Tessara's Letter

Copyright by Mael DelaVara

The following letter was found in the binding of a Bible belonging to Miss Henrietta Waters, who lived in the village of West Stafford, Dorset, England. The Bible had lain forgotten in the attic of a cottage which was occupied by generations of the same family. It was discovered only when the property came into the hands of new owners.The date of the letter is unknown, but from the years recorded on Miss Waters' gravestone, it can be conjectured as 1885 or 1886. Also unknown is the identity of the writer, but research in local records would doubtless prove fruitful.


My dearest Henrietta,

I miss you terribly. I know I am most fortunate to have entered the service of Lady Fotheringill, and as her personal maid no less; but I am pining away for you. I don't miss that horrid finishing school or that beastly Miss Beecham. I know she takes a special delight in whipping you. I just know she does. She almost never beat me, but she never misses an opportunity to subject you to prolonged chastisement. I think you are her favorite. Do you still have the marks from the last birching? I'm sure you do; your skin is so soft. I miss when you'd show me your bottom afterwards, and I would cry at the sorry sight, and I'd lick my tears along your welts; and you'd say it stings and burns, but it's a sweet pain, so I'd trace each weal with the tip of my tongue, and you'd coo gently and get goose pimples--and I'm getting goose pimples just writing this!!!

I will give this letter to good old nurse Cracknit. I see her every few days in the village. She can smuggle it to you up at the school. There's always someone sick up there, so she should be visiting soon. Make sure you hide it in the usual place, otherwise I will lose my position and you will get the birching of a lifetime, and I wouldn't be there to comfort you.

I wish so much you were here with me. You could stay in my room; the bed is big enough for both of us. I'm going to suggest this to her ladyship once I get in her good graces. And I could certainly use your help. Her ladyship has a bath twice a day, and my back is so sore from carrying cauldrons of hot water to the tub. She makes me wash her private parts for at least five minutes, and she keeps on saying, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness." I don't think she is that unclean down there, but she has a large and thick coat of black hair in that area, as if she was wearing a stole over her mound of Venus.

I'm writing this sitting on a prickly bottom. Yesterday morning I took coffee to her ladyship in the drawing room, and she said to me, "I haven't inspected you." I didn't know what she meant, but she continued, "you girls from those finishing schools are always so unhealthy. I believe it's because you all engage in furtive practices." I still didn't know what she was talking about, so I let her ramble on. She said my skin had an unwholesome palor, my eyes were unfocused and droopy, and my general demeanor was listless. Now it's true I had a particularly bad visit from auntie this month, and I'm usually weak for a few days after, but that's just mother nature.

I let my attention drift away from her ladyship's monologue until I suddenly heard her say, "Strip, girl." I don't know what surprised me more, her ordering me to undress, or her calling me girl. After all, I'm now old enough to be married, and I wouldn't mind marrying her ladyship if she was a young man; she's a handsome woman. So I felt no reluctance to obey her command. I wanted her to see me and like me. Of course, I'd seen her naked many times by now. And there were no men in the house: her ladyship retains only female servants. But I still didn't understand why she needed to inspect me, and what that was.

She began pressing me and poking me and prodding me as if I was a horse she was intending to purchase. She called me a skinny little thing. I liked it when she cupped her strong hands over my titties; you know how small they are. She said, "Don't worry, my pet, they'll develop in time." And I liked it when she grabbed and squeezed my tiny bottom cheeks. She said, "These too will round out delightfully." I didn't like it when she inserted a finger tip into my private parts and asked if I was still a virgin. I just blushed because the question was improper and unnecessary. So she asked me again, more directly: "Has a man ever put his thing in here?" Of course I replied no, but she said, "We'll have to check, won't we?"

She had me bend over and I began to think this must be what the inspection is all about, to make sure I am pure. She peeled apart my lips, and a rush of cool air made me realize how moist I was.

"You are dripping wet and your lips are swollen. You have been indulging in the solitary vice."

I could feel I was being accused of something, but I didn't understand what, so I made a denial. Her ladyship was not appeased, and she almost screamed out, "I will not tolerate my servants lying and abusing themselves. These are two faults I will whip out of you." She then rang the bell.

The housekeeper appeared promptly, looked me over as if to say she'd seen it all before and I was nothing special, and then awaited her ladyship's directions.

"Fetch the birch."

I just knew I was to be beaten, but for what? Now I understand how you must feel on those many occasions of unmerited chastisement.

The housekeeper returned with that splaying buddle of rods and twigs.

"Will you keep your position, or does Bertha have to hold you down?"

I assured her ladyship that I did not have to be restrained; after all, I was accustomed to discipline at the finishing school.

Her ladyship nodded for Bertha to depart, and I was positioned, arms out-stretched, with my hands clutching the edge of the mantlepiece.

I don't need to describe the birching. You of all people know what it feels like--a thousand tongues of fire alighting again and again. The pain was bearable, except when a rod coiled around to slash my hip, and except when some errant twigs snapped across those moist lips that seemed to have been the cause of my woe.

Her ladyship whipped away until the birch was spent, all the while fulminating against prevarication and the sin of Onan. When she'd exhausted both the rods and herself, she reclined on the ottoman and ordered me to crawl around on all fours picking up the far flung buds and twigs.

I left the drawing room with an admonition that is still ringing in my ears. Her ladyship said she intends to conduct regular inspections, and when she finds evidence of the solitary vice, she will apply the appropriate disciplinary measures.

Oh, my dearest Henrietta, I wish you were here to explain to me how I am at fault. What is the solitary vice? Maybe it's really an imaginary vice, a pretext for her ladyship to whip me, just as horrid Miss Beacham loves to whip you. I don't think I'd mind that so much, though, as long as you were here to comfort me afterwards. I will accept a few more birchings and then ask her ladyship if you could be permitted to join us.

Your ever affectionate Tessara