It was more like a stool than a chair. It had a heavy cushioned seat and heavy wooden arms. There was no back to it. He made me kneel upon it on my hands and knees. Then, taking four pieces of heavy cord from his pocket, he tied my wrists to the sides of the chair, and then my legs. Instead of starting immediately to whip me, he walked completely around the chair, appraising me from all angles. Being tied up helplessly, I could not resist nor did I think it wise to protest. All the charms of my body were very much on display, and he slapped and pinched me annoyingly with his pain-inflicting hands.

“You have a most attractive backside, my dear,” he finally said. “I am sure it is going to look exceedingly interesting after it has been properly colored up with the strap. We shall see if I am correct.”

As he spoke the last words, he raised the strap and brought it down sharply across my bottom. It was even more sternly given than when I was whipped by my father. I cried out shrilly.

“Remain quiet, my dear,” he ordered. “This behind of yours is going to be whipped, and if you try screaming you will only be attracting the attention of the servants. If you care to have them come and see you tied up naked and being whipped, then just continue to yell. But if you are a wise girl, you will content yourself with sobs and crying.”

That caused me to control my cries, but it was difficult. For the strap rose and fell with stinging force. No smarting my father had even given my bottom equaled it. Mr. Raleigh seemed very adroit in administering a whipping, for each crack of the whip landed just slightly above the spot where the previous one had fallen. I tried to twist and control my hind quarters, for the steady cracks of the strap were outraging the nerves. But with my knees tied to the sides, I could not move a muscle. All I could do was kneel there helplessly, with my rear end projected at the correct angle to receive the full force of every smarting smack he laid on it.