“wriggle that big red backside as much as you can or I'll make it wriggle with the strap, Lucille.” And I obeyed, sobbing with my pain and shame, till at last he sighed with his pleasure and relaxed his hold of my pain-racked, shuddering body. Then he lifted me off him, told me to go wash and get ready for bed and he would tuck me in. And he left the room to go to his own bathroom while I half-faintingly went to mine and washed my face with cold water, for I was too weak and shivery and the feverish throbbing of my poor bottom almost made me scream. The suffering about on his legs while I… did what he wanted had brought all the pain of my spanking back again.
When I came back, he was waiting for me, stark naked except for his sandals, and he made me kneel down and kiss his cock, from which he had removed the covering used during his possession of my body. It was limp now and I was afraid my kisses-for he demanded I go on for a bit while I held my nightdress up with both hands to show him my well-spanked bottom-would make it hard once again and that would mean a new ordeal of torturing shame for me. But fortunately, he seemed to be quite pleased with my behavior, as he put it mockingly, and then told me, “I may slip into your bed and wake you up in the morning, my dear, so go to sleep without your nightdress. Take it off now and then put your arms around me, hug me, and give me an affectionate kiss and thank me for letting you off a severe punishment tonight and promise me you are going to try to be a very good obedient little girl.”
I did as he wished, though I could hardly look at him, and my face was a burning red as I stood up against him, naked as he was, and kissed him on the mouth and stammered my thanks and my promises of obedience for the future in the way I knew he wanted. While I did this, he put his hands on my throbbing, sore bottom and squeezed and molded and played with the cheeks, making me start and squirm involuntarily against him, and he muttered, “You bold little hussy! I believe you're trying to coax me to stay in bed with you. But I've had enough for now, so you go to sleep and maybe, if you're a good girl, I'll wake you up in the morning.” With this he gave me a smart slap on the bottom that made me gasp in pain, and, lifting me up in his arms, kissing my breasts as he did so, carried me to my bed and tucked me in. Then, as a farewell embrace, he leaned over me and made me take his… thing… in both hands and give it a kiss and then pass my tongue over it. At last he left me, shuddering with my mortification and nervous fatigue, my bottom still throbbing painfully, and I lay there for some time before I could fall asleep, hopelessly knowing that I was only a slave and plaything for him and that he would and meant to take every right a man can over a girl in his complete power.
CHAPTER 2: ROSA'S SHAME
To my surprise, nothing occurred for the next eight days to plunge me further into my despondency and terror of him. He behaved very nicely toward me, not once whipping me, though he playfully threatened me almost every day with a spanking. He seemed to love to use the word and to talk about my bottom and how beautifully made it was for whipping and spanking. But on the ninth day, I had occasion again to witness a scene of shame and cruelty, of which, this time, Rosa was the victim. It was at lunch, as I recall, and we were sitting eating and he was chatting about his paintings and how soon he would take me out with him as a model-an event I was not at all looking forward to, as you may imagine after my initiation to outdoor nakedness before him and my vulnerability to the switch-when he paused, tasted the salad carefully, then rang for Selena.
“Who prepared the salad today, Selena?” he asked.
“Rosa, Master,” Selena promptly replied, “is there anything wrong?”
“Yes, she's seasoned it with garlic instead of Roquefort as I specifically instructed this morning. Send her in to me at once.”
Selena bowed her head and went out, and a few minutes later lovely Rosa entered, face anxious, hands clasped, eyeing him carefully. He at once censured her and asked her what made her take it on herself to use garlic instead of Roquefort, to which Rosa stammered nervously that she found just before lunch they were out of Roquefort and she had substituted the garlic instead. “Then you should have come to me and told me, Rosa,” he rebuked her sternly. “That makes two faults: disobeying my instructions as to how the salad was to be made, and then not telling me of the shortage in the kitchen which could have been corrected. I haven't punished you for a little time, and now I see this is what comes of leniency. Go out into the garden and cut me four or five good lean switches from the hazel tree there. I am going to give you a sound birching on your naked behind to teach you not to take your work here casually, my girl.”
