Hello, again, nice of you visit, have you been before? If you have, you will know that I write spanking stories, some very short, some quite long and some much much longer, like this one.
This will be a full length photo illustrated spanking novel, well over 60000 words, and at least 20 chapters. It is still under construction, but feel free to read it as it is… It will join up with ‘ the Misadventures of Molly the Victorian Maid…making it huge!
So read this first, then go here, this will be chapter two
ALL PHOTOS TAKEN BY MYSELF UNLESS STATED, OR ARE OBVIOUS HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS.
I am going to add it a bit at a time , in between creating my other works for you to read, so pop back soon, the kettle is always on, and if you are lucky, there could be a chocolate biscuit!
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Flagellation Brothels rose in popularity in France before coming over to England, where they flourished. The story you are about to read is set in Victorian England, in one such brothel, which had a spanking themed theatre attached. The establishment was called ‘The Inveigle’, and could be found in Whitechapel, London.
Predominantly the early flagellation brothels were places where women went to see other women, either to spank, or be spanked. Early French spanking literature, which was abundant, makes this quite clear. The most famous of all the early English establishments was owned by a woman named Charlotte Hayes who lived 1725 – 1813, I am going to tell you a little of her history, because the Inveigle was run by one of her descendants. Abigail Hayes.
This is where you would have gone to see Charlotte Hayes, up to the top right hand corner of the square in the illustration.
Not at all a seedy area, this was a very well to do location. The prostitutes of her standing were called courtesans. They mixed with the top echelons of society and had a handful of regular clients, who paid them well and showered them with expensive gifts. They were Mistresses of Dukes, and Duchesses, and many other representatives of leading society. Many were also artist’s models, and not surprisingly had fallen in love with the artists who adored and flattered them, as they themselves had fallen in love with them.
They had feelings for their treasured ‘friends’ and lived a lavish lifestyle, which these close associates willingly provided. They were a Bohemian group.
They could be seen strolling in the great parks of London accompanied by the finest gentlemen and ladies, people knew who they were and how to find them. Each year, books were published, giving accounts of their practices and their establishments. It was vital to have good reports in these publications.
ONE OF THE PUBLICATIONS
( During my research I read many of these, they describe orgies and all sorts of naughty things!)
These books were popular beyond belief and made huge sums of money for the authors. The man who who published this particular one left all his profits from the book to Charlotte, such was her fame and influence.
Despite her later wealth and favour, she trod a hard path to her fame, spending spells in debtors prison, it was here where she met the love of her life, an impoverished irish Poet named Dennis O’kelly. On his death he left her his pet parrot amongst other things, the reason I mention this is because it could recite the whole of Psalm 104…imagine that!
He made his fortune trading in race horses, in particular one champion called ‘Eclipse’, a prize winning stallion. This led him to buying a beautiful house in Epsom called Canons, and this is where Charlotte spent the rest of her life, residing in this elgant palace.
Lets meet her…, you open the door and there she is, ready and waiting, she speaks in a soft seductive voice, “I understand you like naughty girls, well, I am afraid I have been a very naughty one indeed, please take the birch from the hook on the wall over there, and attend to my naughty rump.”
You take the birch, a little unsure how to proceed, she seems so delicate and beautiful. Do you just thrash her?
She has been doing this for years and knows exactly how to plant a seed of thought. “Pretend to be my Mummy, I have let you down at a huge dinner party and you are very annoyed.”
You walk to the window and open it. “I have never been so ashamed Charlotte, you will never do that again, I am going to teach you a lesson and all the people on the street are going to hear it!”
“Yes Mummy, I’m sorry Mummy.” You watch with anticipation as she stands on her tip toes with her lovely rounded bottom pushed backwards. You need no further invitation and raise the Birch Rod high in the air.
You deliver a sound thrashing, bits of birch twig shatter and fly into the air, she wriggles, squirms and screams but amazes you by holding her position. Your eyes study the effect of the bunch of twigs delivering a thousand bee stings at every stroke. In a matter of minutes her whole bottom is ablaze with tiny welts. Your breathing is laboured as you admire her beautiful red rump, and prepare to inflict the final six strokes.
There is a silence and you realise that she is awaiting instruction. You cough, “That was wonderful thank you, I can hardly believe what has just happened, you have made a dream become a reality!”
“Thank you, can I straighten?” As a submissive she naturally awaited instruction.
“Oh sorry, yes you may.”
She turns and smiles the disarming smile that has melted a thousand hearts, and whilst rubbing her bottom, she asks. “May I pull my bloomers up now Mummy?”
“Yes you may.”
With a wince and another wiggle she does so. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
You say that would be very pleasant, and she rings a small brass bell. Almost instantly an attractive sandy haired young maid walks in, she is given instruction and leaves.
“That will be two guineas please.”
You pay and then settle down for a chat.
