While whipping me, he scolded me, telling me that I was impudent and disobedient, but that I would be an entirely different girl when he got through whipping me. He also told me that I had a very pretty bottom and he was going to enjoy giving it many whippings in the future, so I had better be careful not to give him the least excuse, for he would never lose any time in tying me up and whipping me.

I thought the whipping would never end. Although acutely aware of my nakedness and my helplessness to prevent him from taking any painful spanking liberties he wished, I could not divert my mind from the steady smacking of the whip across my bottom. It grew warmer and warmer until it felt as though blisters were being raised all over the twin cheeks. Tears streamed down my face and I had to bite my lips to hold back the cries of pain. “Oh, please stop, Mr. Raleigh,” I pleaded. “I'll always be obedient to you in the future. I'll always do whatever you tell me. You've taught me to be meek and demure. Please don't whip me any more.”

To my utter dismay, he administered several more cracks without saying a word, drawing new sobs and pleas from me as I twisted and jerked on my chair of suffering. Then, suddenly, he stopped. But instead of untying me, he walked around the chair and stood in front of me. He sat the strap across my bare back, then tilted up my head with one hand.

“So our little girl with the pretty spanked bottom has been crying,” he exclaimed, with a twisted smile. “Are they tears of regret for the disobedience you have shown, or just tears from the smarting your behind has gotten?”

“You whipped me awfully hard,” I replied between sobs, shivering in fear that he might continue the thrashing and also in my terrible embarrassment that I was tied naked and helpless before him, to look at me or do anything else he wanted.