A servant and Mistress Part 2

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A servant and Mistress Part 2Part 2I slept the sleep of the dead that night, and awoke late the nextmorning. I lay on my stomach as I realized the sun was already shining,but I didn’t care. What was the worst she could do to me, whip me? I nolonger feared her whippings. The pain I could handle, it was her I couldnot. I felt I hated her with every fibre of my being, more than I hatedsin. She was evil, pure evil, and I wished it had been I who had floggedher, even if it meant that I had to receive twice as much, it wouldstill be worth it just to see her crying and writhing under the smack ofthe leather strap.Indeed, as time went on her whippings became almost routine. It becamea habit for me to look at my buttocks in the mirror at night before bedand in the morning when I got up to see how well I was healing. Idaresay there was no time my bottom wasn’t striped from one whipping tothe next, or at least blistered from the paddle.This was another of her little tricks. She had discovered long ago thebenefits of having at her disposal several implements of punishment. Forsevere, quick discipline the cane was the best. Just a few strokes, nomore than a couple dozen. For more prolonged punishment, the strapworked wonders, as it was thick and did not break the skin, and thus thewhipping could last much longer. But by far the most thoroughchastisement was the paddle.It was thin wooden paddle, small, just barely wide enough to cover adecent-sized bottom. It stung like the devil but did very little damageto the flesh, and indeed, with judicious use could be made to last anhour or more. This was far worse than the cane, which though intense,was over quickly, or the strap, which soon left your bottom covered withthick, pulsing stripes. The paddle, however, especially a light thin onelike the Mistress employed, stung terribly and seemed to last forever.On and on and on until you thought “Surely I’ve got no bottom left!” butstill it would pound down again and again and then the Mistress wouldshift you across her lap to a different position and spank you with herother arm, paddling your buttocks black and blue with welts and blistersuntil just her hot breath against the skin of your bottom would reduceyou to screams of agony.She always has you strip completely naked for paddling’s, rather thanjust baring the buttocks the way she does for the cane or strap. While Ifound both humiliating, there was something much worse about standingnaked before her, your heart trembling as you wait patiently andnervously as she readies herself–always a big production where she sitsdaintily and fidgets for a bit, smoothing her skirt across her lap, andfussing a great deal, and then stands up and recommences the entireprocess again while you keep swallowing your heart with tension–and onlyafter she finally tests the paddle out on her hand a few times does shegive you that curt gesture that you are ordered across her lap. Youlower yourself, palms sweating with terror, your naked body making youfeel as vulnerable as a c***d, and you press your hands against thefloor to support yourself, your bare thighs rubbing against her skirt asyou wiggle yourself into position. She scolds you then, just like youare a disobedient c***d who cannot understand language well andtherefore everything must be repeated half a dozen times. When shefinishes the scolding, the whole time rubbing and squeezing yourbuttocks until you are ready to scream, your face is flushed with shame.You cannot help it. Even if your crime seems minor in your own eyes,something about the way she looks at you, and the pure, rich,unadulterated scorn in her voice makes you feel lower than an ant, ofless value than a disease.Then, finally, after an agony of anticipation, she begins to spank you.Not hard, of course, just canlı bahis light slaps with the paddle. The entirepurpose of the paddling, in her eyes, is to make it last a long time.The punishment is not in the degree of pain but the duration. She doesnot spank lightly out of concern for you–she cares nothing if you areblistered and raw–she is pacing herself, really. She wants to haveplenty of energy left when she begins the real punishment.As for you, your task is one of endurance. It is a hopeless one.Valiantly you set your teeth and resolve to bear the pain. Vainly youhold your breath and struggle with yourself to remain calm andcooperate, to let her punish your bottom as she wills. But always, atsome delicate, undetermined point, you break. It is too much for you,and you begin to wiggle in spite of yourself. Your hands ache to reachback and rub your blazing rump, and you begin to open and close yourlegs, arch your back, tense and relax your buttocks, kick your legs,tremble, groan, moan, scream and cry out loud, weep, sob, beg and plead,shudder and implore, gasp and pant, and finally, after a paroxysm ofemotions, you collapse as though your body has no skeleton, no structureor foundation, and you lie there across her lap quivering as though youare only a puddle of gelatine.Then she