however, that if you do not act in a satisfactory manner, I shall feel obliged to tie you up for the balance of the whipping. As you may expect, the strap will not taste so well on your bare backside if that becomes necessary.”
CHAPTER 6: THE KISS OF GRATITUDE
Meekly I rose to my feet and moved to the side of his chair. He laid me face down across his lap, then lifted the back of my nightdress above the waist and began applying the leather strap with stern cracks to my bare bottom. As a whipping, it was equally as intense and severe as the one he had given me last night. I could feel fancy crisscross marks being burned all over the twin cheeks of my bottom as the strap seared noisily across them. It was no easy matter to remain still while receiving such a whipping; but, knowing what would happen if I showed the least sign of protest, I had to keep passive. Again I bit my lips to stifle the cries of pain that came from them, while my hands gripped the legs of the chair tightly. My bare legs occasionally escaped control and kicked up instinctively while my burning hind-quarters twisted, jerked, and contorted about. But since none of the movements interfered with the whipping, Mr. Raleigh raised no complaint.
He continued the whipping for more than five minutes, I am sure. My bottom was just one big burning ache that smarted and stung as badly as any searing I had ever gotten from a real flame. As he had done during the previous night's punishment, Mr. Raleigh scolded and called me a naughty, disobedient girl while he whipped me. He told me how badly I deserved the whipping I was getting and described the whipping he intended to give me in the future if my conduct did not improve.
It seemed as though I had been lying half-naked across his knees for several hours instead of so many minutes before he finally ended the punishment with three or four last very vigorous blows that made me burst into tears of suffering and grind my teeth to keep back my cries, and then lifted me from his lap. Even the soft texture of the silk as my nightdress fell down back over my bottom felt like so much sandpaper chafing against the swollen, smarting cheeks of my bottom.
“Now get on your knees in front of me,” he directed when I arose from his lap, trembling and quivering from the burning agony of all my nerves and the unbearable throbbing of my severely whipped flesh.
It pained me to move, but I forced myself to go down on my knees before him. He put his left hand under my chin and tilted it up so he could see my tear-stained face.
“Do you feel like a more obedient girl for having been properly whipped?” he asked.
“Y-y-yes s-sir… I–I… m-mean, M-Master,” I sobbingly replied.
“You know that you will get a severe whipping when you are naughty, don't you, Lucille?”
“Y-yes… M-Master…”
“Then you should be grateful to me for giving you a whipping that will remind you to be good,” he answered. “If I didn't whip you as I have just done, then you would probably be naughty quite often and get several whippings instead of the one I just administered to your bottom. Are you grateful for this whipping then, Lucille?”
“Y-yes… M-Master,” I stammered tearfully, squirming uneasily on my knees from the cruel throbbing of my bottom.
“Then give me your kiss of gratitude,” he demanded.
I arose painfully with a gasp as the movement shot flames through my anguished seat, and put my arms about his neck and tremblingly pressed my lips to his. He drew me down upon his lap so he could hold me in a close embrace as he endeavored to soothe my trembling.
“This whipping I have just given you has been a test of your complete obedience, Lucille,” he said. “Do you think it has been sufficient to make you obedient, or must I put you back over my knees and give you some more?”
“Oh, don't whip me anymore,” I begged in tearful alarm. “I'll always be obedient to you… M-Master… only, not anymore. Oh, you've whipped me so hard just now and… and this afternoon…”
“Yes?” he asked skeptically. “Then we shall see if your obedience extends to all things.”
With this, he picked me up in his arms and carried me off to the bed, let me fall face down across it. Rolling up my nightdress, he passed his hands over my throbbing, inflamed bottom and said hoarsely: “This time, I am going to poke you in the other lovely place a girl has provided to satisfy a man. Lucille, get on your knees, your face down to the covers, and open your legs as wide as you can. Obey me now in everything, or you'll receive a little supplement you won't like.”
I was stricken with terrified shame and an atrocious uneasiness, not quite knowing what he meant, I turned my face back to him and sobbed. “Oh, M-Master, I–I will t-try to do everything you want… b-but what do you mean… I–I d-don't understand… th-the other pi-place.-Oh, please don't wh-whip me anymore.”
“I mean here, Lucille, where there is no chance of ever having a baby from being poked,” he said explicitly, and I felt his forefinger probe between the shuddering swollen cheeks of my naked bottom. And then I understood what he meant.
“Oh no-oh, M-Master-oh, my God, not there. Oh, it-I-oh, it would kill me. I couldn't — oh-please-if… if… y-you m-must p-p-poke me… d-do it in… in the other place as you did last night. Oh, please not there,” I sobbed in my shame and terror.
“I thought this newfound obedience of yours was a bit too quick, Lucille,” he chuckled cruelly, and although I was sobbing and crying from the whipping he had just given me and my bottom was paining me dreadfully, he strode to the dresser, opened the drawer and got a terrible looking, many-thonged whip from it. The mere sight of this torturing-looking instrument sent chills of paralyzing terror coursing up and down my trembling spine. I had never seen an instrument like it, but I was soon to become acquainted with the awful painful effects of the martinet-though it was several whippings later before I found out this was its name.
I shrank within myself, unable to move with my agony and horror, as he came back to the bed and raised this terrible whip. Down flashed his arm, and my body tremblingly started from the stinging force as the six lashes, each of which seemed to bite its way into my very soul, fell. Blow after blow scaringly landed upon my poor quivering and defenseless bottom. I screamed, twisted, and writhed under the apparently never-ending blows till finally I could resist or scream no longer; now the pain no longer bit into me with its painful pangs; a numbness pervaded my entire body which now lay passively under the dominant influence of the whip, excepting for my soft sobs and moans and the convulsive jerking of my flesh as each new blow whistled down and landed across my naked bottom.
I have no recollection when the whipping really stopped, but I finally became conscious of my surroundings and that my smarting flesh was being tenderly ministered to. This kindness to my bruised flesh aroused me from my lethargy. Anxiously curious to know if my former tormentor could render such soothing ease with the same hands that had inflicted such searing pains, I turned my head around… Not my master, but his servant girl was attending to my inflamed flesh… While she administered to me, I learned that whippings were nothing new to either her or the other maidservant. Both girls were young and beautiful, but were spanked and whipped by masterful Mr. Raleigh who whipped them not only singly but in pairs as well. I shall describe my experiences in seeing some of these whippings. But as the girl-she was slim, about nineteen, with a sweet face, flashing white teeth, jet black hair surprisingly straight, which she wore in braids, her name was Selena-continued to massage cream onto my throbbing bottom, I felt a new and singular pain. And then I burst into tears of supreme mortification-Mr. Raleigh, after having whipped me into submission, had done the horrible thing he had wished me to yield of my own free will. He… he had put his thing into the… hole of my bottom. For I felt as if the muscles had been stretched cruelly there and the sensation was indescribable. As if… as if I had to go to the toilet. And the spasms and twitchings continued for a long time as I lay sobbing and crying in my distress. It was Selena then who consoled me, telling me that a girl didn't die from a whipping, even if mine had been a severe one, and that she and the other girl, Rosa, twenty-two, a buxom but lovely, sweet girl, often were whipped by Mr. Raleigh. I could only guess that he made love to them too, and my feelings then of being a white slave in his “harem” were annihilating to my will and pride.
I managed to get some sleep till the afternoon of the next day, and Mr. Raleigh generously left me in peace even through that next night.