You had probably purchased one of the small magazines available at the time, and subsequently made an appointment, but in the early days it wasn’t so easy. If a girl was in need of a spanking, or wanted to spank another girl then it was neccessary to take a walk in the parks, and look for a woman wearing a slightly larger nosegay (a bunch of flowers worn on the lapel) and most importantly, purple gloves. That is all you needed to know, and if you were determined enough to find someone to spank you, then you would need to acquire this knowledge. You would seek out such a person make eye contact, and receive a delightful knowing smile, and a nod of the head. Your adventure would begin.
A best friend of Charlotte’s who ran a similar flagellation brothel was a lady called Theresa Berkley, who strangely enough lived at No28 Charlotte Street. She was one of the first to have specially built flogging frames. She was famous for being one of the first dominatrix, and the book entitled ‘Exhibition of Female Flagellants’ was attributed to her.
Charlotte was not to be outdone and had her own designs made. Business must have been flourishing, because it is said she had one where up to forty could be in at one time!
Men were now coming for punishment too, and it seems that Charlotte would sometimes have her naked whores lay on their backs, underneath the men and play with themselves. The men would be thrashed without mercy across their naked rumps, while at the same time being able to watch as the girls pleasured themselves. At the right moment the man was attended to, either by the girl beneath or another. He would leave sore, but content.
But for me, I am going to stay with the female/female side of the flagellation brothels…
Upon Charlotte’s death, her daughters, (her whores), whom she called her ‘nuns’ made sure her work continued (people at the time often referred to prostitutes as nuns, reputedly due to the number of nuns in the crusades who changed their profession as they travelled with the soldiers)
A descendant of Charlotte’s family lived in Victorian Whitechapel. Her name was Abigail Hayes, it is a story about her, that I really want to tell you. All based around an establishment called ‘The Inveigle’.
The Inveigle had a beautiful theatre attached, which put on regular Saturday Night Spanking Shows performed by The Inveigle Girls. Theatres and ‘girls of ill repute’ have gone hand in hand for centuries, many performers being artist’s models, professional funeral mourners, and prostitutes, to help earn a living.
Charlotte was known to be very adept at what might now be called ‘grooming’. She had a reputation for providing the most beautiful girls, (as well as herself, but only to the privileged few of her own treasured clients). She would place an advert asking for a young girl to tend the elderly, or sick, offering free board and lodgings, as well as a little remuneration. As the girls came for interviews she would select the prettiest, and then tell them that that particular job had gone, but offered them an alternative.
As well as this, her own clients and friends would proffer a girl, or if she spotted a suitable girl ‘about town’ she would approach them. The most famous of all her protégés was a girl called Emily Warren, who became famous on the London Stage, so much so that Joshua Reynolds himself painted her, saying that he had never seen a ‘so faultless and finely formed human figure’, which is a compliment indeed, seeing as he is one of our most famous artists.
Charlotte spotted her begging on the street at the age of twelve. She was so struck by her ‘uncommon beauty’ that she took her in and set about training her. A little like ‘My Fair Lady’, she taught her how to speak, walk, move in a lady like way, and converse in a way befitting a lady of class.
When a customer walked into ‘The Inveigle’, a signed print of the picture hung on the wall, with an arrow pointing to the theatre. Here is the picture, showing her dressed for one of her most famous parts, ‘Thais’.
Here it is, imagine it, nearly six feet high in a gilt frame with flickering candles either side, and the story of how the great Charlotte Hayes trained her, and she is the reason for the theatre commonly being called ‘The Warren’ at the Inveigle.
Emily Warren from a painting by Joshua Reynolds
In Victorian times the love of Latin was everywhere. It was a way of showing a person’s standard of education. To keep pornography away from the masses, most of it was written in Latin.
To show ‘class’ and keep up with the times, there was another sign hanging up in the entrance of The Inveigle, pointing in the opposite direction to the theatre. Through that door were the stairways to the girls, and the spanking booths. The sign was of a famous Roman phrase used when London was Londinium, and Southwark was the home of its brothels. It read…
“Quo loco recta vin ad lupanur, amicus?”
Which, when translated, means,
“Which way to the brothel my friend?”
I must not keep you any longer. This introduction to my story has been much longer than anticipated. I wanted you to know that ‘Flagellation Brothels’ were a real thing, especially those for women only. I wanted you to know the tradition of the theatre, and how the girls of the stage were also prostitutes too. I wanted you to know how ‘The Inveigle’ had begun.
It is now time to take a walk to the wild side of London in Victorian England…
A place where in 1850 there were fifty thousand prostitutes.
A place where streets that housed the bawdy houses, the brothels, and the erotic theatres, had names like ‘Cock’s Lane’, or ‘Gropecunt Lane’. These are real street names.
A place where women of the day, plying such trade, had grand names like Clarice la Clatterbollock, or Alice Strumpet. These too are real names.
