Roger Benson, “Bare Bottomed at Birchwell” Chapter 5: Maid to Mop

Bare Bottomed at Birchwell by Roger Benson, 1962

With selected drawings by Miss Fran

Edited by Mrs. Angie Heart

Published by Bared Affair Publications

Chapter 5: Maid to Mop

As we know from prior issues of this column, Miss Agatha Webster was charged during the summer of 1962 with the education and “finishing” of two young American girls: Lorna Jane Welworthy, 20 years of age, and Patricia Jean “Patsy” Maidenly, just 19. As the owner of a large country estate in Sussex and a stylish flat in London’s exclusive Belgravia area, she knew the importance of obtaining and retaining good servants. Although the availability of top class domestic staff had declined somewhat in post-war Britain, Miss Webster’s impeccable and extensive connections had enabled her to deal with the problem effectively.

The good woman also knew that at some point in the future, both Lorna Jane and Patsy would contract good marriages and would live in a style that would include the presence of domestic help, although naturally not at the level that characterized the grand environs of Birchwell.

Miss Webster astutely recognized that an important part of the girls’ preparation for polite society would include instruction in the supervision of such domestic assistance. In Miss Webster’s view, the very best way to launch Lorna Jane and Patsy on this road of understanding was for the girls to serve as maids for a two week period at Birchwell. How better to obtain a first-hand view of the importance of a servant’s duties as well as the essential need for firm guidance in that role?

Agatha Webster therefore decided that she would grant two weeks of summer vacation to Marie Doolittle and Shirley Costermonger, the two pretty, shapely, and very obedient nineteen-year-olds who served as permanent live-in maids at Birchwell. The two were naturally delighted and immediate plans were made that they would travel together to Brighton’s seashore where they could enjoy a full fortnight of sleeping in, going to dances, and possibly even competing in the “Miss Brighton Bikini Contest”! With respect to the latter, Ferretson – Miss Webster’s chauffeur – had given each of the girls a skimpy polka dot bikini and had suggested they take their highest spike heeled pumps with them. Ferretson, it might be noted, was well-named. His features were conspicuously angular and his insinuating, sharptoothed smile most unpleasant. He was, however, a good driver and – in Miss Webster’s presence – a groveling toady.

And so it came to pass that Lorna Jane and Patsy found themselves fitted for maids’ uniforms. On a foundation of skimpy white bra and panty sets, off-white elastic garter belts, tautly-suspendered, charcoal-hued sheer nylon stockings, and glossy black patent leather pumps with four-inch spike heels, they wore skin-fitting black satin dresses, tightly belted at their shapely waists and ending two inches below their lovely, rounded knees. Little white lace maid’s caps and ridiculously tiny little white aprons completed their attire.

As we know, both Lorna Jane and Patsy came from prosperous homes where their strict but loving mothers had maids. Therefore, neither girl was exactly an expert on “domestic management matters.” They would learn quickly over the next two weeks, or else!

At Birchwell, when maids required discipline for minor offences this was handled directly by Mrs. Cranny, the dour widow who served as cook. More serious matters were referred to Miss Frobisher, Agatha Webster’s personal assistant. If the behavioral matter were deemed sufficiently serious, Miss Webster herself would become involved and then, needless to say, heaven help the hapless maid!

Lorna Jane and Patsy’s introduction to maid service occurred on a Tuesday evening of their very first week of “indentured servitude.” Miss Webster had invited several of her close friends: Mr. Justice Bleary of The High Court, Lord and Lady Leechmore, Gerald Goodsoul (the Village Vicar), Colonel Cedric Canewell, O.B.E. (ret.), and Basil Warpington, a society photographer with, shall we say, “diverse” interests. The omnipresent Miss Frobisher also attended, of course.

The two girls had received intensive instruction from Miss Cranny before the event, and that helped. However, it also filled their distraught minds with a mass of confusing detail. The knowledge that their performance would be “graded” by Miss Frobisher only augmented their girlish apprehensions.

Both Lorna Jane and Patsy remembered to curtsey at all appropriate times, avoided spilling anything, and behaved with delightfully succulent servility. Both girls experienced icy shivers and watery knees when they observed, on more than one occasion, Miss Frobisher surreptitiously scribbling in her little, black leather bound notebook!

Apart from Miss Frobisher, the other dinner guests – each in their own way – contributed to the girls’ delicious distress. Mr. Justice Bleary found Lorna Jane and Patsy’s tightly sheathed, ripely rounded behinds irresistible targets for occasional judicial pinches. Lady Leechmore’s cold, gray eyes left neither girl in much doubt about what the high-born woman would like to do to their naughty bottoms. The Reverend Goodsoul tittered, drooled, and utterly failed to observe the holy edict, “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s ass”! As for Basil Warpington, his creative mind was preoccupied with a photo-series featuring two shapely and skimpily attired maids who had been strictly caned, then bound and gagged!