Bursting into tears, Rosa fell on her knees- astounding and shaming me, to see this beautiful mature young woman so demean herself-and wringing her hands, pleaded tearfully, “Oh, Master, don't birch me… Please give me the martinet or the strap instead as hard as you want. Don't use the birch on me, Master.”
“You have five minutes to bring back those switches,” he said casually, glancing at his wrist-watch, “and if you aren't back by then, you'll be tied up and get all three used on your backside.”
Weeping, poor Rosa hastened out of the room, and he eyed me with a bland smile. “I trust this time, my dear,” he chided tauntingly, “you won't let your sentiments get the upper hand over your better judgment, because I am going to let you prepare Rosa for the birch.”
“Oh, b-but Mr-Mr. Raleigh, I–I've never done a thing like that.”
“Silence, Lucille, you had never done many things before you came here as my ward. So that's no argument at all. And there had better be none, unless you want to join Rosa,” he retorted. “Are you going to obey me and prepare her as I asked or not?”
“Oh, yes, yes sir, of course I'll obey you,” I hastily gasped, getting very red at the thought of his punishing me for one of the lovely servant girls to see.
I sat there in dread and nervous embarrassment till at last Rosa returned, crying softly, clutching five thin long pliant switches in one hand. He made her bring them to him. Then he got up, took his pocketknife and peeled them, then tied the ends together tightly with some heavy cord. Brandishing this improvised birch rod in the air, he made it whistle fiercely, and Rosa started to cry again, pleading to be given the strap or the martinet but not the birch as it cut dreadfully.
“Take her to my bedroom, Lucille,” he ordered sternly, “and roll up her skirt and slip to her waist. Tie this cord round them to keep them up, then pull her panties down to her knees. She'll go on the armchair near my bed. And when I come in, which will be after I've smoked a cigarette, I expect to find you holding her hands tightly so she can't wriggle away from the cuts. Be quick about it, or after she's had her punishment, she'll prepare you on the same chair for yours, my dear.”
Shaken with mingled emotions, of pity for poor Rosa whom I had to help humiliate by acting as assistant to him, and of fear for my own welfare, I stammered, “Y-yes Mr. Raleigh, right away. R-Rosa you-you better come with me, pl-please.”
“Yes'm, Miss Lucille,” she sobbed, and walked along with me, her head bowed, cheeks stained with great tears slowly rolling down.
We ascended the stairs to Mr. Raleigh's bedroom and when we got inside, I whispered to her feverishly, “Please, Rosa, you've got to forgive me, but I have to pr-prepare you. Please get on the chair without fussing so he won't get any angrier.” She nodded wretchedly, with a new outbreak of doleful sobs, and slowly knelt down on the low armchair, burying her head in her arms. She was perhaps a half inch shorter than me, with great dark brown eyes and attractive dark brown hair worn in a pretty, short bob. Her figure was ripe and shapely as I saw when I had, not without great embarrassment and another whispered apology that I didn't really want to do this to her, rolled up her black dress and white slip above her waist, and fastened the cord around them to keep them up throughout her punishment. Her ample fully mature bottom was snugly sheathed in a pair of tea-rose-colored silk panties, and her lovely round full thighs most attractive in dark brown stockings with gaudy red French garters at the tops. When I put my fingers under the elastic waistband of her panties, she began to cry again, but made no protest or resistance as I drew them down, my face flaming with shame for her own humiliation. Then I went behind the chair and gently took hold of her wrists. As I did so, Mr. Raleigh entered, swishing that awful bunch of switches in his right hand, and Rosa turned her tear-stained face to him with a cry, “Oh, Master, please have mercy on your Rosa. Don't birch her, please. I'll never make a mistake like that again, only let me off the birch!” Her skin was a delicious smooth amber-soft shade, and naked now from waist to stocking tops. The spacious ripe solid cheeks of her bottom shrank and tightened, and I knew she was feeling just as I did when the first blow of a whipping was about to fall.
“Hold her securely now, Lucille,” he advised me as he took his stance at the young woman's left, brandishing
