In which the young parlor maid has her first experience of corporal punishment at the hands of her new Mistress.

Emma swept the ashes into the dustpan and carefully emptied them into the scuttle. She sat back on her heels and looked at the clean fireplace. All she had to do now was lay kindling and logs for a new fire. If she lit it at midday, the parlor would be warm when Lord and Lady Weddington retired there for their pre-dinner drinks. Timing was everything. She had learned that long ago. The gentry didn't care about excuses, only about having a smoothly run household, and rooms that were cozy when they were ready to use them.

Emma loved her new position. She had toiled since she was thirteen as a scullery maid, the lowest position in the servants' hierarchy. Her previous employer had been a member of Parliament--old money, respectable peerage, but fading finances. Recently, she had gone into service as second parlor maid at the Weddington estate. Her pay and status had risen dramatically, and she was more content than she had ever been in her life.

Humming a tune, Emma began to lay fresh kindling. She had plenty of time. The Master and Mistress were out riding and weren't expected back for hours. Emma knew that one of the tenets of service was that one should never be seen about one's chores. The wealthy liked to maintain the illusion that their homes were always perfect, elegant and clean without any effort put forth.

When the Master or Mistress entered a room, you must exit as unobtrusively as possible even if you were in the middle of dusting the furniture or polishing the brass. Emma knew the rules. When she heard footsteps approaching, the Master's deep voice and the Mistress's musical laughter, she quickly gathered her dustpan, brush and ash bucket in preparation for scurrying from the room.

But, there was only one exit and it was the door through which they were about to enter. Her pulse raced. She knew she couldn't be held accountable for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, had directed her here. There should have been plenty of time to complete her task before the Weddingtons returned from their ride. Emma steeled her back. She would curtsy and beg pardon then leave the room quickly.

Still her heart hammered. Instead of behaving sensibly, presenting and then excusing herself, she put down her fireplace tools and whisked behind the long, velvet drape covering the window. She held her breath, praying her feet wouldn't show beneath the bottom of the curtain. She waited.

Emma heard the door open and Lady Weddington's voice draw near. She imagined her throwing her hat on the table, dusting off the skirt of her riding habit and sitting down to unbutton her boots. "Darling, honestly, I've got to buy a new nag. Shadow is too obstinate and too old. I can't get him to obey me anymore.

"Spare the crop and you can expect a disobedient ride," Lord Weddington replied mildly. Emma heard the creak of the leather armchair as he sat, and the sound of two heavy boots dropping to the floor.

"But he's an old dear. He can't help it he's slower now, and too arthritic to take the jumps. I'm not going to beat him for it. What I need is a young, mettlesome mare that will give me a bit of a challenge.

Emma heard the clink of glass as the decanter touched the edge of a highball glass, followed by liquid pouring. "It's your father's money, Marilyn. Whatever you feel you need to make you happy..."

"Not father's money, Reg. Ours--to do with as we please, to maintain your family estate, yes, but also to give us freedom to live as unconventionally as we choose, to create a world for our enjoyment." Lady Weddington's voice was passionate. "Freedom! That's what money can buy.

There was a moment of silence, then Emma heard the sound of kissing, and the Lady's quiet moan.

"I love your passion, sweetheart." The Master's warm, rumbling tone sent a shiver of desire racing through Emma. There was a rustle of clothing, a wet, lip-smacking sound followed by his laughter. "And I really love your big, luscious tits.

At that moment, Emma sneezed. It took her completely by surprise, she hadn't even noticed the dust from the drapes tickling her nose. She froze, closed her eyes and her mouth tightened in a straight line. Her silent, fervent prayer to God consisted of one word, "Please!"

The drape drew back, but still Emma kept her eyes squeezed shut as if she would not be seen. She felt a hand grab her upper arm and pull her into the room. "What have we here?" The Master's deep bass reverberated near her ear.

"You've caught a naughty little mouse! How precious!" Lady Weddington's laugh was like a tinkling sleigh bell.

Emma felt her bladder contract and feared she might wet herself from fear. Certainly she would be let go without a reference. Why hadn't she simply come forward immediately, excused herself and bowed out of the room politely? Her eyes opened and she looked up into Lord Weddington's dark eyes.

"What were you doing, girl? Empty your pockets and let's see what frightened you into hiding.