A Very Appropriate Penalty

Next morning, outfitted in their revealing maids’ outfits, Lorna Jane and Patsy were marched by Miss Frobisher to the huge, paneled library that served as Miss Webster’s office at Birchwell. On entering the room, the girls gulped audibly when they saw Mr. Justice Bleary seated behind Miss Webster’s grand desk, resplendent in the crimson and ermine robes and the white wig that graced his impressive person in The High Court. Miss Webster, clad in a form fitting black suit, with matching black calfskin pumps, occupied a nearby Chippendale wing chair.

Fortunately, the girls remembered to curtsey and stammer out an obsequious “M’Lord” and then stood haplessly before the imposing desk, hands at their sides, heads bowed in abject humility.

Miss Webster now rose to her feet and announced, in cold contralto tones, “You girls have been summoned to this tribunal to face charges that you were deficient in the performance of your maiding duties at dinner last evening. Miss Frobisher, who has been duly deputized as prosecutor by M’Lord, Mr. Justice Bleary, will now enumerate the charges. Kindly proceed, Madam Prosecutor.”

With a flourish, Miss Frobisher produced her leather bound notebook and, in cold, measured tones, commenced reading her charges to the court. Poor Lorna Jane and Patsy trembled, stifled gasps, and blinked back tears as the woman went on and on. At last it was over.

“Harumph!” Mr. Justice Bleary straightened himself in his chair, his cheeks stained with the blush of last evening’s copious consumption of claret. “Harumph!” the Learned Justice repeated himself for emphasis. “You girlies have been sadly derelict in your duties. The facts of the case are clear. Why, if we were living in the olden times, you girlies would be up before Judge Jeffreys – God Bless His Memory! – and sentenced to a one way trip to Tyburn Prison where naughty maids soon learned the price of giving offence to their Mistresses.”

An icy shiver convulsed both Lorna Jane and Patsy’s shapely spines, culminating in a delicious, rippling spasm of their tightly skirted buttocks.

“Harumph!” Mr. Justice Bleary warmed to his task. “And a pretty pair you’d make – stripped to your scanties and bound – swinging side by side!” Lorna Jane and Patsy gasped, swaying as if they were about to faint as the warm tears dripped off their quivering chins. The hapless girls had no way of knowing that Mr. Justice Bleary was simply engaging in a little “judicial humour” at their expense.

“Fortunately for you girlies,” the Learned Judge continued, “we are living in a more permissive age and the correctional system reflects this accordingly. I therefore direct that your Mistress, Miss Agatha Webster, shall design appropriate domestic penalties that shall be administered upon your pretty persons as punishment for mediocre maiding! Madam Prosecutor, kindly take these miscreant misses into custody forthwith!”

Patsy was dealt with first. Within a hour, the tearful girl found herself stripped to her off-white elastic garter belt, sheer, charcoal-hued nylon stockings, glossy black patent leather spike-heeled pumps, and her diminutive little white maid’s cap. Unhappily for the poor girl, a red rubber ball-gag occupied her pretty mouth while her arms had been secured behind her back with glossy black leather buckling straps at her wrists and just above her elbows. A set of manacles, connected by a six-inch chain to ensure tiny, mincing steps, secured her shapely ankles. As a nuance in discipline, small bells were fastened to the ankle manacles! Patsy’s girlishly plump, succulently shapely bottom was decorated with a number of pretty stripes which thanked their origins to a freshly cut willow switch and Miss Frobisher’s disciplinary expertise.

Illustration by Roger Benson.

While Miss Webster watched with obvious approval, Miss Frobisher thrust the wooden handle of a mop between Patsy’s beautifully rounded thighs and instructed the girl to grip the end of the handle with her hands which, of course, were secured behind her back. Miss Frobisher then took a pitcher of water and poured it on the tiled floor of the large kitchen the trio occupied. “Now, Maid Maidenly – MOP!” Miss Frobisher commanded.

A desperately frightened and tearful Patsy wondered how on earth she could manage a mop in her present situation. She made a few ineffectual sweeps of the cleaning instrument.

“I’d recommend plenty of action, Maidenly,” intoned Miss Frobisher. “Unless, of course, you’d like a few more cuts of the switch on those shapely stockinged legs of yours.”

