Chapter 3
Confirmation came soon. These were moody, confused days for Joanna, who spent them in her room, reading, or discovering the grounds with Pam. Twice she went out horseback-riding with the teener, who made no further allusion to her correction, nor did another occur. Joanna began to think, it had all been a bad dream. Or did she mean a good dream?
She got to know the large house and its dusky help, with the aide of the colored giantess, Bella, who ran the staff of pretty girls who mopped and dusted in aprons and who always seemed to be in fits of giggles.
Alex Reddick himself was busy on the estate-there was hop-picking on, it seemed-and he rose early, to return later for his "sundowner" and dinner. She was grateful to be alone. Then came the reminder. Several reminders, in fact. The first was at the tennis club.
This was a cheerful, if modest, establishment some five miles of bush away and Joanna, who had been told to take as much physical exercise as possible these days, was delighted to be taken there, introduced around, and made a member. It was, in a sense, her first tentative affiliation with The Territory. The place was pleasantly informal and she quickly found herself one of the best lady players, with a number of games on her hands. It was returning to the changing room from one of these that it happened.
Two ladies were inside, one showering, another drying off. She knew neither. Suddenly she heard:
"I say! Who gave you those? Pete?"
The woman addressed had just come out of the shower and was toweling herself briskly. She was a compact brunette with her black muff clipped close in front and across her tough, lithe buttocks, just above the tan line, several lurid weals. In answer she looked over one shoulder with a grin-"And how!"
"Old tried-and-true?"
"Alas, he prefers a perfectly horrible and quite hideous-looking little leather thong."
"Um. Thought so." The other bent to examine-professionally, Joanna reflected, her heart starting to hammer. "Hide for hide, eh? Broke skin on the right, I see."
"I'll say."
"Well, mine still holds to hickory, dammit." She gave a hearty laugh and moved into the main room. "Those look to me as if they might have hurt."
"They did. And they're going to even more tonight, 'cos I'm due for four more carbon copies. I forgot His Highness' Scotch, in town."
"Good night!"
"It was, actually. He made it up to me rather nicely, after."
"Don't they all? It's at the time it...."
Joanna dashed for the shower. Lustily and long she let the hot drops hit her throbbing breasts and by the time she had finished the two had left. But another had entered and was changing into tennis "togs". A friendly redhead with a perfect body, she too-Joanna saw-had had a recent tanning.
"I'm Sally Benson," she said, advancing with a smile. "I don't think we've met. You're the Red-dicks' house guest, aren't you?"
"Jo Swanne."
'"I've heard about your game. I'm Club Treasurer. Delighted to welcome you and my first advice, if I may, Jo, is to shave some of that fuck off in front. You'll find it much cooler as a result." Pensively she ran two fingers through the flossy dark red tendrils at her own parted crotch. "The only reason I keep mine so long is that my husband-likes it that way. Shaving makes it prickle so." She grinned.
"I don't have that problem, thanks. I'm in the midst of a divorce."
"Oh, sorry to hear that. Though in my case it's not that he worries about his prick, and God knows there's enough of that. It's when he starts trying to get his balls and all up there at once...."
Joanna gulped and turned to dress. She was still rankly unused to this frankness about sex within The Territory. Two nights later she learned even more about the different attitudes.
They were all going out to another settler's house for a late dinner. Joanna had changed into a short linen sheath and was reading to Pamela on the sofa out of Henry James-the girl's favorite reading, it seemed. She was intellectually far ahead of her years. Alex Reddick, looking very tanned and terrific in a blazer and white turtle neck, had been pacing the hall impatiently, when Pamela's eyes started to stray.
" 'Thus Kate used her body because it was the very form of her will....' "
"Cynth! Are you ever coming?" came Alec's angry shout. "We're ten minutes late as it is."
