Memoirs of a Lady’s Companion (part 1 of 2)


companion nudeDue to a small technical error Wishes will be concluded next week. Meanwhile here is a quick two-parter that will be concluded tomorrow. Be warned it is both intense and severe.


Perhaps you have never heard of the position of a lady’s companion. These days it is an increasingly rare post and one that might even be considered hedonistic in these dark days of the 20th century. But in my youth during the dying days of the last century, it was a common profession for a young lady of breeding who had no money of her own. It was especially attractive for one who disdained the authority of serving a great family as a governess.

In short, a ladies companion was a paid friend and professional chaperon to a gentile woman of means who wanted to see something of the world and who wished to travel without the protection of a man.

It was the spring of 1890; I was 24 and very much also wanted to see the world and I could think of no way better than to take such a position.

My employer was a certain Eugenia De Verne, who was at that time only 30-years-old and an entirely different breed of woman. She was considered something of a rebel and a blue stocking and although beautiful, was not at all the type of young woman that a respectable mother would wish to see married to their son.

She had been educated at a number of England’s finest educational establishments, although as far as I could tell, had parted on bad terms with most of them. Indeed the only establishment of this kind that she ever had a good word for was the Caulfield Academy for Young Ladies, a finishing school for women aged 18-22 years of age.

“I was a wild young woman, but Caulfield soon thrashed it out of me. I think in many ways, those four years were the making of me,” she said at our very first meeting.

I was intrigued from the first. Especially when she added in earnest cheerfulness, “If you were but three or four years younger I would commend you to my old alma mater, for I am sincere in the belief that it would be the making of you too. However, since you are perhaps too old for that now, rest assured that I have not forgotten their methods and if you take up my offer to become my companion then you shall come to know them too.”

I was thrilled, although I must confess, somewhat apprehensive, but the prospect of a dark Brontesque adventure was very much to my taste in those days.

My name is Amy Abercrombie and this is my story.


It is hard to know where to begin for I have written much in more conventional journals about my tales of empire and the travelling days of my youth. Yet if I were to dwell upon each and every curious encounter, I fear you may become bored. But one must begin somewhere, so my first spanking is, I suppose, as good a place as any.

Three weeks after I had taken up the position as Lady’s Companion I was charged with organising the luggage for a simple trip to Paris. I can’t say that it was a particularly tiresome or challenging job, but nonetheless, I failed at it.

I had not taken care to ask how many cases I had taken charge of, so when the cab driver left one small valise on the pavement at the collection point, neither he nor I missed the item.

“This won’t do Amy, you know that it won’t,” Eugenia told me angrily.

I had to agree, although I was too upset and flustered to say anything. For one thing she did not rage and I was intimidated by her calm easy manner. Also, she was a passionate beautiful woman with a great presence and a head taller than I. I can see her polished brown eyes now, flashing at me.

“You do know that now I have to spank you,” she informed me.

I blushed and thought how grateful I was that she did not shout the words so that the maid or another might overhear, although I was to learn that embarrassing exposure of punishments was very much part of her method.

We were staying in a small suite of rooms at a private hotel awaiting passage to France, so I was very much concerned with being overheard.

“Turn about girl and lean upon the occasional table there,” she ordered me.

No sooner had I done so when she set about my clothing, turning up my skirts and petticoats to my waist. I stood in open-mouthed embarrassment at the exposure, although I have to admit that I was curiously excited at this intimate treatment at the hands of a woman who was as yet a stranger to me.

I quickly realised that she was pinning the hem of my skirts into the small of my back so that my bloomers were exposed behind as if between two curtains. Then even as I struggled to be reconciled to this, she tugged at the drawstring at my waist and pulled my under things quite down to expose my big bottom to her gaze. I was mortified.

“Now for this operation I require a hairbrush, so go and fetch the large flat backed one from my room,” she said in a business-like manner and then added the warning, “The one with the long handle mind.”

I felt so awkward and embarrassed being sent on such an errand with my bottom all bare behind and I prayed that the maid did not come by to turn down the bed or some such.

Although the chore did not take too long, at the same time it seemed to take forever. However, the result was the same and I could scarce meet Eugenia’s gaze as I handed her the requested brush.

I went unresisting across her lap as she sat in an armless chair and then my face scorching to my ears I wriggled as she adjusted me so that my exposed bottom was uppermost.

“I expect you think yourself too big for such a punishment, I know I did when first so handled aged 18,” Eugenia scolded, “But make up your mind to it, I am about to give you a sound spanking upon your bare bottom and any expression of will on your part that does not support contrition will earn you a further punishment. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I whispered, wishing she would get it over with. A wish soon granted and regretted.

