we want, then we might as well be Gammas, mightn't we? Or even Deltas or Epsilons. They have fun too, don't they?'

‘Well, yes, but not as good. I mean – well, it's wonderful to be an Alpha, isn't it? Especially an Alpha-Plus like you, Bernard. You should be happy about it.'

‘Oh, I am. Deliriously, stupidly happy. How could I not be? A hundred and twenty repetitions three times a week for thirty months, right through my infant sleeping hours, telling me how happy I was. So, inevitably, I am. But, you see, so are the Betas. ‘‘I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta,'' they'll tell you brightly, for all the world as if they'd worked it out for their own stupid selves. And the Gammas are awfully glad too, and so are the Deltas and the Epsilons. All of them awfully, marvellously, damnably glad!'

‘A gramme is better than a damn,' Lenina responded automatically.

Bernard groaned. ‘
Soma
. That's all you know, isn't it? Every time I try to talk to you, to express ideas of my own, all you can suggest is
soma
. Or fun, of course.'

‘But your ideas are so dreadful, Bernard. They make me feel uncomfortable, and I'm sure they're what's making you so miserable. And if you'd just take
soma
you'd forget all about them. Remember,' she added, reaching for another reassuring nugget of infant-learnt wisdom, ‘one cubic centimetre cures ten gloomy sentiments. Oh, do let me give you some!'

Without waiting for Bernard's response, Lenina turned and bent over the
soma
dispenser, once more presenting him with a fine prospect of her delectable rump; indeed, an even finer prospect than before, since her semi-inclined posture enhanced the lush curvature of her buttocks, jutting them invitingly towards him. As she operated the dispenser, her movements caused the soft mounds to tremble appealingly.

The impulse seemed beyond Bernard's control. All his irritation at Lenina, his disgust with himself, his frustration, anger and resentment collected together, coalesced and flowed down his right arm into his open hand. The hand rose of its own accord.

The noise of that prodigious slap rang round the room like a pistol shot.

‘Ow!' Lenina shot upright, gazing over her shoulder with huge horrified eyes. She clapped one hand to her injured bottom-cheek.

Bernard gazed back, feeling the power and vibrant impact of the smack swell to possess his whole being. Suddenly he knew what, at that moment, he wanted to do more than anything else in the world.

Reaching out, he grasped the astonished girl by the wrist. ‘Come here, Lenina,' he said. ‘I'm going to spank you.'

‘But – what – why – oh, Bernard, please, no!'

But her protests were in vain. Filled with determination and a fierce glee, Bernard drew her inexorably towards the bed, sat down on it and pulled her face-down over his lap, positioning her so that the voluptuous contours of her bottom curved uppermost. Encased in the skin-tight zippicamiknicks, whose sheer pink fabric moulded itself lovingly to the dimpled flesh, the beautifully rounded twin globes presented themselves alluringly ripe for smacking.

Bernard paused for a moment, savouring the exquisite sense of anticipation, then brought his hand down in a resounding spank.

Lenina wailed as it stung her sensitive flesh. ‘Oww! Oh no, don't –'

But again the hand descended, swiftly and implacably; again and again and again. Desperately Lenina squealed and writhed as the heat built up in her gyrating rear; pitifully she implored him to stop. To no avail. Not until several dozen vigorous smacks had made their impact smartingly felt did Bernard pause; and then, Lenina realised with dismay, it was only to remove the scant protection of her zippicamiknicks.