" 'Milly resorts to her spirit....' "
Pamela gripped her wrist. Alec Reddick had just passed across the end of the room by the stairs and he was carrying a long, golden cane. Joanna continued reading, or tried to. It quivered like a fish in her vision. The grip on her wrist tightened. Cynthia was coming down the stairs.
She had on a short dress of smoky pink with dark tan stockings. In her heels she looked almost as tall as her husband.
"I'm ready, dear." Her eyes followed anxiously along the passage where he had vanished, into his den. Her face changed. "Alec, please...."
"This is the third time you've...."
Joanna saw Cynthia disappear worriedly toward him, there came sounds of an altercation, a door opening, the man's final-"Come in here."
Pamela stretched and pressed beside her. She felt her own hand clasped in the teener's now. Suddenly the whole house seemed enveloped in a silence like thick fog.
"Mummy's going to get ... it," said the girl softly, looking very directly at Joanna.
She shut the book. Awkwardly, in a hushed voice, she asked, "By 'it' you mean ... ? "
"A thrashing with the cane."
"How ... can you be so sure?"
"I know. Listen."
The silence seemed to last forever. Suddenly it was broken by the sound of brusquely drawn curtains. But this whirring of air, this beating of big wings, was completed by the same snapping of the dry twig she had heard upstairs her third day, and it struck into her soul now as it had then.
"One," said the girl staring at her steadily.
Thwhhlcck!
"Two."
Joanna groaned and sat back, closing her eyes. She heard what she knew she heard-bare female flesh cut into four, five, six times by hard whippy wood. There was a lava inside her. She felt herself tottering. After a long pause there were two more sharp strokes, a stifled cry, a man's placid growl. She realized that in some manner she seemed to be practically sitting on Pamela's right hand which had insinuated itself under her, under her skirt hiked against crushing ... she stood up hotly.
Alec Reddick came along, whistling. "All ready? Let's go."
He led the way out to the car. At the turn by the stairs Joanna nearly bumped into Cynthia and gasped. It was one thing to see a teenager like Pam in the extremities of corporal correction; it was another to see a grown woman, her hands clasped under her skirt behind, gasping with twisted face, half-doubled.
"Bad luck, Mumsie!" said the girl.
"Cynthia," she began with shock.
"Oh it's all right. I just need a moment."
"But isn't there anything I can ... ? "
"Alas, no. You go out to the car. I thoroughly deserved it. It was just those last two that hurt so bloody much. I got them for moving and they happened to be rather low."
It was dark outside. Alec's main car was an old Lagonda, very upright and distinguished. Pamela and Joanna got in the back. Cynthia, still squirming, sat beside her husband in front. Joanna could only see their outlines, almost one-dimensional, against the lights on the bush road ahead.
After they had gone some miles Cynthia gave a tired "Phew!" Turning to Alec she said softly, "Golly, you do know how to belt it in, don't you. If only...." She snuggled to him and kissed his cheek. He muttered something tender in reply. She bent forward, over his lap. "Darling ... you really can't go to the party in this state." Alec changed gear hastily as the sound of a ripped zip came to Joanna's beating ears. "Alec, dear! That's lascivious carriage."
He looked dead ahead as she bent over him. Pamela leant forward.
"No," came her mother's voice, "sit back, Pam. You've seen your paternal prick often enough, my dear. And before too long you'll be getting one up you with regularity, I don't doubt."
Her head vanished from view and Alec gave a murmured, "Christ!"
Joanna was scarlet. She tried to shut out the sucking sounds that ensued but though the car picked up speed she was unable (unwilling?) to do so.
Beside her Pamela said excitedly, "Do you like the taste of it, Auntie Jo? I love it. So salty." She rubbed her hands between her thighs, rocking forward on the seat. "Dad does a terrific lot. I mean, it's fantastic. If Mumsie doesn't catch it all quick, it'll be spraying over the windshield, you know. And all thick and gooey, like porridge."