begins the real spanking.My first paddling lasted a half hour to the breaking point, and theMistress continued the punishment for what I calculated was anotherfifteen minutes beyond that. I’ve never wept so profoundly in all mylife, never felt so drained and exhausted, as after one of her extendedpaddling’s. My second was even worse, for she spanked just my leftbum-cheek for a good half hour, and then my right. I thought we werefinished, and I was infinitely relieved, but then she paddled both mycheeks for another half hour. I have no idea what she has in store formy third paddling, but I will do everything in my power to avoid it,though I seriously doubt I shall be able to do so.Fortunately, paddling’s are rare. The Mistress selects only two or threeof us per week for this punishment, and never more than once a month forthe same person. We all receive our fair share of routine canings andwhippings, some more than others, but at least paddling’s are reservedfor serious, personal offenses.I should also point out that the Mistress does not neglect the maleServants in her technique, but treats them in the same manner as thewomen. Many times I have crossed the main dining room in the course ofmy duties and paused to stare at the half-naked servant standing alongone side, breeches completely removed, buttocks red with angry blistersfrom the thin cane or leather strap. It would seem to me that it must beeven worse for the men than for the women, both because the men are inthe minority here, making the few who are punished feel more select andembarrassed, and because I have yet to see a single whipped man who’sorgan isn’t stretched out proud and tall as he stands blushing andfidgeting under my examination, hands locked at his sides or behind hishead according to the Mistress’ instructions.The Mistress did not forget her promise to reserve for me the lowest ofhousehold chores, and for months I was responsible for the meanestduties, the filthiest and least amusing tasks. I carried heavy loads,scrubbed stained floors, plucked chickens, and discarded the refuse eachday. If the massive oven in the kitchen needed cleaning or even if itdid not, it was I who was summoned to crawl deep inside and sc**** thecaked soot and blackened remains along the walls, always working late atnight so the oven could be ready for use the next day.I took my lot graciously and did not complain. Even as I was whippedfor failing to remove an imperceptible black spot off a great ironskillet bahis siteleri I’d been commanded to wash, or caned for an article of cleanlaundry growing dirty as it blew dry in the wind, I did not complain. Iwept quietly and stoically, burying my resentment and anger deep insidemy bosom.One day the Mistress came to me as I scrubbed the walls of a rarelyused room in the cold, northern wing of the mansion. She stood watchingme for a while, my breathing slow and steady as I fought to still mypanic and concentrate on cleaning quickly and efficiently. There was nodoubt in my mind that her purpose was naught but to discover some faultfor which she should enable herself the opportunity to punish me, and myheart grew cold and faint at the thought. She’d caned me just the daybefore and my legs and buttocks still felt stiff and sore. I wascertainly not eager for another dose.But she spoke to me finally, and did not seem displeased. In fact, shecomplimented my spirit and attention to duty, and told me that for myreward she was going to make me her personal chambermaid. Wasn’t thatgenerous and charming of her?I nearly wept when I heard these words, and though my scrubbing slowed,I did not stop. I trembled in spite of myself and wondered if my miserycould grow any stronger. The last thing I wanted in the world was tospend any more time with the Mistress. Even the mildest gaze from hereyes unnerved me, and her smile sent terror down my spine. That I shouldbe forced to work by her side, in her very room, while she watched me inthat lazy, nonchalant, indolent manner of hers, just waiting for me tostumble, to hesitate, to make the slightest error that would justify herleaping up with an eager smile and bidding me to assume the position forpunishment while she fetched the cane or strap or dreaded paddle.”Well, Miss Janey you do not seem pleased. Is it not an honour to serveyour Mistress?”With a slowly bowed head I nodded, and knelt and kissed her feet. Itwas a pointless gesture on my part; it held no meaning for me, and Ifelt no sacrifice in making it. But it made her laugh out loud and smilewith open glee. She stretched out her right arm warmly, her open palminviting mine, and grasping it, she led me from the room and thepointless task to an even colder and more distant place, a place ofconstant fear and dread, a place filled with shame and hatred.My new duties commenced immediately, as soon as we reached the Lady’schambers. She instantly ordered me to fetch her a gown for dinner, the”long black one,” which proved difficult, as I found four black dressesof various cuts and materials within her extensive wardrobe. I proceededto return with all four, my heart already