A place where huge crowds would gather in Hyde Park to gaze at girls like Catherine Walters, who was known as ‘Skittles’. She was arguably the most famous Courtesan ever, wore outfits which were so tight, that people knew she had nothing on underneath. Her clients included the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Devonshire.
A place where spanking was one of the most common erotic acts. Even Mrs Beeton, the lady who wrote the famous cookery book, wrote articles in ‘Lady’s Magazines’ describing how to punish a maid, and recommending spankings to be administered on the bare bottom and with other ladies and maids watching, so as to enhance the punishment with humiliation.
So walk with me through the dark, gas lit streets of Victorian London, where the fog hangs heavy. We see a sign hanging above us, the time honoured sign of the brothel, used since the days of Pompeii. A simple ‘hand mark’.
But this sign is slightly different.
Hanging from a wrought iron bracket, and swinging gently. It creaks under a huge gas lamp, it too shows the hand mark, but this one is painted bright red on a blushing pink bottom. Written underneath in golden copperplate writing are the words ‘The Inveigle.’
Waiting for you is a welcome as warm as freshly spanked bottom. The welcome is from Abigail Hayes, the proprietor. Of all the history I have related to you there is one physical link. It is Abigail’s pride and joy, a smooth ivory spanking paddle which Charlotte left to her ‘nuns’. It has been passed down the family line ever since. It hung in her parlour and was used to both punish and delight many of the girls in her service. Rest assured it was only one of many implements in that parlour, all of which were well polished due to regular use!
It is time for our story to begin, it is Saturday night, follow me, let’s go to the theatre…
Victorian England 1887
It is a clear cold evening late in the year, and as usual the sound and smell of horses are everywhere. A well groomed black mare steadily slows to a stop with its hooves slipping and sliding on the damp shiny cobbles. A man in a brushed top hat and bottle green frock coat steps down from the coach, which is harnessed to the horse. He unhooks two chocks, and places one behind, and another in front of the nearside rear wheel of a black, luxurious carriage. His ruddy face is lit by the coach light as he opens the door and smiles politely to the people inside.
Two young ladies alight from the carriage which has stopped at the entrance to ‘The Inveigle’. They smile kindly at the smart, good looking man, and pay their fare. In return he touches the brim of his top hat and smiles knowingly. He is their regular driver and arranges to pick them up in two and a half hours, unless he hears differently. So once the horse is stabled and the carriage secured, he waits across the road in a Coffee House. They are paying him handsomely, not just for the journey and time, but to keep quiet. They are not ashamed of where they have come, but all the same, it is best to keep wagging tongues silent..
‘The Inveigle’, situated in the east end of London, is a brothel of sorts, which has a rather grand theatre attached. What makes this bawdy house different is the fact that it caters for women who seek other women, mainly for erotic consensual spankings, which is why these two Ladies are here.
Imagine how these Ladies would feel as they approach the entrance to their club. It’s Saturday night, it is time for the weekly performance of the Inveigle Girls, and this place is exactly where they want to be. Saturday nights are the highlight of their lives. Arm in arm they walk to the entrance of the well tended building, leaving humdrum days behind as the sight, smell and intoxicating sound of the Inveigle seduces them. The swinging sign with its pale pink bottom and bright red hand mark makes them both smile and squeeze each other’s arm. The building encourages them to walk brazenly through the entrance as they lower their masquerade masks.
The masks don’t really hide their faces as they show their red and gold Inveigle membership tokens to the girl whose job it is to examine them, they add an air of mystery. Even though they are both delightfully bold in their chosen form of sexual relief, a discrete walk is advised to all members of the Inveigle Spanking Society. So arms locked in love, masks raised again, covering their eyes, they walk through into the opulent red and mahogany foyer, the gas lamps are turned down dimly, and candles flicker in brass sconces. Mirrors bedeck the walls, the combination of the low gas light and candlelight reflected millions of times in the mirrors hung across from each other make it feel as though they are entering a fairy kingdom. The red carpet beneath their feet has a soft thick pile. Shadows flicker all around them, both on the walls and floor, the slowly building noise, excites them, knowing glances from other visitors make them feel naughty and moist. They know what visitors like, they know their tastes, they try to work out who is a ‘top’ and who is the ‘bottom’, they study the crowd, and in return the other ladies study them, asking the same sexy, naughty questions with their eyes.
The proprietor, a well respected woman in her early fifties is stood by the double theatre doors, looking and nodding politely at the customers as they enter. She greets them with a coy knowing smile, a piercing stare and a gentle hand shake. Her name is Abigail and she makes sure everything is immaculate and done properly.
She also rules the house with a ‘rod of iron’ or to be more precise, a birch and many other implements.
The descendant of Charlotte Hayes is even more famous than she. When she sits in her box, the women in the audience gaze to see what she is wearing, and admire her, as the theatre goers in Covent Garden or Drury Lane would look at the famous courtesans of the day.