The first spank struck with a heavy sting and sounded like a pistol shot. I might have lamented that sound and feared for my exposure, but the bite of it was so great that I very quickly lost the ability for such coherent thought. Certainly as the spanking continued I was quickly reduced to a bawling mess and kicked up heels so much that Eugenia had cause to scold me further.

I know not how long that first spanking lasted but I was warm and then quite hot at both ends long before the spanking ceased.

Then finally it was over and I was sent to the corner for further shaming and a good cry.

I had previously read about such things and had thrilled at tales of dark punishments, but nothing had prepared me for the gamut of emotions that assailed me then. Firstly, even some minutes after the spanking had ceased, the pain was worse than I had imagined. But instead of anger or resentment, I felt a heady mix of regret, excitement and embarrassment, all vying for dominance. It was a strange thing to feel comfort even as my bottom throbbed with stinging pain so as to cause tears.

Also, though it was puzzling to me then, the heat at my head from shame so carefully matched in my hindquarters was not the only bodily pairing. For just as my face was wet with tears, I experienced a queer sort of wetness in the same general area as my behind, although, and here I blush, a little more deeply centred.

“Now young lady you will stand there for an hour or more while I contemplate your cherry tail and consider if I should not spank you again,” Eugenia scolded.

“Yes Ma’am,” I wailed with fresh sprouting tears.

I could have blushed for the Empire.

That first spanking was to set the pattern of our relationship and I was to be spanked twice more in the fortnight that followed; once on the boat some three days later and once again in our hotel in Paris. On the latter occasion I was set in the corner with a penny under my nose and left there while Eugenia went out and took tea. My thumbs having been secured behind my back with a ribbon and it was explained that I should be soundly punished again if the coin should find its way onto the floor in her absence.

So it was in a strange and meditative state that I spent the afternoon in the corner like and errant youngster. I knew then that a new door on my life had opened and Eugenia held the key.


The first time Eugenia showed me the cane I was afraid. I begged her frantically to punish me another way, but she said that if she acquiesced, then she would be failing in her duty.

We had been staying in a house just outside Paris and I had been rather amiss at dinner and had taken too much wine. Our hosts, friends of Eugenia, were amused, but she was not. The next day she told me remove my clothing so that my legs and bottom were bare and that she was to cane me. That is when I had pleaded with her for another chance.

To sooth me I think, she told me of her first punishment aged 18 at Caulfield.

“I had been mean to another girl and had made a cutting remark. I was rather arrogant in those days,” she explained. “So much so that a prefect, a girl not two years older than me intervened and told me to apologise. Of course I would not.”

I was agog and for a moment I had forgotten my own imminent chastisement.

“’In that case,’ the prefect told me,” Eugenia said continuing to her story, “I have no choice but to spank you and spank you hard. It seems she wanted to take me to her study where she would bare bottom for a lengthy application of her slipper. I was aghast and believed there was no way I could submit to such a thing.”

Needless to say as Eugenia related her story I was thrilled.

“Instead I took the matter to our headmistress, Miss January. I thought I would get a sympathetic hearing and so blurted out the whole affair to her patient ears,” Eugenia had smiled as she remembered. “Of course, she was less than amused by my petulance and disobedience and informed me that I should be caned.”

Eugenia had smiled and leaned closer to me then and I imagined a fable of old with storytellers set around a fire. This tale was better than Jane Eyre to my ears.

“I was told,” Eugenia continued, “To remove my gown and petticoats and bend across the back of a stuffed chair in her room. I was too terrified to refuse, but in those days my bottom was virgin territory for the assault as she proposed.”

I gasped, both at once thrilled and shocked by her bold words.

“I was caned sharply with eight biting stroked across my poor bare bottom. Then after shaking my mistress’s hand, I retired to my room for a good cry. I have to say that I was enthralled even then by the tight narrow red lines that scored my flesh.” Eugenia had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke. “It was then that the prefect and the girl whom I had wronged came to me. I still had to take a spanking and now it seemed it was to take place before the victim of my tongue. They were thoroughly amused by my submission and took great pains at my expense to make the vigorous application of the slipper last all afternoon.”

“Oh my,” I said or something like it. For in truth I was speechless.

“So,” Eugenia said, “Unless you want a good long spanking first, then I suggest you give me no more nonsense and prepare yourself for a good caning.”

I had then to obey and it was not only with trepidation that I trembled as I removed the clothing as she had directed and bared my bottom for the rod.

I felt self-conscious and not a little ridiculous as I knelt bent at a prie dieu with my behind sticking out.

“I think you know by now that I will enjoy doing this,” Eugenia said to me, “And although I do not wish to inflict a heavy ordeal upon you, I hope too that you will learn from the experience and and at least rue it a little.”

I was shaking by then and blushing in thrill-touched embarrassment.

