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smashed my mother’s clock — on purpose.’
    I hesitated then. ‘So I did,’ I choked. ‘Do you wish to … to … ‘
    ‘Punish you?’ Joseph finished for me.
    I held my breath. ‘Yes.’ I was unable to hold his gaze, and I looked away.
    ‘No,’ he replied, coolly, ‘but I do want to spank you.’
    ‘Yes,’ I breathed. As my husband turned me onto my stomach I could scarce close my legs, my sex was so swollen with need.
    I lay there, face down in my pillow, baring my buttocks to him, waiting.
    ‘You have a beautiful bottom. How I’d like to see it reddened by my hand,’ he murmured, and stroked the twin mounds gently. ‘Would you allow me?’
    ‘Yes.’ My answer was muffled by the pillow, but I gather my husband understood my response. Within a moment, a crack echoed around the room, and an instant later a sharp sensation shot through my buttocks and sparked between my legs. The word I cried out, dear diary, was the only one I could. ‘Yes!’ And a second later, he spanked me again. Forgive me dear diary, for my use of profane language, but my quim ached for his cock then. With every sharp strike upon my buttocks, the heady pressure in my quim grew. After a few more strikes, I was pleading him to take me.
    ‘Please,’ I moaned, ‘oh, please.’
    Joseph did not answer but mounted me from behind, I could feel the large head of him, nestle at the mouth of my soaking sex. ‘Please,’ I moaned again.
    When he sheathed himself within me I cried out as I felt stretched and full. He began to thrust hard and fast.
    ‘Catherine,’ he moaned loudly.
    I could sense that he was about to shudder and climax as the pressure built in me.
    ‘If you stop now, I’ll die,’ I cried out between heaving breaths.
    He hesitated for a short moment and then urged himself onward. My intense longing that had been dogging me since our wedding day grew, my skin felt aflame. As he thrust behind me, his thighs slapped my buttocks sending sharp spasms of arousal to my quim. Each one brought me closer to that elusive height.
    ‘Don’t stop,’ I gasped. ‘Keep going.’
    My husband did as I bid, faster and more urgently than before. Each thrust sending me spiralling higher until the pressure grew unbearable.
    ‘Oh!’ I cried out as he thrust one last time. He filled me to the hilt of his cock and I finally reached that place. The intense pressure in my quim broke over me and pleasure spread through my body. I don’t think I breathed for a whole minute.
    The pleasure rained down over me, leaving me tight and throbbing around his cock.
    He collapsed atop, shuddering over me as I shuddered beneath.

Sunday 23 August, 1813
    Dear diary,
    It has been nearly a month since I last wrote — and what a month it has been. Since the day my husband found me with Albert Winteringham, things are much improved. Our discourses are open, our affection for each other growing, and perhaps most notably, our conjugal acts are full of satisfaction and neither I, nor he, feel shame for it.
    I find it amusing that the purity of thought I had once hoped to find in professing my thoughts in this diary has not been achieved. In my humble opinion, purity is an overrated characteristic and one that should be banned from marriage altogether.
    I have heard on the gossip mill that my husband and I are considered the very model of moral fortitude and decency in the many facetted eyes of society.
    It therefore gives me much pleasure to divulge to you now, that behind closed doors my husband, the honourable Lord Joseph Bexley, and I indulge in some wicked things — but again, perhaps wicked is the wrong word. If I happen to break something on purpose — which I am known to do — my husband knows exactly what repercussions are warranted, and wanted . If my nerves are frayed by something I have seen, he knows precisely how to soothe them.
    You see, dear diary, we have found the perfect balance. In the eyes of society my husband will ever remain a man of