Emma turned her apron pockets inside out and her dress pockets as well. "I took nothing, sir. I was cleaning the fireplace when I heard you coming and ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spy on you. I was afraid.

"Why would you be afraid?" The mistress stood, fastening the top buttons of her bodice and approached Emma. She looked curiously at her as if she was an unidentified wild animal they had discovered.

"I thought I might be punished, and so I hid. I know servants are meant to keep out of sight," Emma explained.

"Well, that's true enough." The lady tapped her husband's arm with her riding crop. "You're frightening the poor child even more. Let her go. She's done no real harm.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as the Master released her arm and stood back, arms folded--but his piercing gaze didn't let her go.

"However..." the Mistress continued, "Perhaps she deserves a small reprimand so she will behave better next time. What do you think, Reggie? Shall you administer it, or shall I.

Suddenly Emma's relief evaporated. Something about the woman's tone, the avid twinkle in her eye and the way she used the words 'reprimand' and 'administer,' was unsettling. Emma swallowed hard and lowered her eyes, waiting to find out what her fate would be.

"Go ahead. You're the mistress of the house. Disciplining the household staff is your area." There was a pause before he added with a rakish smile, "Besides, I like to watch.

"Very well then." Suddenly Mistress's voice went hard, all trace of her usual musical cadence disappeared. "Emma, I want you to pull down your undergarments and your stockings all the way to your ankles.

Emma couldn't believe she'd heard correctly. "Pardon, ma'am.

"Immediately, or your punishment will be more severe, my girl. When you're finished, I want you to bend over that settee and place your hands flat with your bare bottom presented upward. Do you understand.

"Y-yes, milady." Emma's face inflamed with rushing blood. It roared in her ears. She slowly unfastened the tie on her drawers and pulled them down to her ankles, stockings, garters and bloomers pooling around her feet. She could feel her naked bum brushing against her petticoat as she hobbled over to the settee. She stared at the low piece of furniture before lying belly down across it and placing her hands on the floor. Her face burned and tears of shame prickled her eyes. She pressed her cheek into the rough fabric and waited for her humiliation to be over, but it was only beginning.

Lady Weddington flipped up her skirt and petticoat. Emma felt cool air move against her backside as the heavy material was tossed up over her back. A soft, smooth hand caressed her rear, smoothing over each cheek, then a finger traced the crack between them and came to rest at the edge of her anus.

Emma shuddered. She had never been touched like this before--not even with her own hand. The lady began circling her puckered hole with a fingertip, round and round with a gentle, tickling scratching. Emma felt her crotch go wet at the hypnotic sensation. All her senses crackled and sang with fear. This was not right. This could not be happening. At the same time, her nipples hardened and she wanted ... more of something, though she knew not what.

"A very pretty rosebud she has," Lord Reginald remarked casually. "See how it responds to your touch? She likes it.

"But, she must learn to accept the pain before she earns the pleasure," the lady replied. Following her words there was a sharp smack of skin on skin, and Emma jerked as she felt the hot blow of her mistress's hand against her rear.

"I want you to count out the blows, my sweet. I will only give you five, since your transgression is minor, and this is to be a learning experience. You must thank me aloud for each one. Say 'yes, mistress.'"

"Yes, mistress," Emma parroted, enraged at the break in her voice when she spoke the words.

There was such a long pause that Emma began to wonder if the first spank would ever come. She was achingly aware of the master's eyes staring at her naked rear. Surely he must also be able to see a glimpse of her sex since her legs were spread so wide. She was humiliated and oddly excited at being on display for him.

Finally the blow fell. It was not what Emma had expected. Instead of the woman's palm, she felt the cutting sting of the leather riding crop bite into her tender skin. She cried out.

"Say 'one' and thank me for teaching you!" her mistress reminded her.

"One. Thank you for teaching me, Mistress," Emma blurted in a rush.

There was another long pause. The suspense of waiting for the next blow was the worst part, Emma thought, but when the wicked whip cut across her lower right cheek she knew the suspense was not the worst part. The whip stung like a brand of fire.

"Two. Thank you for teaching me, Mistress." She was embarrassed at her inability to hold back her tears. They flowed from her eyes, and she was sure they could be heard in the thickness of her voice.