Alec groaned again, sat up straight-"Yes, that's it!" Joanna closed her eyes, half fainting with emotion. When she opened them what seemed like an age later she saw Cynthia's turned-back face. It was smiling, and satisfied, like a cat after cream.
"Anyone want a rather spermy kiss?"
And Pamela bent forward with a "Goody!"
And after that it was only two evenings later that she was in the living-room with her sister and niece when Alec came in for his sundowner. Both mother and daughter stood up promptly and Joanna, after a second, followed suit. For a moment the man's eyes flickered on her as she rose, but Joanna felt a strange relief at accepting, almost despite herself, this first of The Territory customs-that of women rising when a man entered, just as they followed behind out of a door. Cynthia went to make some stingers. She had on an abbreviated shantung mini and looked very cool and beautiful.
Joanna looked at Alec. He was, indeed, the typical Territory settler, lean and rangy, with brown hair and a deep tan. His bush shirt and slacks were stained with both hops and sweat, for he had come straight to the estate office from the fields, where he worked long hours beside the coloreds. He threw Joanna a nod and, accepting his ice-dewy glass, gave Pamela an affectionate twinkle. . "Sorry I'm a trifle late but I had to straighten out my staff."
Cynthia paused. "Mrs. M.? You don't mean?"
" 'Fraid so." He turned to Joanna. "Mrs. Morrison. She comes to clear up my paper work twice a week. Accounts, letters, the like. I hate all that. But I found she'd got awfully behind."
"I could make a pun out of that," said Cynthia. "But I won't."
"Besides, there were several errors." He sighed and drank thirstily. "I'm afraid there was nothing for it."
"Gosh," gasped Pamela, her blue eyes sparkling, "how many lashes did you give her, Daddy."
"Eight."
"Bare ass?"
"Bare ass. I fear I hit her ... rather hard."
"Golly! Was it a number two?"
"Curiosity killed the cat," he replied to his daughter's fervid insistence, laughing. "Yes, if you must know, Miss Inquisitive, it was a number two, bending over tight. I can't recall when I've had such a satisfactory feeling with a two."
"Poor Margot. She hates the cane." Cynthia mixed herself another stinger. "Don't we all."
"Do you mean to say," said Joanna, who felt she knew them better now, "that this ... your secretary ... and you just...."
"Asked her to come through to have a drink, as a matter-of-fact," he answered nonchalantly, "and meet you, Jo. You'll like Mrs. M. Heart of gold. She's recovering right now."
"Won't she want to go straight home, dear?" asked his wife.
"Dunno. Up to her. I don't think she's going to relish sitting behind the wheel of that sports car of hers with what I just gave her underneath, and a drink might help set her up."
"But," Joanna started again.
Cynthia said soothingly, "Not to worry, Jo. All secretaries and office staff get c.p. here, it's understood."
"CP.? "
"Corporal punishment. Even in Shaftesbury, our capital."
"Especially Shaftesbury," said her husband. "Margot's husband made a point of it when I took her for this part-time work. He'd like her to be whipped even more. Yes," he mused a moment over his glass, "she has a nice relaxed buttock."
"But where?" Joanna persisted hopelessly. She felt she was sinking into some glutinous quagmire of emotion.
"What do you mean where? On the backside, of course."
"No, I meant-where did this take place?"
Cynthia supplied the missing information. "Oh, Alec has the usual punishment room off his office. Out of the west wing. I'll show it to you one day. I don't go there as a rule without wanting to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction."
At that moment there were steps and the woman with the "nice relaxed buttock" came in. A well-set figure of about forty, Mrs. Morrison had on a neat fitting flannel two-piece and sensible low brogues. Her hair was drawn back in a bun, her face un-made-up but for lavish eye shadow, and altogether-to Joanna, watching agog-she looked the classic picture of a competent Wall Street secretary. She was introduced and Cynthia mixed more drinks. Margot Morrison chose a Daiquiri. They stood chatting and smiling. It could have been any New England evening. Then Pamela said suggestively, "Won't you sit down, Mrs. Morrison?"
