The Family Man Read online

  Edward Cartwright The Family Man

  CHAPTER ONE

  There could be no mistake about the sound that came through the library door to catch the attention of the two men who sat sipping sherry.

  First there was the angry swish of the birch, then following closely, the sound of it curling around a bare posterior. The loud girlish cry of pained protest which followed closely. After a brief pause, the sounds were repeated in the same order.

  “I say, Harry,” the guest looked confused and his words confirmed it, “it sounds for all the world like… well…”

  “Like my fifteen year old daughter Faith having her bare bottom birched? That's precisely what it is. I feel that stern discipline is the only answer in times such as these. Without it, children would be completely spoiled.”

  Instantly aroused by the sounds of a well developed girl of fifteen being birched on her naked posterior, the guest wanted very much to stay. Yet, the manner of his host gave a strong indication that he should leave.

  It was just the impression Harry Brougham wanted to give his guest. Just through the door, Elizabeth, the children's tutor, would look breathtaking in her role of avenging angel.

  Her strong body would be poised, firm breasts, buttocks and thighs straining the plain white frock as she bent over the wailing culprit and brought the birch down again and again on the flawless satin half moons of Faith's writhing, twitching buttocks.

  Already, the lush white mounds would be red streaked against the alabaster background. A few more strokes, and the hillocks would be more red than white.

  Elizabeth, he recalled, liked to apply the birch with a slow rhythm, a maddeningly slow one to the victim who counted those received and dreaded those yet to come at the pleasure of the woman who knew so well how to ignite fires under sensitive skin. He had to get rid of the man at once.

  “I'm sure you'll understand, Charles,” Harry rose as he spoke. “It seems that a family emergency has arisen and I must attend to it.”

  “Of course, Harry. It's a pleasure to see a parent with such a sense of devotion to the upbringing of his children.”

  Just when Harry had reached the stage where if the bumbling idiot said another word he would scream in rage and throw him out, his guest reached the door at last.

  Ensuring that the parting was brief, Harry quickly closed the door behind him and hurried back toward the door through which he heard the sounds of discipline.

  Just before opening it, he remembered to stop long enough to adjust the front of his trousers so that the throbbing lump which his penis had become would not be too clearly visible.

  He drew the door open quietly and was able to see the expression on Elizabeth's face as she raised the birch for the next stroke. There was more than just the look of a stern disciplinarian there, he read passion too. The same burning passion he felt each time he watched her beat one of the children.

  Aware that she still hadn't noticed his entrance into the room, he held his breath. Her muscles tensed, her full breasts heaved and he heard a gasp that was more a sigh of passion as the many fingers of the birch curled around the buttocks which seemed to heave upward to meet the stinging kisses of the birch.

  Elizabeth saw him then and flashed him a look of acknowledgement as her arm drew back to reveal the sight of plump white buttocks excitingly marked with a network of red streaks where the birch had already kissed.

  Harry was delighted to see that she had not made the girl kneel in a chair this time or adopt the pose he liked even less of bending all the way over with her hands behind her knees. In that position, the buttocks were drawn too tightly and made to point so that they lost their soft, round lines.

  This time, his daughter, stripped naked, was bending just enough so that her hands gripped the arms of the big chair. Her bottom was fully curved and able to dance freely under the sting. As it did, the rest of her danced too so that her nicely budding breasts swayed under her with an exciting fullness.

  Harry switched his gaze to the tutor then as her arm drew back fully, her breasts, especially the right one, filled the front of her dress so that he was sure he could see the imprint. He waited for the smooth globe to burst through the confining material and fall into view. It didn't and the birch wrapped around the lovely, writhing bum again.

  The cries of his daughter filled the room with a sound that was like music to Harry Brougham. Harry's breath was tearing through his chest as he watched while five more strokes were delivered. It had been a good birching, a truly magnificent one.

  Walking with regal grace, Elizabeth placed the birch carefully on the table in the manner of a musician putting a priceless instrument down after a virtuoso performance. Indeed, Harry thought, it had been all of that.

  “Would you care to administer the coup de grace?” she asked him in her carefully modulated voice.

  For just a moment, he flustered. Normally, when he knew he would participate in a punishment of his daughter, Harry took the precaution of wrapping a cloth around his middle to keep his penis under control. There had been no time for that today and he feared exposure of his excitement.

  “Thank you, no, Elizabeth. I'd prefer that you do it this time.”

  With a bow, Elizabeth walked over to the bending, still twitching form of the girl. Standing beside her, she bent and wrapped her left arm around the naked waist to hold her in a firm grip.

  Her right hand drew back, the palm fully open. It held there for just a moment before coming ahead to land with a sharp, exploding sound as it seemed to caress one hot cheek for a moment.

  The coup de grace after a birching or a session with a whippy cane, consisted of a brisk hand spanking so that the surfaces of both cheeks were painted a uniform red. Elizabeth spanked more quickly than she had birched. The agonized girl danced and howled, but made no attempt to move out of range of the spanking hand as it moved from plump cheek to plump cheek delivering its sharp, stinging spanks.