The tradition of the connection between theatre, artists models, and prostitutes, continued much as it did in the day of Charlotte. Abigail herself was an accomplished violinist and had appeared in many a music hall. On some occasions she would still stand in her box and play, as her girls did a naked spanking ballet, or similar.
The two Ladies are shown to the stairs which lead down to the seats, by a pleasant looking girl, of around twenty years of age. She is dressed in a pretty figure hugging dress with vertical black and white stripes and a ruffled collar, with what look like pearls sown all the way round. Another girl in the same outfit greets them at the bottom of the stairs, and with an equally charming smile she ushers them into the auditorium and to their row of seats. It delights everyone. The whole building is luxurious, full of soft feminine curves, it is enticing, it’s naughty, it’s vulgar, yet beautiful.
The buzz of anticipation fills the air as they walk down their row, and look straight up to the two tiers of boxes above the circle, to see who is there. They both stand in front of their seats looking at the surroundings. The lady in the black luxurious mask is sat in her usual place, directly opposite Abigail’s box. She always looks sinister. They don’t really know why, it’s probably just the mask. Maybe the word is too strong, but she looks more than a little menacing. She is always sat in the same seat, and as usual is surveying the crowd through her small opera glass. You can see her scanning each row in turn and slowly they see the direction of her gaze work its way along their row of seats. It passes over them as if they are nothing, not even a momentary second glance; they are not of the slightest interest to her. She puts her glasses down and stares ahead, almost as if she is too good to look at the audience.
They settle into their seats, they are red, and velvety, soft to the bottom. Most of the decor seems to be red, brass and mahogany. The faint smell of burning oil lingers. Gas lamps turned to ‘half’ hiss gently. Everywhere looks clean, well kept and lovingly cared for. Slowly the theatre fills, as always every seat is taken. Their mind gently thinks of all the delightful bottoms sinking into the soft velvet seats. How many have been spanked today and are glad of the soft hugging velvet? How many will be spanked tonight? The thought of a whole theatre filled with women who worship the female bottom makes them almost drip with vaginal lubricant, conversations fill the air, and they catch the odd word… ‘spanked, maid, bare bottom, over the knee, public spanking, punishment’, and so on.
In the shadows underneath the front of the stage they can see movement as a young girl in charge of the lime lights is opening the valves one by one. The weights on top of the leather bags are forcing the gas out. Their eyes follow her as she is hurrying along checking their operation, and then she fades into obscurity as everyone settles, their gaze fixed on the stage. Like the workings of a watch, nobody is really interested in the mechanics of ‘The Inveigle’, all they want to see is its beautiful face. The girl is just a cog in the machine, one of many who work behind the scenes tirelessly keeping Abigail happy.
Rat a tat- tat!
Everyone sits up with a start!
A girl at the front rattles her black and white small drum. Silence descends like a mist, to envelop the audience. Eight more girls walk with a sway of their hips, their left hands are resting on their left hips, with their right hands are behind their heads. Around the auditorium they go, turning the oil lamps down to a minimum wick length, and blowing out every alternate one. The gas lamps still hiss gently, and are left untouched.
The stage is semi- circular, a little like a circus, but raised about two feet. It intentionally comes to within easy touching distance of the expensive front row seats. Twice a year, for birthdays, the ladies in question both treat each other to two of these treasured seats. The same girls in black and white walk to the stage and with their tapers light the sea shell shaped footlights which run all along its outer edge. This has to be done in the Inveigle style, straight legs, bottoms up, with one finger touched to the lips. One by one from left to right the lime lamps ‘pop’ into life.
The girl underneath the stage lets out her usual sigh of relief, all are lit safely.
An element of danger always accompanies this delicate task as the lime lights at the start of the show could have foot high flames! The reflective shell covers cast a bright white light on the showgirls, which make them look magnificent. The girl has the job of controlling the flames throughout the night, a scary and demanding job and if it were to wrong, the consequences, would be a public spanking on the stage, on a special brightly illuminated set. The spanking would be administered by Abigail, and she knew how to give a spanking. Many an ‘Inveigle Girl’ has felt the wrath of Abigail on the stage, much to the audiences delight!