She paused before replying, "Thanks, I'd rather stand."
Pamela giggled, but her mother frowned disapproval at her.
The small talk continued and Joanna's eyes slipped to the woman's back. The skirt fitted snugly over a sloping behind and it was altogether impossible to believe that this mature woman had just bent over and bared herself like a schoolgirl ... for eight cuts with the cane.
"I really ought to be running," the woman was saying.
"One more," Cynthia suggested. "It'll help."
As she mixed it Alec said slowly, "I'm sorry if that was a bit severe." He rubbed his chin ruefully. "Hit harder than I'd intended, actually."
"That's quite all right, Mr. Reddick," the woman returned seriously. "It was an excellent caning. I felt punished right through. All over."
"I hope he didn't cut you quite in two," Cynthia said.
"Umm. It felt like it after the fourth. I haven't had such a thorough beating for a long time. And Ben doesn't let me off lightly, either."
"You took it very well," said Alec.
"Did you blub?" asked Pamela impetuously. She was growing even more excited on the sofa.
"Pamela!" her mother scolded again.
"I'm afraid I wobbled pretty badly at the end."
"Can I see?" piped the girlish voice. "Oh, do let me see...."
"Don't be so cheeky!"
Husband and wife exchanged looks and their offspring sat up as if stung by a wasp, her face falling.
"A complete lack of respect," said Alec Reddick sternly. A slim maid was moving through the room in her satin uniform. "Lina, bring me a cane, would you."
"A number two, sah?" the girl asked without expression.
"Father, per-lease!"
"Yes, a number two."
"Very good, sah. Nummer two, 'tis." She went off, smiling. "I'm sorry."
"You'll apologize to Mrs. Morrison...."
"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Morrison."
"After six of the best."
"You don't have to do this for me, Mr. Red-dick," said the secretary, but she said it with a brightening of her eyes.
"You will also write out a hundred times, T must not be cheeky to my elders and betters.' You will further give yourself another black, for impertinence."
"That's the stuff." Cynthia took Joanna's arm and pressed it close. "Quite a transformation, eh."
For the girl had stood with all color drained from her face. She shuffled forward to a low coffee table in front of the sofa to which Cynthia now drew her sister. "Ringside seat, come on." They sat down together and Margot Morrison smiled and said, "I still think I'll stand, thanks."
The maid came with the cane, handed it to her employer and went out. Pamela's eyes followed its springy gait with wretched eyes.
"Dad. That's a number three, I'm sure it is."
"Take down your panties and roll up your skirt."
The girl did as bid. The navy panties lay in wrinkles round her ankles and the skirt was slowly rolled up and fucked into the broad leather belt. The girlish buttocks jutted chubbily, a compact little pair with, Joanna noted, faint brownish-blue lines discernible from the earlier caning.
"You're about to be beaten for being cheeky. Have you anything to say."
"No, Father."
"Bend over."
The girl placed her palms on the low table. A tap of the stick indicated that she should put her feet back a pace, so that she inclined in an inverted V.
"That's an excellent position, Alec," Cynthia commented, tucking her right arm round Joanna. The hips were well bent, raised high, but still wobbled at the measuring tap.
"Would you prefer to give her them yourself, Mrs. Morrison?"
"I'd much rather watch you, Mr. Reddick. I know exactly how she feels. And I haven't seen Pam catch it for quite a while."
"She has a nice whippable little bottom," said Cynthia, "which is just about to be whipped."
The phone rang.
Alec crossed to answer it, holding the cane, which he prodded at his boot. "Hello ... yes ... Bill? Oh sure ... thirty-three and a half, okay ... look, I'm just in the middle of caning a cheeky daughter...." He laughed. "Yes, six. I'll call you back."
Too hard! was what Joanna wanted to shout as the stick hissed and spat into the bare puppy-fat before her.