  The hand spanking was something Harry enjoyed watching even more than the dance of the birch or cane. It provided such a thrilling sound as the palm, properly formed and aimed clapped against the swelling cheek of behind.

  As a signal that the spanking was almost concluded, Elizabeth moved her hand lower and aimed the spanks upward so that they stung the soft, sensitive flesh at the bottom of each globe just where thigh meets buttock.

  Faith's cries reached a higher pitch in recognition of the efficiency of the final few spanks.

  And then it was over. Elizabeth bowed to the man and he assured her that as usual, she had handled her task well and that he was completely satisfied.

  Harry left the room quickly and hurried to his private chamber. He had not quite told the truth when he said he was satisfied. That was about to happen though.

  Almost tearing his pants open, he withdrew the stiff penis and felt it throb in anxiety. Even with his eyes wide open he could still see clearly the sight of his nude daughter writhing and dancing while the tutor birched and spanked her. Even the sounds came back to him clearly as his right hand wrapped tightly around the aroused shaft and began jerking it back and forth.

  A minute later, he was still hearing the sounds and seeing the sights of the spanking as his penis gave on major throb then, drawing his hand away, he watched in rapt fascination as his sperm spurted out and away.

  After the final spurt, it fell limp and exhausted so that it matched the man. Now, he was truly satisfied. It was the logical and normal ending to a session of corporal punishment for his daughter or son and, as always, Harry Brougham felt good. He felt very, very good.

  Replacing his pecker in his pants and turning on his most dignified expression, Harry wa
lked to the door and stepped into the hall.

  As he walked past the door of his daughter's room, he heard the muffled sobs coming from her room. Without knocking, he hurried in and found her lying nude on the bed, her blazing posterior offering mute evidence of how thoroughly Elizabeth had fustigated her buttocks with the birch and later slapped them with her hand.

  “There, there, now my dear,” he stroked the silken hills of her buttocks as he comforted her. “You understand how important discipline is. You should be thankful for a tutor like Elizabeth to mould your character for you.”

  “Yea daddy,” she sobbed. “I understand… sob… but my poor bum hurts so.”

  “Of course it does, my dear,” he said as he continued to stroke the tingling cheeks.

  Harry felt desire building between his loins again and felt the same fear that haunted him more often than ever lately. One day, he warned himself, I'm going to view her punishment, stroke her silken bum after, and I won't be able to stop myself.

  In his mind, he saw himself holding his stiff tool in his hand and driving it into the lovely, virginal body of his daughter.

  Breathing deeply, he hurried out of the room and left her to console herself as best she could.

  Edward Cartwright

  The Family Man

  CHAPTER TWO

  What manner of man was Harry Brougham who could derive such sexual excitement from watching the painful punishment of his daughter?

  Ask any of the solicitors or barristers in the Lincoln's Inn section of London and they would assure you that in this year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and fifty-nine, there was no more honorable or praiseworthy practitioner of the law in all of London or, for that matter, in the entire realm.

  At the age of forty-three, Harry Brougham had attained a respect at the bar that others still hopped to achieve at sixty or more. Ask the name of the three leading barristers in London and anyone with a knowledge of the law would be sure to include Brougham.

  But beyond his stature as a man of the law, there was so much more. His peers would, from time to time, put aside the dignified robes of law and descend on the brothels of London for an evening of debauchery, but Harry never joined them.

  With the expression of a man of the world, he would assure them that he quite understood their needs and wished them well, but he just couldn't join them in their well earned revelry.

  “With two children of so impressionable an age,” he would explain, “I just can't take a minute more than necessary away from my family.”

  From time to time, they would make jokes about the stiffness and unbending character of the man, but more often, they spoke with admiration of the great Harry Brougham who could forsake all the gaiety of life in devotion to his children.

  Harry had always been more than just a barrister or, for that matter, just a mortal man.

  His wife considered him a paragon of virtue. From time to time, in their matrimonial bed, when desire hit her deep inside her crotch so that she wanted to scream for violent sex, he would remind her that the sexual act was intended for the procreation of children and not for enjoyment at all.

  Still, he was gentle and never scolded as he advised her to pray for strength and guidance and forgiveness for wanting such immoral things and for feeling enjoyment at such unnatural urges.

  At the time of her death, six years before, she was pleased that their two children would be left in the hands of such a man. Truly, she knew, he would lead them along all the right paths so that they would never be exposed to sinful influences.

  Within months of the untimely passing of his wife, Harry decided that the tutor who cared for the education of the children was no longer capable of the task. What they needed now rather than a derelict devotee of Latin and Greek, was the strong guidance of a woman who could, more than just educating them, provide the influence of a good woman.

  More than just good though, she would have to be a strict woman. Harry had never known the influence of such a woman. His own mother had been a mouse of a woman who would never have dreamed of beating a child.