PHOTO OF ABIGAIL CANING AN INVEIGLE GIRL
Everything was about spanking, Abigail was ‘spanking’ personified, so of course she knew how to spank! She took her seat, the gasp from the on looking audience sounds like a gust of wind outside. The Inveigle Girls make a circle, all eyes turn back to them, their pink blushing skin lit beautifully by the hissing gas, and in complete silence they undo the back of the dress of the girl in front, the sleeves are short and puffed, and are pulled down off the shoulders. The dresses then slide down in unison, to a gasp of admiration from the onlookers. Each girl has curvy hips and an ample spankable bottom. The attention of the audience is such that even the slightest ruffle of a skirt can be heard, the building is full of spanking minded women, and they are joined in one mind, absorbed in the wonder of soft supple curves, the curves which make up that wonderous creation, the female bottom
The Ladies look up to their right and notice that Abigail, is watching the show and making notes, always striving for perfection. Her box is a place where anyone in the whole theatre would love to be invited. It is plush beyond compare, with a centre piece studded sofa of deep blushing pink in gilded wood, it looks like a huge rump ready to spank. She is sat there as if sat on a throne, the Queen of Spanking sat looking down on all the delicious bottoms of London below her.
The girls step out of the dresses, each now wearing a vertically thin striped black and white corset, white frilly knickers, black over the knee stockings with white garters, and buttoned up black ankle boots. These are dream boats, seductive temptresses longed for and yearned after. To ‘walk out’ with an Inveigle Girl is what dreams and spanking fantasies are made of.
Without realising when it started, they can hear faint music from the all female orchestra at the back of the stage, the showgirls pick up the beat with their right hand slapping the top of their right thigh gently. They notice the skin turn a delicate blushing pink as the hand mark slowly appears, the shape of the thumb catches their attention.
The showgirls part like the red sea, and in time to the music slowly march backwards arm in arm. Their knees are raised almost waist high at every step to let one of the ‘stars’ walk through. The tall elegant girl walks confidently through to the front of the stage, naked and carrying a violin. Her name is Scarlet, to match her hair.
Singing in a powerful voice she walks the walk of Scarlet, one foot directly before the other as if keeping to an invisible straight line, hips swaying, with beautiful big eyes fixed on one spot somewhere behind you, she claps to the beat, and the audience do the same. They love her, some whistle, others throw red roses on to the stage, a pair of frilled black knickers sails through the air to land by her feet. A huge cheer goes up as someone shouts “I bet they are wet!”
She starts playing her violin, as the girls stood each side begin to sing a favourite song of the audience.
The song is magnificent and fits the mood, “Some of them want to spank you… some of them want to be spanked by you… some of them want to abuse you, and some of them want to be abused by you…”
THINK ANNIE LENNOX MUSIC…. VICTORIAN STYLE,
The Chorus Girls accompany her. To the left are the submissive girls, known in the spanking society as ‘bottoms’, all have a red feather in their hair, to the right are the dominant girls, known as tops, they all now wear a black top hat, which once again you never noticed them put on. Every time the girls come to the theatre they think that they must look for the point when they do it, but they have missed it again! They look towards each other and giggle as they say “Missed it again!”
The ‘bottoms’ sing one line, the ‘tops’ sing the next, it’s the traditional start of Saturday night at The Inveigle.
The audience pick up the song and in the same manner, the spankees singing one line, often stood slightly bent over with their bottoms swaying in time to the music. The spankers join in eagerly, clapping in tune with their hands just behind their partner’s bottom, some bolder ones actually spank in tune. Even bolder ones raise the skirts of their submissive and lower their bloomers, to spank their rosy bottoms in public.
One of the girls is bent over and her friend is spanking her, she loves it! Her bottom is shapely and admired, it is obvious that she loves it to be seen and appreciated. To the beat of the drum she wiggles from side to side, tempted to lift her skirts! How bold they become when they visit ‘The Inveigle’.
So up her skirts come, and down slide the bloomers, her friends hands slips down to her pussy and nobody minds at all.
The music stops, the clapping fades. Scarlet walks to the left of the stage. People sit down slowly, so does the girls with her bloomers at her knees, her friend holding her dark, curly, bushy little triangle as if it was a small bird in her hand. Her middle finger tucked in the wet slit. She thrusts against it in time to the drum beat.
In her dressing room not far from the stage was the woman who kept order on the stage, she was loved by everyone and the queue to be used by her was long, and growing longer every week.
She looked at her self in the mirror and tugged on the lapel of her outfit. No matter how many Saturday nights she walked from her room to the stage she felt an attack of the nerves. “Come on girl! They love you!” She listened to the music and to her signal hidden in the tune, and set off.
Magnificent Eleanor, dressed in a ring-masters suit of sorts, walks determinedly onto the stage. She cracks her whip, and immediate silence follows. Speaking in an accent which has a hint of French she welcomes the audience. The little drums still keep the beat going and some in the audience are clapping gently, others like the girl mentioned before are pumping their groins to their first orgasm of the night.
“Ladieeeees and… More ladies!” She shouts!
A massive cheer, stomping of feet and whistles come back to her.
“Welcome to the seducing.”
The whole audience go “ooooooooooh!”
“The naughty, the bad, the downright raunchy… INVEIGLE!”
