by Carrie
I was embarrassed at being scolded in front of the young butler in training. I wondered if he would ever hold respect for me or any other mistress when he would gain position. He had never seen a lady of a household get her punishment, and he seemed to relish the opportunity. I could detect a sneer, a wicked little smile, the perverse pleasure expand as I cowered my lovely body.
Ms. Keener said to him, “Madame generally behaves better than this.” I protested, “What have I done other than follow your orders?”
And like lightening striking across the empty sky the whip cracked. I was on my toes, shoulders out, voice loud and sharp as I howled into the ceiling. My good breasts anchored the air as the rest of me trembled. I thrust back my head and let out a another coiled scream — the whip, long and tight, at work again.
“Put on your mules, Ms. Dupree. You’re too stiff in pumps.” She put the mules at my side. I turned to her. My eyes were heavy with pain. She greeted them without concern. I slipped on my Gucci Rhinestone Horsebit mules with the perky pencil heels. She was right. I could move better. And my bottom was still properly arched up. She gave me some comfort, “You look pretty.”
Ms. Keener said to the boy, “Lower Ms. Dupree’s skimpy panty, young Mr. Phipps. She doesn’t need it. It does nothing for her. She is not on a date.” The boy approached me. Our eyes were on each other. I whispered, “Not too much.” Young Mr. Phipps quickly backed off. The whip sharply answered my request.
“Take her hot little panty down, now! young Mr. Phipps. She doesn’t need to be spoiled! She’s spoiled enough! ” I leaned over and watched him tug my panty down. He could have been less obedient and given me just a little cover. But all he could think was that I was spoiled.
He let my panty bunch at my thighs, making sure his knuckles got a piece of my nice bottom. Then he smoothed his hand under me to check my position, just touching my breasts. That wasn’t allowed, but he would learn in time or he’d be out of service.
Ms. Keener put her cane under my tummy and warned me, “Don’t slack, Madame.” My eye was carefully on the cane. “Look forward, Madame.” I did what I was told. “Go ahead, Mr. Bingham.”
I let out a short sharp scream then madly shook myself, as if trying to crawl out of something terribly tight. I reached for my bottom, but Ms. Keener tapped my hands with her cane. “In position Ms. Dupree!”
I sunk my feet into my mules and arched my bottom. The boy kept his eye on me as I reached for the chair back. A tear ran down my cheek and onto the seat. I let out a little cry. I waited. Then jerked and screamed as the whip lifted me off the floor, toes to the ground as if it were too hot to stand on. I collapsed forward, elbows onto the seat of the chair. a piercing wail curled from deep within me. I was crying, “Oh please stop. Please stop.”
I turned back to Ms. Keener and Trevor, face drawn and teary, mercy my only want and saw the whip fly. I screamed so loud every one stepped back. I fell forward on the chair grabbing its back, and without break my bottom was whipped again, back and forth as I hopped from foot to foot screaming, “Oh please, oh please stop whipping me!”
They didn’t. The whip released into new soft flesh. I howled and tumbled and grabbed onto my bottom. “Hands on chair, Madam!” All it took was a slap of the cane and I obeyed. “Into position!” I wiped my tears away. Put my bottom into position; legs wide out so that my vagina was in full rear view, a sign of respect to the whipper. “Ready, Miss Keener.”
I let out a piercing yell. My pretty face crumbled into tears and pain. The boy didn’t miss a thing. And I was glad. I wanted him to know what I was going through. That a girl getting whipped is not a game. And that when it should be his turn to whip me he would not forget that.
I got into position. He checked me with his bare hand. “Ready.” He was getting better, quicker. The whip arrived. I was thrown forward then back. I opened my eyes and caught my breath. Regained position. I was getting better, too.
The boy reported, “Ready to be whipped.” And so it went. The boy at my side. Miss Keener in charge. Trevor handling the whip. Me in position. A synchronicity of punishment.
End of Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 163
Diary of a Rich Girl to be continued…
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