Paris in the 1920s

I picked up this book a few weeks ago in one of those perfect little old-fashioned bookshops; full of dusty piles of treasures, everything from beautiful editions of English classics to old knitting magazines to photography books to modern paperbacks. It has an entire alley of fairytales and Victorian childrens' literature at the back, where I spent some time, I confess, hopefully flicking through volumes with titles like "That Aggravating Schoolgirl", but failing to find any whipping scenes.

An Erotic Memoir of Paris in the 1920s was written by Anne-Marie Villefranche, born in Paris in 1899, about the sexcapades of her friends and relatives during their twenties. I'm halfway through and so far it exceeds all my expectations. Flappers! Bohemian poets! French maids! Drunkenness and debauchery! Exotic dancers! Mistresses! Threesomes! Adultery! The prose style is elegant and wry, the social satire is delightfully cutting, the dialogue is always witty and sometimes amusingly sarcastic, and the sex scenes are surprisingly hot.

There is, however, a notable lack of spanking. It's particularly disappointing since so many of the stories seem to be perfect setups for a punishment scene. For instance, in one chapter a gentleman is duped by a pair of sisters. He is determined to take revenge for being made a fool of, and sends one of them the following note:

'I have found out your trick. Please visit me at 3 this afternoon to explain your motives. It would be most unfortunate if your parents became aware of how you and your sister change places.'

While the scene that follows is rather nasty and very hot if you're into nonconsent scenarios, he completely fails to pursue this perfect opportunity to its natural conclusion.

The entire book is a tease for spankos. Take this scene, where Armand seduces the maid of his absent mistress:

'There is something else you can to do be of service to me Claudine,' he murmured at last.
'Willingly. What is it?'
'If you would turn around and lean on the hall table...'
She turned her back to him and put her hands flat on the marble top of the small console table, her feet well apart. Armand pulled up her skirt at the back and tucked it into the bow of her apron strings.
'Excellent. I am most obliged, Claudine. Bend forward a little if you please.'
He slipped her white cotton knickers down her legs as she leaned over to put her forearms on the table top and stuck out her rump towards him. It was a rump to make a man's heart beat faster, round, plump, smooth-skinned.

Anyone who could write that and not follow it with a sound spanking clearly doesn't know what they're missing.