The first cutting stroke was an eye-opener, quite literally so and I think my eyes were as wide as saucers with the throbbing shock of it. But I did not have time to dwell on the sting as another tear-making cut was laid well-on bellow its fellow soon after.

I did try to hold my peace and thought for a good long while that Eugenia laid on rapid strokes to be merciful, but after some long minutes of growing agony I sensed that the punishment was yet young and I broke to open sobbing, unable to endure more. Unable that is, but still compelled to.

Eugenia then spoke of my secret heart and another wall that had stood between us fell.

“Your behaviour was shameful last night and I cannot let it stand,” she said, “I know that you delight too much in the spankings I have given you to date, but this one you must feel, am I clear?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I wailed.

I do not know how long I was caned but I was grateful to stand in the corner afterwards, in truth standing was all I could manage for some days to come.

There is an embarrassing and shameful footnote to this episode. As I stood in the corner of Eugenia’s room, a place I had to remain in for the rest of that afternoon, the maid came to enquire about luncheon and saw me at my humiliating post. I think Eugenia was as amused as the maid and I could look none of our hosts or their servants in the eye again after that, for I was sure that all knew of my punishment.

A week later I was grateful to leave.


Being spanked over Eugenia’s lap was a regular occurrence in my life after that. In fact in some ways I contributed to my own downfall. I asked her about what she had said about enjoying spanking me and she wasn’t the least put out.

“I know you get a certain satisfaction from it too, believe me I have been where you are now,” she challenged me.

I knew it was true and I was mortified and wished I hadn’t brought the subject up, so as I stood there blushing I twisted her words a little and said something like: “I didn’t get satisfaction from the caning the other day or the maid seeing me.”

“I think you did, well afterwards at any rate,” she said with a disarming smile.

I think my face went cherry red then. It was true. At the time I had been beside myself with the pain and humiliation, but later as I relived the experience on my own, my mind had raced with the melodrama and danger of it all.

“But I can scarce sit down,” I said with a pout.

“Well, when you deserve it I will punish you, but to forestall either of us manufacturing a situation I propose that we institute a regular spanking regime to the satisfaction of us both and to keep you on the straight and narrow.” Eugenia was deadly serious.

I blustered and complained. To accept such a thing was an admission of my perversity and worse in some ways, it was an acceptance of a submission to hers. As a young employee, it was her right to spank me when I was in error, but to accept a ritual submission was decidedly beyond the pale.

I need not have worried, for it was only my pride and fear of having to make my own decisions in in this regard that troubled me so, and that was a matter that Eugenia took entirely out of my hands.

Five minutes after starting the discussion I was again bare-bottomed across her knee being spanked for dear life. With the cane stripes still keen across my behind I felt it beyond all else she had yet inflicted and I was soon howling like a new born as the flat of her brush plied its trade where it is was most needed.

I remember I had not noticed that Eugenia had not shut the door to her rooms and during the proceedings the same maid who had witnessed my humiliating some three days before came to wait in attendance on us.

Through incoherent sobs I tried to dismiss her, but she feigned not to understand, although her English was good, and she waited and watched impassively until Eugenia had quite finished with me.

“Perhaps the young mademoiselle requires ice for her derrière,” she ventured following my release.

“How thoughtful,” Eugenia said pleasantly, “But come back in an hour or… no two. The young mademoiselle needs so time of contemplation in the corner first and I want her derrière to stew a little first.”

“As you wish milady,” the maid executed a quick bob and then added, as if trying to be helpful, “Perhaps the young mademoiselle would like me to conduct her to the servants’ hall for a period of… contemplation as you say. That is where the naughty maids have to stand; we have plenty of spare corners.”

“As this is not a genuine punishment she can forgo that… honour. This time anyway,” Eugenia added pointedly, “But see that this door is left open and inform me at once if her… peu rouge en bas à nu strays from sight of the door.”

“As you wish milady,” the maid said with a barely disguised giggled.

And so the pattern was set, from then onward at every convenient Friday evening or on a day near to it I was soundly spanked and placed in the corner for the evening.


After a few months I had thought that my punishments could not get more severe, for in truth they were quite harsh enough. Eugenia rarely spared me any humiliation and half the hotel maids in Europe and a good few bell boys must have seen my cherry stained behind. The humiliation of it was impossible to bear, but bare it I did, if you can excuse a pun.

Not only was I spanked and occasionally caned, but I suffered leather belts, bats, martinets and all manner of brushes. Once after a leisurely session with a bath brush, during which the hotel maid put in several appearances, and even wiping my nose on occasion, I could not sit down for the best part of a week and my bottom held a burgundy hue for near a month.

To my utter chagrin, apart from the weekly spankings over Eugenia’s knee to keep me honest, most of the punishments were deserved.

