Victoria reflects

Victoria’s mind was a whirl. She lay on her bed, reliving her experience in the library. Images flowed through her mind. Her body bent over the desk, her chemise bundled up around her waist. The whistling of the cane and then the impact of it landing on her bare cheeks; the sudden burning pain. The tutor, cool, aloof, rhythmically wielding the cane, each stroke measured and precise. The two footmen, their strong grip firmly holding her struggling body flat over the desk. Her cries, helpless, filling the deep silence of the austere wood-panelled library. The faces of the two footmen at the end. Margaret’s cruel enjoyment of her humiliation. Unable to help herself, she fumblingly unbuttoned the silk drawers and pushed then down around her knees. Her fingers traced the marks left by the cane across her bottom, thin red lines, still sore to the touch. She felt confused. Her body felt different, tingling, and almost alive after the caning. The picture of the tutor, tall, cool, confident, standing over her, caning her, her naked buttocks lifted up, presented to him was too vivid; her fingers moved lower pressing between her legs. She gasped as she found herself already damp. Her fingers found her special place, pressing it, rubbing it, and then suddenly as she rubbed herself a finger slipped deep inside her, causing her to twist in newfound ecstasy. Moving her finger around, exploring herself, she mentally counted each stroke of the cane, her body jolting at each remembered blow. Suddenly her body was bathed in warmth, and she was gasping for breath, moaning softly to herself, one fingered buried as far as the knuckle in her tight little groove between her legs. Gradually the orgasm died away, leaving her with a feeling of calmness and well-being, and she drifted off to sleep, her hand still buried between her legs.