A desperate Patsy found that by swinging her hips in the most lascivious and unladylike fashion imaginable, she was able to approximate effective mopping. The girl’s tear-wet cheeks were scarlet with shame. Humiliatingly, the mop handle kept rising, wedging itself between her ripely moulded gluteal cheeks. The little bells on the ankle manacles jingled merrily with her twisting gyrations. Miss Webster and Miss Frobisher watched the girl’s every move with cold smiles. The willow switch rested in a brine filled vase as a terrible reminder!

A Disciplinary Shopping Trip

Lovely Lorna Jane’s punishment session was set for the morning of the next day. Under Miss Frobisher’s strict direction, the hapless girl was required to put on a black nylon “torpedo” bra, a black satin elastic garter belt, ultra- sheer, charcoal-hued nylon stockings, and a tiny black nylon g-string panty that left the exquisitely pale flesh of her succulently rounded buttocks deliciously bare! These provocative items of attire had been obtained by Miss Webster via Basil Warpington, who had a close relationship with a secret supplier of naughty lingerie in London’s infamous Soho district.

By way of marked contrast with the above-mentioned items, Lorna Jane’s ensemble was completed with a demure little pillbox hat, little white gloves, and matching glossy white patent leather pumps with high spike heels. Near tears, the distressed damsel was required to put her hands on her hips and be inspected by her strict mistress, Aunty Agatha.

“Very good, Miss Frobisher,” Agatha Webster spoke approvingly. “Procure the coat, if you will.”

Miss Frobisher opened a closet and took out a fawn-colored, belted, Mackintosh-style raincoat. Lorna Jane was at once ordered to put the coat on. The girl gasped audibly as Miss Frobisher buckled the belt around the girl’s shapely waist at the tightest possible notch.

Agatha Webster now handed Lorna Jane a lengthy list. “You are going into the village for a little shopping trip, Welworthy,” Miss Webster explained in a patronizing tone. “Miss Frobisher will supply you with the requisite funds and a carrier bag into which you will put the specified acquisitions. Ferretson will drive you to the edge of the village and wait for you there while you exercise those pretty legs of yours in the performance of your errands.”

As can be imagined, Lorna Jane’s nearly naked condition under the raincoat caused her the most exquisite distress imaginable. To make matters worse, the garment ended less than an inch below her nubile, nyloned knees. In addition, because of the positioning of the coat’s buttons, the action of walking would cause the lower front parts to flap about. Lorna Jane would be compelled to take tiny, mincing steps to minimize the risk that keen eyes would infer that she was wearing an inappropriately short skirt. Remember, gentle reader, that this was 1962 – well before the “miniskirt era”!

The trip to the village of Wopping Stoat with Ferretson was a horror for poor Lorna Jane. Inside the ice-blue Bentley, she had to sit in the front seat, next to the leering, smirking chauffeur. The girl clutched the hem of her Mackintosh, her head bowed in shame.

“I say, miss,” Ferretson spoke in a tone of utterly false courtesy. “May I ask what you are wearing under that coat?”

Lorna Jane gasped, blushing scarlet. “Ouuuuhhhh… I-I… Ouuuuhhhh…” was all she could manage before falling silent, consumed by the depths of humiliation.

Ferretson parked the Bentley at the bottom of the High Street, ensuring that Lorna Jane would have a long way to walk. “It’s rather pleasant and sunny today, miss. Would you like to leave your raincoat in the car?” he offered with a barely concealed snicker. Lorna Jane squealed with fright and exited the vehicle as quickly as possible.

She walked, taking small steps and keeping her head down in the hope others in the street would not see her shame red cheeks. The combination of high spike heels and little, mincing steps caused her girlishly plump behind to sway and jiggle. The rubberized lining the raincoat gently brushed the pale, smooth, ripely-moulded flesh of her buttocks. The wicked g-string panty insinuatingly bisected those succulent hemispheres and rubbed against her plump little bumhole and ultra-sensitive vulval lips. The friction was unavoidable and insistent.

The hapless girl found herself uncontrollably thinking about the tenderly loving caresses of her far-away boyfriend, Rod Long. Finally, as the friction of her panties persisted, the girl was overtaken by a most surprising sensation. It was a feeling of pleasure that built while she was walking. Slowly at first, an impending orgasm mounted to a level that caused Lorna Jane to cover her trembling lips with her soft hand to stifle an outcry. She had never known such shame!

Except, possibly, the shame of the shopping trip itself. The thought of Miss Webster’s cane was in her mind as her trembling hand touched the doorknob of the Chemist’s Shop – which is what our British friends call their drugstores. Blushing and stammering, the hapless and humiliated girl asked the balding and portly proprietor for an eight-ounce rubber bulb enema syringe and a tube of Vaseline. He smirkingly procured the goods. Later, the lengthy list required a visit to the Ironmonger’s (the delightfully quaint British appellation for a hardware store) to purchase a twelve-foot coil of white clothesline rope.

