The Erotic Adventures of a 20th Century Lady by Penelope Drops
The Erotic Adventures of a 20th Century Lady by Penelope Drops is what she considers to be an autobiography of her escapades in stern domination and becoming one of the leading Madam’s in the 20th century, long before it was considered acceptable for people to even discuss sexual relations.
This wild tale regales readers with Madam Penelope’s outrageous entry into the world of domination. When her parents are suddenly killed in the Hindenburg disaster, she is given instructions left by her father to open a trunk she’s neither seen nor heard of. The contents of the trunk amaze and astound Penelope, as she never knew about her parent’s secret life of utter debauchery. Her father left her with photographs, a list of people that joined in their circle of deviancy, and instructions on how to access many devious devices set about the grounds of their estate. Her mother left her a letter explaining her life as a submissive to Penelope’s father, overwhelming Penny even more.
The naïve young woman takes it upon herself to discover whether being a dominant female will work for her as she subjects the junior gardener, James, to multiples types of torture by birching and strapping him to a machine of her grandfather’s design. The machine bound, stretched and tormented young James, but soon after he was released, he signed a contract giving Penelope complete and total control of him.
After more searching, Penelope soon discovers her thirst for authority stretches further than James and her household staff. She begins plotting a wondrous party, where she will create her own circle of dominants and submissives from people who joined her parents in theirs. With the help of her family’s Machiavellian machines and her always loyal James, she brings together a new circle of people for a party beyond anything in their wildest imaginations.
Includes: strict discipline, chastity devices, birching, bondage, flogging, whipping, nipple weights, dildos, stretching, and so much more!
Father had a little boat-house facing out onto the lake, within which he had a small sail-boat mostly used for fishing from when he had the time, which was not very often. I was intending to enter into it and there remove my undergarments and leave them hidden until I returned. I glanced around and opened the single wooden door only to see a young man standing upright, with his breaches around his knees and something long thin and pointed sticking out before him. It was only when I looked closer that I noticed that his hands were reaching above his head, and he seemed to be struggling. I entered quietly and without being noticed, he was too engrossed in trying to free himself.
Clearly the young man was James, George’s son, but what was he doing, I asked myself, with his trousers around his knees? I decided to be brazen and challenge him, so I walked right up to him and stood in front of him, and low and behold, the thing protruding out waved at me in a jerky way. It bounced up and down, whilst James turned bright red in shame and continued to struggle with the restraining ropes, which I could now clearly see binding his wrists above his head. The weight attached to the other end of the rope had got caught, thus securing him. I realised that he had to have fastened himself in this position, which intrigued and quite excited me.
“My, my, James, you have got yourself into a pickle, would you like some help getting free?” I asked him, wondering what he might say.
“Oh shit, I mean sorry, Miss; please don’t tell anyone you found me like this!”
“Give me a reason not to James and I will consider it.”
“I’ll do anything, Miss, anything you say, but please keep this our secret, please!”
I quite liked the idea of this strapping young man doing anything I said, I reached out and touched his protruding flesh and to my horror it spat at me, so I slapped it; it spat some more and reared up again. James groaned first at the spitting and then at my slapping, clearly he was enjoying the feeling, so I slapped at it again. He groaned again. It was then that I saw the twin round things hanging beneath his rod, at this point I had no idea of what a man looked like, and being inquisitive I had to find out, so I gripped the twin balls and squeezed them, rolling them around with my fingers. James groaned again, but he also drew in a sharp breath of pain, so I eased off my grip and rolled some more.
He apparently liked that much more because his thing spat again and he wobbled on unsteady legs, whilst groaning and begging me not to stop. Me being me, I stopped right then, James was clearly enjoying this treatment much more than he had any right to be and I wanted to teach him a lesson.
“I think what you are doing is very rude of you and you deserve punishing soundly so it is my intention to thrash you. What do you have to say to that, James?” I demanded of him. The severity in my tone had a direct effect on his thing; it stood up more, as though paying attention to what I had said. James, on the other hand, just nodded, I think the cat had got his tongue or his mouth was so dry that forming words, even simple words like ‘yes Miss or no Miss’ was beyond him just then.