Once again the whole auditorium explodes into rapturous applause and shouts of glee, as boots stomp a rumble like thunder around the theatre, it almost shakes like an earthquake
God she looks good up on the stage. Her legs in black fish net stockings, her figure encased in red, with a shiny black glistening pair of tight knickers.
She cracks the whip again.
“Use that on my arse!” Shouts a delicious young woman stood up at the front.
She stares at the woman and walks towards her. For what seems many minutes, but in actual fact only two or three, Eleanour stands before the woman, smiling, and not saying a word. The woman is visibly excited and twitches, adjusting he position, stood before her seat her seat.
In a smooth seductive voice Eleanour looks to the woman and replies to her shouted comment. Her voice is clear and it takes little effort to make it heard to the front rows. “If you wish me to, I will Madam.”
Almost immediately an image of what she hopes will come flashes through the woman’s mind. An image so accurate in its prediction, that you would not believe…
She sits down meekly as the Ring Mistress passes her a card with a room number on. The girl blushes and the audience make very suggestive comments and noises. They all know that after the show she will be up in the Ring Mistress’s room, getting what she craves; a crimson and well striped sore bottom.
Eleanour turns away smiling wickedly, and walks to the centre of the stage. She spins to face the audience.
Crack! The whip whistles through the air and pierces the atmosphere like a bullet from a gun. The Ring Mistress draws in a big breath, her breasts swell as she waves her arm high to her left holding her top hat, and shouts. “Bring on the ponies!”
The ‘Radetzky March’ bursts from the orchestra and the girls in black and white step back to the edge of the ring, alternate tops, and bottoms, ready to show the audience when to clap. This is the perfect music for spanking.
The two sets of girls come prancing out, as naked as the day they were born apart from little plugs in their bottoms, with pony tails hanging down behind them, prancing along like young ponies, their arms folded up to their breasts, and hands before them. One team is led by Felicity, dancing from right to left, the other led by Amber dancing from left to right. One passes Eleanour the other passes Scarlet, where both lines go side by side to the back and the circles begin again. Sapphire and Georgina leave the stage, quietly.
Felicity is dressed provocatively. On her head is a purple bowler hat, with a long thin pheasant feather. She wears a purple sequined bodice dress, very tight at the waist. The front is cut away and her legs are seen. She has black and red striped stockings, with purple knickers and boots. She is full of attitude, the brat the audience love to see ‘get it’. Stood in a haughty pose, with one hand on her knee, the other holding her cheroot, she tosses her head back, her hair in ringlets falling down her shoulders and takes a deep draw, then puffs out a magnificent smoke ring.
Amber looks every inch a wanton slut. Her black hair is full of waves and hangs thick and tousled. A red rose sits to the left of her head. A black band with a cameo-brooch is worn around her neck. Her breasts are pushed up in a bright red dress. A split runs down from her waist. It has a bustle at the back, and she knows how to wiggle it. She smokes a long pipe, and not being outdone by her rival she blows an equally wonderful smoke ring in her direction. Her toned shiny dark skin reflects beautifully in the lime light.
The march being played is one of those tunes which has a little pause now and then, and every girl stands still for just two or three seconds, a very difficult thing for the girls, but the audience love it .
When the music gets to the right place the girls stop, and whoever is stood before Felicity and Amber have to bend over, grasp their hands behind bent knees and take a sound spanking in time to the claps! Imagine the scene as Felicity and Amber with huge smiles hold a tail up each, look to each other, then to the bent over bottom and smack, smack, smack, spank spank!
The music makes them start prancing again until the next pause. If the same girl stops again the audience love it and laugh and cheer as her bottom gets redder and redder. Sometimes a girl who has perhaps had three spanking like this, tries to run quickly out of beat to try to avoid the approaching pause in the music, this is a serious offence and a severe spanking is given over a stool.
The ponies trot from the stage, chased by Felicity and Amber clapping their hands, they then walk back to each side of the stage, diametrically opposite each other.
The music stops, another well known tune begins and the can-can starts. Almost unnoticed the ‘bottom’ girls in black and white have removed their knickers and after forming a line they do a stunning performance.
At the end, they bend over, facing away from the audience, the music goes quieter, and the girls beat time with alternate bending knees.
It’s time for the spanking prize draw.
Amber holds out Felicity’s bowler hat, and draws out seat numbers. Georgina has returned to the stage, Amber passes the tickets one by one to her, and Marie shouts out the numbers which correspond to seat numbers in the auditorium. The ‘lucky seat’ winners run to the stage to take a wooden paddle from Felicity, each one expertly engraved with a picture of The Inveigle. They all stand to the right of their allotted girl and the music stops.
Georgina takes another big breath. She starts to clap as the music picks up again. “Bottom’s up girls!”
To the can-can tune the girls all get a brisk spanking with the wooden paddles.