Lorna Jane shivered with dread as she recalled that it was precisely this type of rope that Mrs. Evelyn Goddard had once used to tie her up after she had pilfered the good woman’s stockings. But, unlike Aunty Agatha, Mrs. Goddard had also shown moments of great warmth and kindness toward Lorna Jane and the girl had learned not only to respect, but also love, her strict guardian during the 1961-62 school year.

A Corporal Conclusion

Her lengthy “shopping trip” concluded, Lorna Jane was returned to Birchwell. Miss Frobisher marched the girl into Miss Webster’s dark-toned library and office. The girl was required to stand – divested of her raincoat – quivering in her skimpy and provocative attire while Miss Webster and Miss Frobisher carefully compared her purchases with the shopping list.

“The heliotrope lozenges are missing,” Miss Webster observed, an inflection of deep disappointment in her cultivated voice. “They are Mr. Justice Bleary’s favorite confection,” she added meaningfully.

An icy shiver convulsed Lorna Jane’s skimpily attired, succulently shapely body. Tears welled in the girl’s eyes. The Learned Judge, with his impressive wig and opulent robes, filled her with the deepest dread. Would Miss Webster inform him of her behavioral deficiency? What sentence would he decree?

“Whatever shall we do?” Miss Webster enquired of Miss Frobisher, a thin smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Why, send her back to fetch them,” Miss Frobisher responded without hesitation. “And this time she’ll do it without the coat!” she added darkly. Lorna Jane gasped, her lovely rounded knees almost buckling.

“A capital idea, Miss Frobisher,” Miss Webster responded. A long, torturing pause ensued. “But I don’t think the good burghers of Wopping Stoat are quite ready for Welworthy en deshabille, as our French friends would say.”

Agatha Webster now showed her kindly side. She turned her gaze to the softly crying, haplessly quivering girl. “You have made an error, Welworthy,” she observed in a pleasant tone of voice. “But it is a relatively minor one and a relatively minor penalty will therefore suffice. Specifically, I shall give you six strokes of the nursery cane. Then you will put your nice raincoat back on and Ferretson will return you to the village for the lozenges.”

The older woman then rose to her feet and gently but firmly gripped Lorna Jane by her upper left arm. “You’re for the Caning Chamber, dear. I believe you know the way.”

Illustration by Roger Benson.

The spike-heeled pumps worn by Agatha Webster and Lorna Jane clicked down the long hallways of Birchwell. Miss Frobisher, wearing rubber-soled shoes, followed up the rear, her eyes glued to Lorna Jane’s undulating rump. Her ears would have much preferred to hear a sentence of nine strokes with the “Girls’ Tutorial Number 2” punishment cane.

Secured to the Caning Chair, Lorna Jane emitted a poignant, keening squeal as the nursery cane hissed through the air and ended its journey on the plumpest curves of her bottom. The instrument of correction stung but was not remotely like the searing pain the “Girls’ Tutorial Number 2” punishment cane visited upon girlishly plump behinds.

The five strokes that followed, dutifully recorded by a disappointed Miss Frobisher, were much the same. It seemed that Miss Webster was more intent upon administering “a reminder,” rather than a true punishment. Indeed, when it was over, the older woman gently stroked Lorna Jane’s lovely brunette tresses and murmured, “You’ve been a brave girl, Welworthy. Try not to be forgetful in the future.”

The trip to the village was a distressing experience for poor Lorna Jane. Despite the relative leniency of her correction, her bottom throbbed and tingled, causing her to squirm uncontrollably – in the course of which she afforded the eagle-eyed Ferretson a number of delicious views of shapely, stockinged thighs.

Back on the High Street, Lorna Jane made her way to the Confectioner’s Shoppe. Each mincing little spike-heeled step seemed to augment the throbbing tingle in her succulent sitter. This time, when the rubberized lining of the coat brushed against her freshly-caned buttocks, there were no thoughts of Rod Long and his tender caresses. Instead, to her credit, Lorna Jane thought about the lessons she was learning at Birchwell and how they were helping her to become a properly brought up young lady who would be accepted in any and all quarters of polite society and to be a dutiful and obedient young wife who would know how to manage her domestic responsibilities.

Continue reading – Bare Bottomed at Birchwell Chapter 6: Diligent Discipline by Roger Benson

Also, more Roger Benson spanking illustrations here.

Smiles and Spanks,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s