Author: Anonymous, sometimes attributed to Mandeville Hardaway.

About: In a sedate rural village in late 19th-century England, the beautiful Vanessa lives quietly with her brother until the day the lustful Vicar takes her in hand.

In time, the modest hamlet becomes a hotbed of passion, as Vanessa turns her newfound skills toward luring other households into their secret coterie.

Excerpt:

'Upbraid?' he asked in a gentle tone. 'No, Miss Markham, such does not have a sufficient strain of strictness that the female needs. There are those I know who use the birch and cause the unveiled bottom to twist and burn. Cries of protest, of alarm, may be heard which in a quiet household are unseemly and may disturb those who had best know least about it. For myself, I employ mainly the tawse. Do you know of such?'

Blushing deeply at his choice of words, Vanessa clutched rather desperately at her cup and gazed straight before her so that naught but her attractive profile was presented to his view. No one had ever spoken to her thus before and she knew not how to reply, though having rather mumbled something was politely asked what she had said.

'I said no', she gulped.

'Ah, then, I better understand, my dear. The tawse is a Scottish instrument of thick broad leather, alike unto a goodly luggage strap, if you will, but split at the instructive end so as to form two fingers. At the moment of their meeting the offered bottom...'

'Oh, sir, I do not think we should speak of such!' Vanessa gasped.

'Ah—I had no idea that you were uninstructed. Truly I had not. Pray forgive me. Are you well accommodated here? Is the residence roomy enough for you?'

'Indeed yes. May I show you around?' Vanessa asked hastily as if she would rather do anything at that moment than continue such a conversation.

'It would be pleasant, yes, and more than that, for I like to think of my parishioners at night at prayer, Miss Mark-ham, and thus do I envisage them—each and all—in their rooms of retirement, the fires lit in winter and a pleasant glow upon the ceiling. Is that not one of the jolliest and cosiest sights?' he asked, assisting her to rise and thereby brushing his hand down one svelte hip in the process.

'I s... s... suppose, yes', the young woman responded. She had not thought to show him anything as intimate as her bedroom, but there seemed no escape from it. And thus a little tour was conducted—first the dining room, then the morning room and the small conservatory whose blooms the Vicar much admired—and then followed the hesitant moment when Vanessa conducted him up the stairs.

In so doing, she distinctly felt his hand pass behind her and pass lightly over and beneath the noble cheeks of her bottom, the which she was quite unable to believe was happening. Being a well-brought-up young lady, she had experienced little of the like before, and most certainly not with a stranger. Such was her modesty, however, that she could not bring herself to remark upon that libertine straying of his palm which, through her gown, her petticoat, and her drawers, could well feel the warm rotundity of her nether cheeks.

As they passed along the landing, the Vicar stole his encroaching fingers a little further beneath her orbs, this causing Vanessa to gulp audibly, though—as he had well anticipated—no word of protest broke from her lips simply because she knew not how to form such. From previous adventures, the wily cleric was well aware that such would be the case and literally guided her by her bottom into the first of several bedrooms, where, as she whispered almost inaudibly, her brother Reginald slept.