Whipping Girl

We all sat down to Sunday dinner. I had made Madeleine's favorite meal: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and string beans. Her father thinks I spoil her; I suppose he's right. I ask you though, what else am I to do?

Master carves the chicken, dishing out pieces to our daughter and myself. I give Madeleine a stern look as she reaches to take a bite of chicken before Master blesses the meal. She checks herself and instead places her napkin gently on her lap. I do the same.

Dinner continues like any other: quiet and peaceful. I am filled with pride when Master compliments the meal. I smile and nod, knowing I have done well to please him. I try not to seem too proud and anger him.

Halfway through dinner my light smile begins to dim. I try not to obviously stare, glancing only casually at Madeleine's plate. She hasn't touched her string beans. "Why dear Lord, why," I think desperately. "They are her favorite."

Master notices one of my nervous glances and follows my hollow gaze to Madeleine's plate. I turn to him and see him smirk as our eyes meet. He nods at me and tilts his head in our daughter's direction. I nod in reply.

"Madeleine, sweetheart," I say tenderly. "You haven't touched your string beans."

"I don't want 'em!" she says in a stern yet pouty voice.

"I thought string beans were your favorite," I reply anxiously. I was rightfully anxious. My last statement is what killed my chances.

"Not these," she replied. "These are disgusting!"

My breath caught in my chest. I could feel Master's stare burning holes right through me. There was nothing left for me to do now. I had lost.

Slowly I pulled my napkin from my lap, folded it gingerly, and set it on the table beside my plate. Master was already standing, waiting. If there was one thing I've learned it was not to keep Master waiting.

I stood. He gestured. I followed his silent command. We left Madeleine to her dinner as Master lead me into the office.

Once inside the office he flipped the lock on the door. Its clanking noise echoed in the large room. My eyes fought desperately to adjust to the black of the windowless room, but not for long. With the flip of a few switches Master released a glowing red light that filled the room in a solid pulse. The manner in which the light entered this room always reminded me of blood entering the heart with every beat.

Master pointed to the corner of the room. I walked in the direction he had gestured. I knew this corner well. Then again I knew this entire house well.

I stood motionless as he removed the two framed photographs of Madeleine from the walls on either side of the corner. Behind each photograph was a recessed box that once opened revealed a chained manacle each. I shivered at their unveiling.

I offer my arms to him willingly and am shackled in place. I receive a pat on the head for being so obedient. If only that could be a hint of things to come. This is in no way about to be a loving exchange although it actually is fueled by love. I was in these chains because of the pure love Master and I had for our child. I was about to be punished for her disobedience.

I used to shake and tremble in my manacles but not anymore. Master ran his hand down my back, from my neck to thigh. He reached and gently unzipped my skirt. Had the violation been more serious the skirt would have been torn. I found myself, tethered, yet thankful.

He walked to the opposite side of the room. I knew he was fetching his favorite riding crop that hung so innocently on the wall beside the photo of Master riding his prize horse. Each footstep echoed in my heart as he returned to me. A solitary switch rung in the air as the crop kissed my flesh without warning. My knees buckled for a moment but I straightened myself quickly.

His fingers teased my flesh where the crop had struck. Then he grabbed my thong panties right at the point that forms the 'T' and pulled. One solid tug tore the gentle lace into shreds in his strong hand. I could hear Master snicker softly behind me, well pleased.

His presence left my flesh and I waited in agony. The anticipation toyed with my mind. When, where would he strike again? Then it happened. A loud swat as the riding crop met my flesh again, this time high on my left thigh. I fought the urge to allow my knees to buckle a second time.

There was no reprieve this time. A second lash, then a third bit my tender flesh. No spot was sacred. He swatted my legs, my bottom, and even at the back of my neck when I let my head fall forward in pain.

This angered Master. For this transgression I was stripped of my blouse, stolen away in a confetti of torn material. The crop kissed and bit the soft flesh of my back. I bit my lip to keep from calling out for Master to stop. Someone had to be punished, and so I suffered silently.

At long last, after countless strikes, Master ceased his assault. I was still standing strong, even after all I had received. Master breathed heavily, no doubt admiring his handiwork. I could hear the sound of the crop being set down on the desk.

He walked to me. I could feel his warmth against my skin which was both frigid and on fire. He stroked my hair lovingly, a signal I've come to recognize that I was free to react. I did.

My body gave out, knees buckled, head hung forward, the full weight of me on my arms straining against my bonds. He walks to stand before me. Master kisses my forehead, well pleased. He reaches for the first manacle, eager to release my limp body. Exhausted and beaten, I still had an ounce of energy left to long for the loving, caring, and soothing bath I was about to be given.