cold with dread as I feared myignorance was already to earn me punishment. But the Mistress onlylaughed and told me to take them all back, that she’d changed her mind,and wanted the white one with the fox fur lining. This one was moredistinct, and I found it quickly, pleased, only to discover her gone,the room deserted. Frantically I searched the room but she was notthere, and I grew terrified with uncertainty. Was I to leave to findher? Should I wait for her return? How long? Would I be punished forneglecting other duties, which, though I was ignorant of them, I wassupposed to be performing even now, as I waited? These were thequestions that haunted me, and even at that early moment I knew I couldnot long work for a Mistress such as her, who’s demands defied logic andwhose concept of justice made a mockery of it.With a heavy breath I laid the dress across the bed and walked to thelarge window that overlooked the courtyard. Several stories below Icould see the footmen guiding horses to the stables and maids hurryingto and from the central well. It was late afternoon and soon the guestsfor the güvenilir bahis evening would be arriving. I could not remember who was to cometonight, but I vaguely recollected something about a rather large party,perhaps a dozen men and their wives, as the cook had been rathershort-tempered this morning, frustrated by the mammoth preparationsrequired for such an occasion.I felt tired and old. The Mistress’ games did not amuse me. It was notthe punishment I dreaded; that I suspected would come no matter what Idid or didn’t do. The pain of the punishments no longer frightened me,for though I did not relish them, enduring them brought a certainsatisfaction to my lips. Even the humiliation did not bother me as muchas it used to, though I was always astonished by how shameful I felt,especially for a trivial offense. It wasn’t even the unfairness of theLady that frustrated me, because I was accustomed to such treatment fromthe ruling class.No, what bothered me the most about the Mistress was that while inreality I had no control over my fate, she made it seem as though I did.She never punished without cause; even if the reasoning was absurd orridiculous, there was always a justification for your punishment. Ineffect, it was not the Mistress who was punishing you, it was yourself,by your own actions, that asked for and received the just reward. If shehad punished me for no reason at all I could have rationalized andaccepted it, justified it on the basis of her particular perversion ofpower. But she continually reinforced the notion that punishmentfollowed behaviour, as though the two held a logical relationship, asthough there was some method of _escape_, when in truth there was none.I was a prisoner taunted with the key to freedom, dangling just outsidemy grasp on the other side of the iron bars, visible, tangible, and yetimpossible to obtain. But my situation was such that something inside memade it equally impossible for me to give up, to abandon my attempts atescape, and I would claw my fingers bloody in the vain hope of clutchingthat key, of releasing myself, even for just a moment, and breathingfree air again.So it was that given a clear choice between punishment and nopunishment I should gladly have chosen the former, if that’s what theLady wanted, but given a choice between two unknowns, two _potentials_,with no method of discerning the outcome of either, I was abandoned intoa state of utter bewilderment, a state of chaos, of ruthless despair,and my misery was made obvious to me, and I wept. I wept when I was beaten and when I was not beaten; the differencebetween the two was lost on me. Either meant torture now, and I dreadedboth equally. My heart would leap at the prospect of escape, only toplummet to even deeper depths as I realized that it was all illusion, anelaborate hoax on the part of the devious and devilish witch that was myMistress.In truth I was not beaten any more often or more severely serving soclose to the Mistress; she simply did not have to look as far to findcause to punish me. But just the unspoken threat of her presence, herdark, opaque eyes always watching me, following me. Even when she sentme to the wine cellar for a bottle of port late one evening and Iwandered the cold, dark corridors by myself with only my lantern castinga gloomy glow around my footsteps she was there with me, following, eyeson my back, piercing me, taunting me, threatening me, daring me. Ilonged to give in, to scream at her, to throw down my apron and leave,to find a patch of soft snow and simply lie down and die, quietly andpeacefully, and alone, but I knew that she would be victorious if I didthat. I was not sure what she would win, what stakes we played for oreven why we played, but I knew that I could not allow her to beat me.Someday, I knew, I might break and let her win, but while I still had ascrap of dignity in my body I was determined to fight her, even if thatwas only by living, simply enduring her scorn and punishments.To be continued…………………………..

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