  He had heard of others though who beat their children frequently. As a growing boy, others had told him of the beatings they had received and, more than once, had lowered their clothes to show him the marks of the cane or birch on their bottoms.

  It was in this way that Harry learned the joys of masturbation. Once, after a boy had showed him his freshly caned behind, he had asked to see Harry's. In the privacy of the bushes where they played, they went on to explore others areas.

  The boy told him about masturbation and Harry was amazed that such a thing could be. His friend reached to take Harry's bird in his hand and the effect was astounding. At once, it leaped to life and became very hard.

  Before long, each was jerking the tool of the other until their streams of sperm flowed. Out of that experience, Harry learned to connect the fact of beatings with sexual excitement.

  The boys met every day after that and each day would play with each other's cock until the cream spurted. One week later, Harry's friend met him at the usual time. A blaze of excitement was shining in his eyes and Harry was quick to see that something special had happened to bring such a light into his friend's eyes.

  “Guess what,” his friend greeted him. “My sister Mildred is going to get a beating this afternoon.”

  Harry knew the boy's sister was more than fourteen years old and a nicely curved beauty. Just the thought of so big a girl having her big bum bared and spanked sent ripples of excitement coursing through his body.

  “Would you like to see her get it?” his friend asked.

  Harry's mouth had become so dry with sexual excitement that he could barely speak, but somehow, he managed to show that he very much would like to.

  For almost an hour the boys talked about spank-inks of both boys and girls. His friend, who had seen the female anatomy began to add to Harry's education as he told of the soft differences between boys and girls.

  And then it was time to get into position if they were to witness the spanking of the big girl. They went into the house through a back door and saw no sign of anyone around. Walking softly, his friend led the way up a rear stairway and paused as they came into a hall on the second floor.

  Walking even more quietly then, they hurried along the hall. Harry waited as his friend pushed a door open and signalled him to come ahead.

  They were in a bedroom that obviously belonged to adults. Harry saw women's underclothes on a chair. They looked silky and he was sure he could detect the smell of woman from them. It was all so exciting that his bird grew stiff.

  It seemed to be hours, but they had been waiting just ten minutes when they heard the sound of a door closing in the house.

  “She's home now,” his friend whispered. “Mother will take her right up here and spank her on the bare bum. You have to stay quiet though or we'll really get it.”

  Not many minutes later, they heard voices approaching the room. The woman's voice was firm and scolding, the other, lighter and pleading with tears sounding clearly in it.

  “Nonsense, Mildred. A girl is never too old to have her bum bared and spanked and that's all there is to it,” the woman said as she dragged the reluctant girl into the room.

  From their hiding place in the big closet, the boys commanded a magnificent view of the entire room. Harry saw only a small portion of it, though. It consisted of a chair that had been drawn close to the big bed. The woman, still scolding the girl, was sitting on it and had drawn the hem of her gown up so that her lovely woman legs were showing even above her knees.

  Harry had never seen that much of a woman before and now he saw how full and smooth feminine thighs could look as the woman raised her gown higher to provide a spanking platform of fleshy thighs for the unfortunate girl who stood sobbing, her head down, before her mother as she waited for the fatal command.

  “Now then, Mildred,
raise your clothes and be quick about it,” the woman snapped.

  The girl's eyes went wet and widened in dread. It looked for a moment as if she would make another plea. Harry's heart stopped at the thought that perhaps she would talk her mother out of the spanking after all.

  He began breathing again when he saw the girl bend to pick up the hem of her school uniform skirt and begin to raise it. An inner garment came with it and he feasted his eyes on beautiful, smooth legs and thighs all the way up to the uniform bloomers which tightly covered her body in a delicious series of curves.

  The girl had raised her skirts well above the bloomers so that Harry was able to see silken skin above the waist band of them. He heard his breath loud in the closet and hoped it wouldn't be heard outside. He tried breathing through his nose, but decided that was even noisier so he reverted to gulping air through his open mouth.

  And then, while the girl held her skirts at the required height, the woman's hands reached for the bloomers. She tugged them down efficiently and Harry almost gasped aloud as they fell to her knees to bare a triangular patch of reddish brown hair at the bottom of her belly just where her thighs met.

  Even though he had been prepared by his friend for the sight he was seeing now, Harry was stunned at the beautiful difference between girls and boys. There was no prick or balls at all, just the pretty patch of hair. He wanted to look between her legs to see the little slit his friend had told him about.

  The woman turned her shivering victim then and prepared to take the girl over her lap. For just a moment, the woman's legs parted and Harry saw a quick blur of what a woman looked like between her legs when she wore no bloomers. It wasn't enough though to permit him a clear picture of a cunny.

  And then, hampered by her navy blue bloomers which held at her knees, the lovely Mildred was lying across the waiting thighs and presenting her bare naked arse.

  The twin cheeks curved so deliciously, the hidden valley between them looked so soft, the maturing thighs gleamed so smoothly white. Hearing a slight rustle, Harry looked and saw that his friend had taken his hard bird out and was playing with it. He did the same.