The girl gasped at once. There was a pause as the raw red line bisected her skin and grew darker at the right. Again it whistled in-"Ooo-oh oh!"
She rested on her hands, her bottom cringing in from the pain. This was twice as bad as before.
"Give her plenty of time, Alec," said his wife.
The third cut up in a long slash that dug into the under-bottom.
"Wheeew! God!"
This time he accorded a long interval. The three watched her panting like a runner.
"You're in form tonight, Mr. Reddick," murmured Margot Morrison.
"It's an excellent technique, Alec."
"Keep your behind still and brace your knees."
After the fourth had sunk in, a stifled whine escaped the girl, mounting to a cry. She rested one knee on the table and then rose, albeit in a composed fashion, holding her striped bottoms up and rolling them in her fingers.
"Please, Dad. I can't stand it like that."
"Two extra for rising during correction."
Joanna clenched her knees. The flushed face trembled at its edges, and the teener began to cry. She herself became aware that Cynthia's finger was absently, yet expertly, rubbing her right nipple, which had hardened demandingly.
"Better bend over soon, old thing."
Mrs. Morrison joined in the kindly advice. "Best to get it over with, m'dear."
Pamela Reddick's face made a picture as she wrestled with herself. In an obvious effort of will she hobbled knicker-fettered feet to where her father stood, pointing with the shivery stick.
"It's so ... beastly like that, Dad. You don't know how it half hurts that way."
"Four more."
Looking back dejectedly, the girl tried to bend, and only did so halfway. With a laugh her mother rose and doubled over instead.
"like this, darling. Feet well back. Rest your whole weight on your hands. So's he can cut right up into you."
The miniskirt slid up the golden thighs of the tall woman as she bent there a moment, the division of her deep soft cheeks visible. Joanna's breath came fast. Things were happening to her. The elastic stick rippled with light, seemed to be absolutely asking to thrash into that mature buttock before it. Suddenly she knew that it would be very exciting indeed to see Cynthia caned.
"That really is a good position," said Margot Morrison appreciatively. "With the weight forward like that, you can't jink about."
Cynthia resumed her seat on the sofa with a smile and whispered in her sister's burning ear-"I know just what you're thinking. A nice juicy stroke just across ... where I'm juiciest...."'
"Cynthia, please ... please take your hand away from there."
"I knew it. And I'm sopping, too," came the heated whisper back. "I always am, watching. You needn't think Mrs. Morrison isn't ready to come, either."
"Dad, please," the girl begged, "let me off the extra, at least."
"Hurry up and bend over."
WHHHHHHHHHCK!
"Eeeeuuu!"
Joanna gasped at the intensity of the slap. The plump cheeks swayed as the streak rose angrily across them. Alex Reddick took his time and cut again.
"Aaaahh-auuuu!"
"Good stroke," said Margot Morrison. "That was a lovely one."
The first of the extra was even stiffer. With clenched teeth the girl absorbed it bravely, her knees writhing.
"Self-control is the essence of all character," Cynthia said sententiously into Joanna's ear.
The last was a full-blooded Swipe that wrapped round the hotly wealed hips and jacked the young culprit erect, speechless. She stood fighting to find breath, then, with a wail, toppled onto the table where she doubled, hands under her.
"A ... aaaah ... houh!"
Cynthia's legs straightened slowly. "That was one beauty."
"Mine were all like that," said Margot Morrison with feeling.
"Now get up and apologize," instructed Alec Reddick.
Flooded with pain, the girl wrestled to respond. "Say you're sorry."
Clasping a buttock in each hand she got finally to her feet and stretched a stiff curtsy in the direction of the Reddicks' smiling secretary.
"I'm ever so ... s-s-sorry, Mrs. Morrison."
"And I must say you look it, dear."
"Show your bottom."
"It looks very sorry, too."
"Now go upstairs and stay in your room."
"Poor kid." Margot Morrison smiled shyly. "After all, she did ask. And since it was a pretty strict one, I don't really mind."
