'Au 'voir,

my darling Julia. I wait breathlessly upon your first report'.

Your ever adoring,

Cynthia

Bringing the perfumed pages to her lips in a token salute, Julia smiled reminiscently. It was she indeed who more than twenty years before had first put Lady Cynthia Cane's bottom to the crop before it received its first libation of sperm. Ever before Julia's eyes was the sight of Cynthia's red-streaked bottom, her howls and cries resounding through the stable to which she had been taken. Wrists bound-'to prevent any nonsense', as Julia put it-Cynthia had been hauled over a bale of straw, drawers at the ankles, and her skirts piled well up above her hips.

'No, Julia, no-oh my God, you cannot!', Cynthia had screeched to no avail whatever while a silent housemaid held her down and the first slicing cut of the crop swished across her bared cheeks. 'Aaaargh!', had come Cynthia's agonised shriek, though each swish was controlled with such moderation as marked but did not otherwise harm the luscious moon which her naked bottom presented. Bucking, sobbing, and protesting, Cynthia had received the full dozen before the rubicund knob of a prick was urged between her heated, throbbing cheeks, the possessor of that initiating penis being none other than Julia's older brother, Henry, who had become totally subservient to her whims.

Tight as the entry was, he had effected it until Cynthia's scorched bottom was held rammed to his stomach. The maid was then dismissed and Julia held and coaxed her friend, whose tear-streaked face swung from side to side as she endeavoured to contain the throbbing weapon.