The music fades, many candles are lit, and each girl is given a tub of cream to rub into the cheeks accompanied by a violin version of ‘Toselli’s Serenade’. This is performed by Scarlet, who is also an accomplished violinist; she is naked and stood close to the front row, facing the audience. The choreography is so good that the most of the audience never even saw her walk to her spot.
The rustle of petticoats is audible; this is another tradition of ‘The Inveigle’. Abigail knows that the audience would be almost dripping by now, so she arranges a little masturbation break. This part of the show has many variations, but it is an excuse for hands to slide up the thighs of friends, to satisfy moist fruitful vines (as the naughty Victorian Lady would call it). The sounds of orgasms fill the theatre, as the spanked bottoms are gently massaged with the aromatic cream before the audience. The gas footlights light up the blushing pink bottoms perfectly.
What a sight for the masturbating girls to look at!
Abigail studies the crowd at this stage with her own small pair of binoculars. When she is satisfied most have done, she makes a discreet signal to Georgina. She knows a few will not have finished, and loves to get one in focus and watch their torment, or how they try to finish themselves.
In their pairs, the spanking partners leave the stage to reap their rewards in the spanking booths. Scarlet, turns and bows her bottom to the audience, which gets a resounding smack from another customer on the front row, and leaves.
An erotic spanking act on the trapeze follows, with many ooohs and ahhhhs from the crowd.
Two Inveigle Girls on the Trapeze by Asa Jones
Then it is time for the stars of the show to take centre stage.
Rose resplendent in bloomers and corset struts onto the stage. She stands erect and stares the cheering audience down to silence. She is a magnificent woman, a beautiful woman, the most beautiful of all ‘The Inveigle Girls’. Her blonde hair catches the light, as do her teeth and eyes. The girl in charge of the gas increases the pressure, which turns the lamp lights up bright, so that Rose’s eyes sparkle, like diamonds.
The theatre programme describes her as ‘The sweet English Rose of The Inveigle’.
Similar to the accolade that Scarlet received, tokens of adulation and love are thrown. Roses (white English ones), handkerchiefs, knickers, and folded notes cover the stage.
Molly her dark hair tumbling in contrast to her Mistress is pulled on to the stage, and comes to kneels before her, the lights are adjusted and she fades into the darkness.
You look up to the same box which first got your attention, the lady in the black mask has caught your attention as she moves to the edge of her seat, and moves sexily. She tugs on her own leash, and out towards her comes her slave girl, Nicolette. Her right shoulder is moving rhythmically, you know without doubt what her hand is doing. She never joins in the group masturbation, she knows that many people know this, and enjoys the fact that people watch her slave girl rub her to orgasm. She has a powerful presence.
Molly and Rose begin their act. All eyes dart back to them.
It is set in a boudoir, lit subtly in the middle front of the stage, surrounded by darkness, and stood by a four poster bed in her corset and bloomers is Rose. She is tapping a vicious looking gnarled, long, slender walking stick. “My pretty slave has been naughty today.” She tells the audience.
The auditorium is so quiet, you could almost hear a curled pubic hair land on a velvet seat. Her voice is gentle, yet her ability to converse with an audience, as if having a personal conversation, is nothing short of remarkable. Her eyes had the ability to engage a spectator from a great distance. They reply, in the way they always do to the bright Inveigle stars, in a whisper.
“Ooooh the naughty girl.”
Rose smiles, and taps the stick on her palm again.
The lights on Rose dim, and the lights on Molly rise, to show her stood, head bowed in subservience. She speaks to the audience too.
“I’m a right naughty girl I am!”
She is stood in a scene completely opposite to the decadent boudoir of Rose.
The lights dim, the stage darkens and slowly the audience see Rose again.
This time she is stood flexing the stick. “Is it cold over there pretty slavemaid?”
“Brrrrrrrr ….yes Mistress.”
“Would you like me to warm your bottom up?”
“Yes please my beautiful Mistress.”
“Then come closer my little slavemaid, kneel for me.”
Molly arrives at the edge of the lit area, and kneels.
Rose looks at her, and then to the audience. “It would be rude not to wouldn’t it?”
The audience giggle and lean forward. One large woman at the back shouts “I’ll come and take ye lead lass if she dun a want ye!”
Rose smiles and whispers “Sorry, she’s taken.”
JUST SHOT THIS WITH SAMANTHA AND CHERRY ….lots of photos to add for the star act.
so this space will be filled soon.
* * *
After their act and music fade, Molly and Rose sink into the shadows.
Two more girls walk to the stage holding up a white sheet, and two more walk behind the couple with oil lamps.
A shadow show is last on the bill.
The shadow spanking begins, light fast smacks, then harder, slower ones. Victoria’s hand begins to rise higher and higher as the smacks get louder. Debbie can be heard letting out little squeals. Delight or pain? Maybe it was both.
