Anonymous - Experiences of a Country 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 the rod. “If you let go of her, you may be sure she won't let go of you when you get onto that chair for a good sound switching on your bare backside.”

How he loved to humiliate us, how he delighted in our shame as women forced to submit to this most juvenile, yet atrociously embarrassing of all punishments.

Rosa continued to watch him imploringly, great tears rolling down her cheeks, while her knees and thighs huddled together and she tried to lessen the size of her spacious amber-colored naked bottom proffered out to that cruel bundle of hazel switches. “Oh, don't whip Rosa hard, Master,” she sobbed. “Please, not too hard. She'll be a good girl. It cuts so. Please, not hard!”

I was trembling with shame and compassion for the poor thing, and I loathed Mr. Raleigh with all my heart. But he glanced sharply at me and I gasped and tensed my hold on Rosa's wrists, knowing he would carry out his threat without hesitation if I did not obey his orders.

He began to whip her naked bottom then, sweeping the bundle of switches straight across her big bare seat, and the horrid swish of them as they cut the air and spread fantail over the full round cheeks of her smooth amber-colored behind made me tremble. She began to cry at the very first blow, and after a few more, laid on with real vigor and deliberation-for he was an artist in whipping as he was at painting, always striking in the spot he meant to attack, regardless of the victim's contortions or movements-her hips jerked and rolled as she pleaded brokenly to be pardoned again. Silent to these pleas, he went on switching her remorselessly, and she plunged herself against the back of the chair, trying to lower her bottom. When she did this too often, he would pause and coldly order her to get back into position unless she wished some extra cuts, and it was atrocious to see the alacrity with which the weeping young servant obeyed her torturer. As she plunged and writhed about, I could see the red lines drawn across that fine smooth amber skin, till they marred all of it from the top of her ample young hips to the upper parts of her shaking, huddling thighs. Rather than anger him by screaming, she muffled her cries by pressing her mouth against the back of the chair, but she tugged at her wrists till I had to exert all my strength to keep her from losing hold of me. Halfway through the whipping, Mr. Raleigh asked her whether she admitted her mistake and agreed that she had earned a good whipping and she sobbingly confessed she did, only begging him to use the strap now instead and she would willingly endure extra strokes rather than to have the rest with the awful birch. Deaf to this supplication, which brought tears to my eyes, he sternly commanded me to take a better grip on her wrists, and then began to switch her with full sweeps of his strong arm, biting the switches cruelly into her furiously welted bottom and drawing hysterical cries and tearful prayers for mercy.

He must have given her forty-five hard lashes before he at last stopped, and then, to my shuddering disgust, made her kiss the rod and his hand and thank him for the whipping. She had to dress herself now and then go back to the kitchen and prepare dessert and coffee and serve it herself by his order. I didn't dare protest I was no longer hungry.