Without ado she turned, tucked up her neat pencil skirt, slipped thumbs in a white spandex panty-girdle. Even through this the weals were visible, but when she had eased it to her knees and bent over, Joanna gaped in awe. Each weal across the white bottom, a trifle flabby though shapely at the base, was heavy and sullen in appearance. The caning had covered the lower buttocks.
"Ouch!" said Cynthia, in the silence.
Alec prodded. "That's what I call a sound caning."
"I found it effective." Mrs. Morrison pulled up her girdle and adjusted her skirt with a smile. It was a smile of pride, Joanna saw, and oddly enough she could understand it. "I certainly knew I'd been beaten this evening."
"Th-thank you," said the girl, who proceeded to trail forlornly upstairs. She still rubbed behind gently.
"I hope Ben won't think I've hit too hard," Alec said when they were alone.
"Alas no," the secretary laughed. "I fear he'll appreciate them all too well."
"I know just how," Cynthia put in with a grin. "It ought to make for a damn good fuck."
Smoothing her skirt, Mrs. Morrison blushed prettily. "It almost certainly will. After eight like that I must admit...."
"That a little consolation helps? Just don't serve dinner in a transparent shortie gown."
"I've spoiled more roasts."
"I know it. All that bending over the oven."
They shared a moment of mirth before the secretary excused herself-"I do have to run, or I'll only be getting another." She rolled her eyes expressively.
"More than those I'd not like to get," Cynthia said, seeing her out.
When she came back, she slung an arm around her husband and kissed his cheek.
"Well, you brute, Pam's nice and warm and I must say-So am I! You were an absolute devil as usual, darling, and of course I loved you for it. Really must try that position myself."
"The trick is to cut up."
"Under the, ah, underneath."
Joanna stood nervously, not knowing what to do with her hands. Alec smiled.
"Well, now you know some of our Territory terrors, Jo. I suppose you imagine us a bunch of sadists."
"That's a dirty word around here," Cynthia said. "Seriously. Not allowed to be used."
"Right. Chastisement of our kind has nothing to do with popular conceptions so current in your country." He was still holding the cane and now he studied its soulless length an instant. "Matter entirely of justice. I felt nothing during that correction, beyond the duty of having to inflict pain."
"You certainly did that," said Joanna.
"It was fun-watching," Cynthia added.
"It's only afterwards, now," he said, patting the stony outline under his flies, "that I have a hard-on."
"About which we have to do something, fairly soon," said his wife.
"Truly," he persisted. "What did you feel, Jo?"
"I don't ... know," she mumbled, red-faced.
"She felt excited," said Cynthia.
"That's hopeful," he said. "Show her your marks, dear. From the other night."
"Certainly."
"It ... isn't necessary," Joanna protested. "Assume the position, dear." Cynthia slipped down her panties, lifted her skirt and bent with liquid ease to touch her toes, her large breasts hanging. In contrast with her gracefully slender thighs, her rear was well-fleshed above the firmly sliced cunt that pouted invitingly back. These lines were less livid but they spoke of but one thing-punishment. "Oh," said Joanna.
"I wear the pants in this household," he said, smiling.
"That's because mine are mostly down," said his upended wife.
"And you'd hate to show them in their present state, I'll bet. No, I fear I'm just a typical Territory wife-beater."
"And I love the monster for it."
"Pete Salmon has this custom. Every time his kid daughter gets it, he gives it to his wife as well. Instituted it a year ago, and evidently the idea works wonders."
Cynthia stood up sharply. "I think it's about time to attend to that hose Jike object in the front of your trousers, dear."
"But doesn't it hurt?' Joanna objected, lost.
"I'll say. At the time I hate it. After, I wouldn't want it any other way. If you'd care to watch while Alec puts this young crowbar...."
Her voice ended in some whispered susurration again and Joanna, glancing, saw it. Released from the confines of his clothes, the man's member stood up like iron, a straining soldier with a scarlet head that looked as if it wished to rip every quim in sight to shreds.
