This short story is an entry in the 2001 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Adult
The Problem
By
Valerie Meilong <VMeilong1@excite.com>
I don't often go to Lambeth, but I'd seen this advertisement for a bed-sit. It was a busted flush. There were extras not mentioned in the ad. It was small, and it was in a seedy part of the district. I politely but firmly said no.
Of course, I got lost, didn't I? Found myself in dark, gothic, gloomy street of old Victorian houses. I noticed a sign saying House Clearance, Auction Today. Na�vely hoping for bargains I went in. "Lot 66," I heard the auctioneer say. It was a full-length mirror, with an ornate carved-wood frame. "Twenty quid?" said the man hopefully. I got it for five pounds.
I lugged it outside, hailed a cab, and took it home. I cleaned it and propped it agaist the wall in my bedroom. "Boy George, can fix it tomorrow," I said to myself. Boy George was my current lover, a youthful-looking architect.
As I was going to bed after a sexy evening, I heard and angry voice. "Get in here, you disgraceful hussy." There was a faint light coming from the mirror. I crossed to it and saw a dim room, probably a bedroom. A tall stern man stood in the room wearing a high starched collared shirt, and long coat-tails. He had a birch in his hand. "Come here, you shameful whore," he snarled angrily. Nervously I moved forward and stepped through the mirror towards him. "Now, you little beast, I'm going to teach you a lesson." He grabbed me, and forced me over his lifted knee, and held me firmly in place with his arm around my waist. With his right hand he lifted my skirts and petticoats, and undid the flap at the back of my long frilly drawers. He raised the birch and I screamed as he brought it down on my bare bottom.
At long-last he finished. "Now get to bed, and stay there till the morning."
I crept back through the mirror, undressed, and got into bed naked. I cried myself to sleep.
The next morning I dashed to the mirror, but saw only myself. I twisted and stared at my bottom. It was criss-crossed with tiny cuts from the birch. I flung myself onto my bed, sobbing uncontrollably. Thank God it was a Sunday..
It was twelve when I staggered up. I telephoned Boy George and he asked me out for dinner. We went to his apartment afterwards, and made love. He caressed my bottom as usual, but seemed not to notice the welts. Maybe he ignored them.
The mirror was quiescent that night. I was grateful, I couldn't have taken another birching.
So, there its is. Regular as clockwork. Every Saturday night I'm called, and I step through the mirror, and get my birching. It's been six months now.
Frankly, I look forward to my Saturday nights. But I have a problem. Boy George wants me to marry him, and I'd like to say yes. But what do I do with the mirror?
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2001
This document may contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** This story is for entertainment purposes only, and it does not necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is purely coincidental. The Copyright of this story is held by ESP Publishing Ltd., Beijing, China. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via an electronic medium such as the Internet is permitted as long as the text is not modified, and the name of the author and this copyright notice is clearly included. Any other form of publication is expressly forbidden unless authorized in writing by ESP Publishing Ltd.
Reviews
Musicman <rcarrol(at)gte(dot)net>
I enjoy impossible scenarios, and this was one. I'd like to be the man in the mirror.
Jodi <ladiejj(at)webtv(dot)net>
This is a creative story. The mirror has that mystical feel to it. This story have a lot of nice detail and descriptions such as "criss-crossed with tiny cuts." This story was written with good narration. The ending left the reader with a smile, in contemplating the narrators predicament.