The shadow curtain falls, and Victoria moves to the back of Debbie, she sinks to her knees and begins to lick the bright red bottom. She turns her head to the audience, her eyes bright, wicked, but not cruel. Her hands pulled Debbie’s dumbglutton, (as it was known in those days) apart and licks Debbie’s wet slit, and bottom until she comes in violent contortions and screams of pleasure.
“Fuck me Mistress!”
Victoria again turns to the packed audience, and speaks to them. “Shall I?”
To a woman they all shout their response. “Yes, yes, yes!”
A girl comes back on stage with an oiled leather attachment which is strapped around Victoria’s waist and groin. She leaves, and Victoria begins to stroke the glistening tool as if she was a man. Debbie begs again, ‘Oh Mistress, please, use me now!’
Victoria turns to the audience and winks again, each member of the audience convincing themselves that the wink is just for them. Then she fucks her hard, until Debbie comes again, with one hand removed from the bar rubbing herself quickly.
‘I need to achieve my own pleasure again now.’ Victoria says to the audience. ‘Who on the upper tier will be the lucky winner of the golden ticket?’
Eleanour marches to the front from nowhere, draws a ticket from her hat then holds the ticket aloft and shouts the number out. “Two hundred and seventy six!”
The woman in the black mask hits the edge of her box in a fury with a riding crop, stands up and walks away, she has unfinished business and history with Victoria.
The lady in the winning seat put her half face masquerade mask up, and walks to the stairs with a friend, her ‘prize winning guest’. The audience claps in unison waiting for them to appear on the stage to take their prize. which they do to great applause.
“And that my dear Ladies is the end of the show! Goodnight all. ‘ The Inveigle’ wishes you all a safe journey, and we can’t wait to see you again, bye bye!” Shouts Eleanour as she salutes.
Your eyes dart back to the shadows under the stage as you notice once again the scurrying girl in charge of the lime lights. Every alternate one is quickly turned off, and the remaining ones dim to half light. The effect is stunning.
Abigail, her hair up on the top of her head, with a delicate ostrich feather arrangement, stands up in her box, turns and walks to the stairs. She wore a low cut dress tonight, which cradled her smooth soft bosom. Her waist was always tied tight in a corset, which gave her a ruddy, wild and lusty complexion. She could have walked straight from the moors of a Bronte novel instead of the private door beside the stage. As was her manner, she surveyed the scene of a satisfied audience with pride, and one eyebrow raised. People said she could talk with her eyebrows. Many a young Inveigle Girl had shuddered in shame at her harsh stare, eyebrow raised as she was scolded. Others had melted in her gaze of approval with both eyebrows holding the sultry eyes in their shadow.
She knew exactly what was needed at all times, and the girls knew it.
Without question the house girls did her bidding, so too did the show girls. She loved them all like daughters, she’d chastise and nurture as she saw fit. They loved, admired and respected her. She was the Inveigle. But most of all the girls knew one thing for certain, she would protect them, they could sleep easy in their beds because of her. She was constantly busy, always adjusting and tending. The Inveigle was her life’s passion. The girls were her children, and in both esteem and adoration she was known as ‘Mummy Bear.’
Mummy Bear’s parlour was her wonderful abode, a place of soft comfort and love, yet with spanking implements hung everywhere. It could also be a place of punishment, or a place for a consensual erotic spanking.
The name of ‘Mummy Bear’ wasn’t said behind her back, the only thing behind her back was the constantly swaying bottom of hers, still firm and pert despite its years. She knew exactly what they called her, and if she ever heard it whispered or spoken she would clasp her hands in pleasure and smile to the ceiling!
Protection was in her mind as she screwed up the ticket with the seat number of the lady in the mask. She did not trust her, there was something evil about her, and she would never win a night of passion with any of her treasured stars of the Inveigle stage.
She stood back to the wall, as a woman dressed in a police officer’s uniform, gently pushed by her and strode importantly to the front of the stage. She coughed, and then commanded the audience to stand and sing the National Anthem, which was the tradition in every theatre of its day.
One of the women we have followed stands; looks to her partner and sings, hand in hand. Then shaking slightly in anticipation, they look into each other’s eyes, smile, and leave. Maybe it is to browse the shop, where autographed photos of their heroines could be purchased, along with a comprehensive range of spanking ephemera. Or maybe it was to the bar across the road, or a visit to a spanking booth.
An Inveigle Spanking Booth by Asa Jones
Or simply back to the carriage, as they do tonight. Masquerade masks raised again, they walk, still hand in hand, lit by the gas light to the waiting row of cabs and climb aboard, then sit inside and talk excitedly about the show and in particular about Molly and Rose.
“How do two such young girls end up starring in a show like that?” One of girls asks the other.
That’s a very good question, so let’s continue this story of love and spanking by doing just that. To the day that Molly left school..
Now scroll back to the top and follow the link…
To be continued, call back soon! I am taking character photos of the characters right now, the story is written… but being adjusted all the time!