"Christ! That's a good one, darling."
Joanna saw her sister's hand grasp the pedestal as if testing its solidity, her greedy squeeze oozing a bubble of sperm from the distended eye of the sulkylooking organ. Then she had fled the room with a choking sob. What in God's name was happening to her here? Why, ever since she'd arrived....
Slamming the door of her bedroom behind her, she found Edna working there. This was the charming, coffee-colored maid the Reddicks had lent her for her stay. About seventeen years old and slight in build, the girl was said to be "in training" to domestic service from the fields and, like all house staff, wore a uniform of a tiny black satin skirt, smaller lawn apron in front, and an even smaller cap, above.
"Wuz jus' tidying up, Miz Swanne. I put your laundry over there."
She indicated a pile of perfectly washed and ironed underclothes on the dressing table. In her high heels, black stockings, and minute micro-skirt, the maid was a delicious morsel of femininity. Joanna studied her, disturbed, as she moved about. She remembered what Cynthia had told her-she wasn't to let Edna get "slack", in case of trouble to "give her a sound tanning ... she expects it." She had already discovered the canes in the cupboard and the curious tailed straps. But for a second all she could see in her mind's eye was Alec's muscular monster. She could feel its veined shaft pressing at her bottom....
The girl was bending over, straightening the bed. Under the tight satin skirt her suspender snaps were visible. The lithe fanny moved in an agile arch. Standing up, she caught Joanna's eyes upon her.
"If there's anything else you want, Miz Swanne?"
"I don't think so, thanks, Edna."
Why was it she could not keep her eyes off the bulge of bottom as the girl turned and walked to the cupboard? Edna extracted one of the canes.
"I'll replace this for you tomorrow, Madam. There's a slight crack in the tip."
A slit like an eye in the head of a....
"Very well," she said. Her throat was dry.
"It's the tip that hurts so, Mistress."
"I imagine it does."
The girl still hesitated. "I polished the other two for you, Ma'am. They's nice an' shiny now. Was I to polish the bit of board, too?"
"What do you mean?"
"Paddle, ain't it?"
"It doesn't matter."
The girl dropped her eyes. Finally she got out, with obvious effort, "Ma'am, Bella she tole me to say ... 'case you might not, being new here an' all ... you can cane my behind whenever you desire to, Miz."
The rod would be hard, thrusting and throbbing, up Cynthia's wet....
Suddenly, in a daze of heat, she heard herself saying, "Very well then, Edna, since it's expected of me. We might as well start off on the right foot. Stand out over there and touch your toes."
"T-take my clothes off, Mistress?"
"That won't be necessary," Joanna said, accepting the limber stick. "I'm going to give you six and from now on you can look forward to a second helping whenever I find anything wrong."
She cut as she knew she could, whipping into the insolent rounds as hard as Alec had hit Pamela. When she went into the bathroom after it was over, Edna was on her knees, moaning and clasping.
Joanna was shuddering all over. In the bathroom she stripped completely and looked at her back. Her powerful bottom, with its ample overhang, confronted her head-on, like an accusation. The sight made her quake inside. Yes, my beauties, she wanted to say, you're going to get it soon enough....
The girl had got up when she returned with the towel. This she tossed on the bed.
"I want you to shave my bush," she said, lying back and extending her legs. Already the outburst had relieved her intensely. "Not all off, but a little."
"Yes, Ma'am," said the maid, as she went dutifully into the bathroom.
Joanna swam on emotion, writhing and grinding her hips. When Edna returned with the old-fashioned brush and bowl of soap she glanced down at her swollen and saturated sex and wanted to laugh, crazily, hysterically-a new kind of instant lather, indeed!
"Oh God," she goaned without shame as the soft brush softly stroked her parted lips, "ye-ess ... deep . . .up ... unhhh ... ooooogh."