Only once did I complain about my spanking regime, as she called it, and that was after a being spied under correction by a man. She asked me hand on heart: “Do you think I would punish you more or less if I did not spank you as a matter of course?”

I had to concede her point and was justly and immediately spanked for my argument.

Then one day while visiting a Bavarian count at his schloss, I was to learn of harsher things.

Again it was alcohol that was to be my downfall, for after imbibing too much schnapps and flirting with a guest, Eugenia threatened to whip me in front of the assembled company. Although a strange excitement gripped me at the prospect, I was terrified.

As it happened a public whipping may have been preferable compared with what then transpired.

The next day I was summoned to a rather Spartan room in one of the towers in my night dress. The house keeper and two maids were waiting with Eugenia and I saw at once the bundles of long twigs set in a bucket. I was to be birched.

Then as I wondered in belly-tight awe and my usual terror-touched excitement, I was seized by the maids and stripped. Then half compliant, I was hauled over to a bed in the centre of the room and with two large cushions placed under my hips, my tail end was well elevated.

I was then secured at the ankles and wrists so that my legs were half parted and my arms akimbo. This was a new, and given the witnesses, shameful experience. But then the Bavarian hausfrau said something in German and another bucket with a funnel and a rubber tube was produced.

For a moment I thought I was to be stomach-pumped for the schnapps even though the affects had long since worn off, but then the purpose became clear. I thorough clystering was to be my lot.

“I am told it is necessary given the gravity of the punishment,” Eugenia assured me. “It will be interesting at any rate.”

“Please Eugenia,” I pleaded.

But she hushed me and with a kiss she whispered: “If you can look me in the eye and deny that you deserve it, I’ll let you go.”

Of course I could not.

The birchen rod was laid on like a wand of fire and I yelled out from the first until it felt as if the skin had been stripped from my bottom and I was hoarse from screaming.

“Mine Gott,” one of the women said, adding a string of expletives that included words like, “Nass and aufgeregt.”

“Isn’t she just,” Eugenia observed with a grin, although at the time I had no idea what they were saying and if I had I would have died of shame.

To compensate for my rather fluid distraction, when the first rod was spent one of the women began to scour my raw bottom with a short-haired brush. This was quiet bad enough and near as bad as the birching, but then a fiery styptic was added and I was lost in a sea of pain beyond any I had as then as yet felt.

“I envy you,” Eugenia whispered. “No really. An afternoon spent with my poetry mistress and a bucket of birchen rods is one of my most treasured memories.”

In my madness I understood and knew to my soul that at that moment I existed only for the ordeal to end and the dread of its conclusion.

The second birching was somehow worse than the first and Eugenia nodded her approval. Even though I was incoherent with it all, I felt strangely pleased for her.

All through the styptic brushing that followed I begged. Whether for a cessation or a prolonging I think I will never know, but I am sure that only Eugenia understood my dilemma.

I have been punished many times since and often I have lost count of strokes, but never again I think did I loose count of sets of strokes. For to this day neither Eugenia nor I could tell you how many rods were used for my bitter caresses.

That night I slept like the rock on which the castle stood and the next day I had to stand vigil in the courtyard so that the assembled guests and servants could take pleasure from my misery. Throughout most of my sojourn there my bottom pulsed and rasped as vigorously as any routine spanking and I was given to fresh outbursts of tears. None more expansive than when Eugenia came close and whispered: “Your Friday spanking will be most interesting this week.”

The grazes on my bottom were something to behold and lasted for weeks. I can honestly say that on that occasion I really could not sit down for a week.

To be concluded.

5 Responses to “Memoirs of a Lady’s Companion (part 1 of 2)”

  1. 1 paul1510

    as you said, somewhat severe.

  2. 2 jenny29

    Whoa….this story really take my breath away. Must add to my favorite stories ever….suppose I have some kind of attraction to the birching stories, especially that written by you DJ….thank you very much for the stories. Can’t wait for the end of the stories, and more stories upcoming…..

  3. Bravo!

  4. 4 Mark

    I do not think this is too intense or severe. I think it fit the period and story. It was well done.

    The same story could have had details added that would have made it too severe. This was a good balance.

    Reality and stories of course diverge, and this is an example of that. Those extra details would emphasize themselves in the reality and entirely change the experience. The story teller needs that margin between story and reality to get the effect from the medium used.

    The same scene in photo or video action would be quite different, and too intense and severe except for those who like blood. I don’t. This did not bother me, even though I know the difference. The same is true in many stories I like very much, such as Magic.

  5. 5 DJ

    Thanks Paul, Jenny, Mark and One Hand 🙂

    It is always a fine line between severity and fun – I know some people don’t like it harsh and others prefer it.

    I don’t write non-consensual harsh as a rule – but I think whimsically consensual pieces like this have license.

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