MISS COOTE'S CONFESSION, subtitled Or the Voluptuous Experiences of an Old Maid; In a series of Letters to a Lady Friend, was published by Anonymous in the legendary Victorian magazine Pearl, and charts the progression of punishments that quickly turn into pleasures for their victims.

Excerpt:

We now commenced the game of slaps, which in reality was similar to a common children's sport called “touch.” Ours was a very large room, the three beds, dressing tables, washstands and all, arranged around the sides, leaving a good clear space in the center.

Lady Clara took charge. “I'll be 'Slappee' to begin,” she volunteered, taking her station in the middle of the room.

Each girl then placed herself with one hand touching a bedstead or some article of furniture, and as Clara turned her back to any of us we would slip slyly up behind and give a fine spanking slap on her bottom, making it assume a rosy flush all over. But if she could succeed in returning the slap to anyone before they regained their touch, the one that was caught had to take her place as 'Slappee.'

It was grand fun and we all joined heartily in the game, keeping up a constant sound of slaps, advancing and retreating, or slipping up now and then to vary the amusement, in which case the unfortunate one got a general slapping from all the players before she could recover herself, making great fun and laughter. You would think such games would soon be checked by the governess, but the rule was never to interfere with any games amongst the pupils in their bedrooms.

Just as our sport was at its height the door opened, and Mlle. Fosse entered, exclaiming, “Ma foi, you rude girls, all out of bed slapping one another, and the lamp never put out. What indelicate young ladies to expose yourselves so. Mlle. Flaybum does not like to check you out of school, so it's no business of mine; but you want slapping, do you? How would you like to be cut with this, Mlle. Coote?” she inquired, showing me a very pretty little birch rod of long thin twigs, tied up with blue velvet and ribbons. “It would tickle very differently from hand slapping.”

“Ah, Mademoiselle, I've felt much worse than that three times the size and weight. My poor old grandfather, the General, was a dreadful flogger,” I replied.

Mlle. Fosse lowered the rod, her brow wrinkling. “I thought girls were only whipped at school. You must tell me all about it, Miss Rosa.”

“With great pleasure,” I said, happy to be the center of attention. “I don't suppose any of you have seen such punishment inflicted as I could tell you of,” I began.

The young French lady rapidly undressed herself as I unraveled my unhappy tale. She had very dark, black hair over a rather low forehead, with a most pleasing expression of face, and fine sparkling eyes hid under what struck me as uncommonly bushy eyebrows. She unlaced her corset, fully exposing a beautiful snowy bosom, ornamented with a pair of lovely round globes, capped with dark nipples. Her skin, although so white, had a remarkable contrast to our fairer flesh. There seemed to be a tinge of black somewhere, whereas our white complexion must have been from an original pink source, infinitely diluted.

“You, Van Tromp, ou est ma robe de chambre? Have you hidden it?”

Louise clapped her hands. “Oh! Pray strip and have a game with us. You shan't have the nightdress yet.”

Mademoiselle Fosse wagged a finger in response to the invitation. “You shall catch it if you make me play; your bottom shall smart for it.”

We all gathered round her, and although she playfully resisted, she was soon denuded of every remaining rag of clothing. We pulled off her boots and stockings. What a beautiful sight she was, apparently about twenty-six, with nicely rounded limbs. Her glorious profusion of hair, now let loose, hung down her back in a dense mass and quite covered her bottom, so that she might have sat on the end of it. Of her belly, it is almost impossible to describe, except to call it a veritable “Forest Noire.” The glossy, black curling hair extended all over her mount, up to her navel, and hung several inches down between her thighs.

“There, Mlle. Rosa,” she exclaimed, sitting on the edge of her bed, “did you ever see anyone so hairy as I am? It's a sign of a loving nature, my dear,” nipping my bottom and kissing me as she hugged my naked figure to hers. “How I love to caress darling little birdies like you. You shall sleep with me sometimes. The Van Tromp will be glad to change me for Laura.”

At this point she reclined fully upon the nearest bed and spread her legs before our appreciative eyes.

She hesitated not at all, moistening her middle finger with her tongue, then inserting it fully into her slit. Her hand was quite lost in all the luxurious hair that adorned her private spot, but it wasn't sufficient to conceal the in-and-out motion that she maintained with lustful concentration. She thrust her belly up with every downward stroke to better enjoy her self-induced pleasure, seemingly eager to present the spectacle to our eyes. Her breasts bounced and swayed in their glorious fullness until I could restrain myself no longer. Stepping forward, I took them in my hands and added my own crushing manipulations to their natural motion.

“Ho, we cannot allow more of that,” cried two or three of the others together. “Now you shall be 'Slappee' with your birch, Mlle.”

“Very well,” said the lively French lady, rising from her pleasures. “You'll get well touched up if I do catch any of you.”

Then we commenced our game again and she switched us finely, leaving long red marks on our bottoms when she succeeded in making a hit. Her own bottom must have smarted from our smacks, but she seemed quite excited and delighted with the amusement, till at last she said, “Oh! I must be birched myself. Now who will be the schoolmistress?”