Sonfuckingmomass

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Perhaps you do not know that almost from my infancy it was arranged that I should marry the Earl of Ellington, who was about twelve years my senior, being a family compact of a purely mercenary character, designed to consolidate some very doubtful title deeds, which now that our union has proved unfruitful, are likely to entail great expense and annoyance to our heirs-at-law. Warton, and my mother died in giving birth to myself, so that I was brought up under a nurse, and afterwards, when about seven years old, a young lady was engaged as governess to instil my juvenile mind with the rudiments of learning, preparatory to being sent to a finishing school. This lady’s name was Miss Birch, and although my papa had known her father, Dr.

Birch, for some years, I now believe sonfuckingmomass that the fascination of her name had great influence with him in making a selection from the numerous, and in many instances more eligible ladies, who applied for the situation. Miss Birch was a dark lady about thirty years of age when she entered our family, very good-looking, rather large pouting mouth, set off with lovely rows of most pearly white teeth, which, when she smiled or said much showed to beautiful effect in contrast to her rather swarthy complexion, dark brown eyes, and thick bushy black arching eyebrows, her figure was well moulded and plump, and being about five feet six, she had quite a commanding presence. I was nearly eight years old before I began to notice the significant looks which occasionally passed between papa and governess, but hints were so often thrown out about the necessity of procuring a good birch rod for the naughty bottom of Lucille, that I was gradually awakened to the discovery of some most mysterious kind of understanding which must subsist between them. My infant brain was much puzzled and alarmed, as I already felt in imagination the tingling smart of the green twigs I so much dreaded. Miss Birch seemed more exacting and sonfuckingmomass severe over my lessons, especially when papa happened to be in the schoolroom, and now I will tell you my first experience of the rod. One day after failing both in spelling and arithmetic she rang the bell, and ordered the servant to request Mr. Warton’s presence in the schoolroom for a few minutes. Papa entered with a very serious look, requesting Miss Birch to inform him of the cause of sending for him. Warton,” said my governess, “you sonfuckingmomass know we have had many serious conversations about the necessity for proper correction in case Miss Lucille should continue so inattentive to her studies, to-day she has failed in everything, and I am certain that unless her energies are sharpened up by the stinging smart of the rod she will go from bad to worse; I am so averse to wield the birch myself, and would much prefer that her papa should take in hand the serious whipping she ought to have.” Papa.—“Lucille, you hear what Miss Birch says, (I noticed him cast most excited and amorous looks towards the governess as he spoke), she has been most forbearing with you, and interceded with me many times to save your bottom, and even now cannot bring herself to lift her own hand to make you smart a little; it must indeed be a serious fault to induce her to ask me to use the rod, but, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ has always been a maxim with me; lay her across your lap, Miss Birch, and pull up her sonfuckingmomass clothes, whilst I get the rod out of the table drawer.” Miss Birch, with heaving bosom, and quite a deep blush upon her face.—“I feel as ashamed at baring her naughty posteriors as if I was going to suffer the degradation and humiliation myself, but come, Lucille dear, you must bear sonfuckingmomass it, and I hope you will be a better and more diligent girl in future.” Then catching me by the wrist, as I stood by her side covered with confusion, she tried to lay me across her knees, but I struggled and screamed, “No!