Here, bound before me was a young man, one that clearly deserved a taste of the strap, and apparently wanted to feel it as well. The sad thing is that I did not have a strap to thrash him with. When I told him of my dilemma, he suggested (he could talk again now) that I cut some switches and thrash him with them. The word birch exploded into my mind. A fearsome instrument of correction used on only the most errant of culprits, the idea of birching James’s naked bottom certainly appealed to me.
I made him an offer he could not refuse, my silence guaranteed if he accepted my punishment of him. What choice did he have but accept? None I reasoned, as did he. So it was that a short while later James and I were outside cutting some saplings. I watched as he gathered them together knowing that it was his naked bottom that was going to feel them delivered by my little hand. I watched in fascination as he stripped the bark of two striplings and used it to make and bind the bundle of twelve rods together tightly, before handing me the finished implement. He even suggested that there was a fallen tree nearby, which he could bend over for my disciplining of him. I, of course, indicated that he should lead on. We walked a little further around the lake together; me still holding the newly created birch, him anticipating the pain that his instrument would inflict upon his bottom.
A short while later, James turned us away from the lake and entered into the woodland surrounding us; the tree was exactly as he had described it to me and I agreed with him that it was perfect for the job in hand. James lowered his trousers once more, and bent over the fallen tree trunk. I watched as his buttocks rose up, then stepping to one side I held out my rods of correction, to take aim and then let fly.
The birch whistled eerily through the air before impacting on his flesh, where the twigs spread out in a fan shape, covering most of his naked bottom in one stroke. This was going to be most enjoyable, I realised, for me at least. I decided that his behaviour and my silence would cost him twelve very hard strokes. I took aim again for the second. When it lashed at his flesh, I heard a whoof of air expelled from James’s mouth, followed by a gasp of real pain. I almost hesitated to strike again, and I would probably not have, if he had not wiggled slightly further over the tree trunk to present me with a more rounded target.
The third stroke really cut the air. It thrashed down with my entire arm’s strength behind it, just at the last second of its flight I flicked my wrist forward adding even more speed to the whipping birch twigs. The effect was incredible, the twigs hit and compressed his flesh, what little was still white instantly coloured to a deep red. His bottom looked like it had been attacked by a very angry swarm of bees, which I then discovered to be a very pleasing state of affairs for me at least.
James, when I finally allowed him to stand had his thing poking out and reared up like a Greek god statuette I had once seen. His hand reached down and rubbed at his male member, I looked on. He looked at me and said “Please, miss, I am desperate, I need to…”
At that moment, I did not understand what he needed to do, but I decided that if it was so important to him then I would let him, and watch and learn. I nodded saying nothing less I get it wrong. He clasped himself tight and jerked at his stiff thing, it shortly spat again, but this time he fell to the ground before me still pumping hard at it, yet more of his stuff ejaculated across the ground. He fell forward, his nose almost touching my shoe. His head lifted slightly and he kissed the tip of my leather shoe whilst groaning as though hurt.
I stepped back slightly shocked that a grown man could so easily be reduced to such splendid degradation, and all because of his little thing. I almost laughed at him, but stopped myself as he groaned once more.
“Thank you, miss, thank you so much.” His voice sounded forced as he spoke, as though the words were being spat from his mouth through thick porridge. His pleasure was evident to me, but exactly what had caused it I did not then understand.
I knelt next to him, patted his head lightly and asked, “Are you alright?”
He nodded and again said, “Thank you, miss.” His words sent little sparks of electricity through me. I had somehow caused him this pleasure and I felt quite pleased with myself, though I would have to learn what I had done and how I might do it again. For then, James seemed as happy as I was puzzled. I knew it had something to do with his being tied up and then thrashed, and finally pulling at himself. What I did not realise then, was that it mostly had to do with me giving him permission and standing over him whilst he pulled at his male thing.
I would have to talk to him about exactly what had happened and he would damn well explain or I would make his life a living hell for him. I could threaten to tell father what he had been doing if he refused. That should work, I decided. For now, though I needed to return back to the house and to the privacy of my room to think because James was not the only one affected in a ‘strange way’ by our enlightening interlude. Tomorrow I would seek out James and tomorrow he would answer my questions, all of them and in detail.