She took up a very thick short stick of rubber covered with white satin. It was like a policeman's truncheon, except that it was flexible.
"Bend well down. Your skirt tighter. Gather it in with your kid-gloved hands, dear."
Oh, how ashamed I was to be punished in this humiliating childish way in my lovely clothes, yet I felt that familiar thrill of sensuous pleasure.
Miss. Priscilla ran her hand languorously over my stretched bottom as I stood bent at the waist.
"We will punish the right globe first," she said. "One, two, three, four," and at each word the elastic stick danced upon my bottom stinging me dreadfully.
"Oh, Oh! Miss. Priscilla. It hurts worse than the cane. Oh!"
"Keep still! Five, six."
She held her dress aside with her left hand. I saw her common flat shoes and cheap stockings. How extraordinary and bizarre it seemed that an elderly skinny woman dressed so humbly should be whipping the posterior of a beautiful, luxuriously dressed girl who was holding up her pretty frock with to receive the punishment. She flogged me methodically. I think I could hear her moaning almost imperceptibly. The pain was intense. My eyes filled with tears; the tears rolled down my cheeks.
"You are moving your satin slippers, Denise," she said. She stooped and yanked my heels and ankles together with her hands. "Watch your diamond buckles! Each time they flash, I shall add three more strokes."
"Oh, Miss. Priscilla," I wailed. "Please tie my ankles together then. I can't help moving, the pain is so dreadful."
"I shall not tie your ankles, Denise. You would love that, wouldn't you?" she said. "You must stand quite still of your own free will while you are being punished. Now for the left globe. One, two." I screamed.
"Three, four-yes, this is the weapon, Denise, to bring fashionable young ladies in dainty frocks to their senses." Smack, smack, my bottom danced and writhed. "This will teach you obedience, pretty Miss. Satin Slippers."
Smack, smack. She fairly cooked my flesh, up and down and now across, smack, smack fell the heavy elastic stick on the thin delicate skirt. "High-heeled young ladies," bang, bang, "are improved by a good whipping on their haughty impudent flesh." Her voice had become hoarse and deep.
"Now perhaps you will watch your shoe buckles, will you?"
"Oh, Miss. Priscilla, I will, I will," I cried.
"Good!" She laid the truncheon aside. "Now stand up, Denise."
She contemplated my tear-stained face and my quivering bosom with pleasure.
"Now loosen your frock, but take care that it doesn't fall over your ankles."
"Yes, Miss. Priscilla," I jerked out between my sobs.
"And mind that you don't move your pretty buckled satin slippers."
She dried my eyes with her handkerchief and resumed her seat.
"We will go on where we left off. If you wish, you are to be made a willing slave under woman's authority. The one method certain to make you that is to make you love your subjection. It is obvious that you already have the disposition of a slave. It is quite clear that you love to be punished in your pretty frocks even though the punishment costs you pain and tears. But to make that love the overwhelming influence of your life, it is necessary that you should be made to associate supreme pleasure with a picture of yourself. You must love the image of yourself dressed in women's gloves, girls' corsets and frocks, silk stockings, girls' high-heeled dainty slippers, and then, of course, the delightful sensation of exquisite lace-frilled lingerie. Therefore, answer me this question: Have you ever loved a woman?"
"No, Miss. Priscilla," I lied.
She nodded her head with satisfaction.
"Have you ever enjoyed a woman?"
I was scarlet with confusion. I felt that to answer the truth would somehow give her a hold on me that would be dangerous.
"You must not ask me such questions," I said.
Miss. Priscilla rose, never losing her temper.
"Bend down again, Denise! This time you will raise the dainty skirt altogether and I am going to whip you over your thin pantalets."
"Oh, Miss. Priscilla, I will answer."
"After I have whipped you, Denise."
Miss. Priscilla was implacable. My tears were hardly dry, my skin still burned terribly, yet I was made to bend down and suffer the punishment again, even more acutely this time. I bent down. She lifted my skirt and turned it back over my shoulders, leaving my girlish bottom exposed in my batiste drawers.
"Now lift up the dress in front until the frills at your knees are exposed."
I obeyed her. She took up the elastic truncheon and stood behind me.
"Keep quite still, dear! Can you see your high heels reflected in the mirror behind you?"
"Yes, Miss. Priscilla."
"Fix your eyes on your glistening slender satin slippers and I'll tan you thoroughly and well."
Smack, smack, smack, the thick rubber stick danced and jumped upon my batiste drawers. I screamed as it bruised my tender flesh. The pain she was giving me was intolerable and deliciously cruel.
"The feet still, Denise, or I will punish them too. There's nothing half so good for the dainty derrieres of satin-slippered young ladies as the stick. Oh these girlish globes can dance, my dear, as much as you like, so long as the girl's buckled shoes are quiet." She breathed as she brought the truncheon down again and again.
She flogged me until I yelled with pain, and the tears streamed down my face in floods. My white bosom strained and heaved. At last she stopped and carefully readjusted my dress. "Stand up now, Denise! Hold your skirt as before. That's right," she said as she dried my eyes. "Answer me now, Denise. Have you ever enjoyed a woman?"
I answered through my sobs, "Never!"
Miss. Priscilla's thin lips smiled with contemptuous satisfaction.
"I thought that anyone so feminine as you would hardly be acceptable. But I wanted to be sure. Had you known a woman dear, you would have been more difficult for Helen and me to deal with. We should not
have been able to mould you, or to indelibly write your subjection upon your character as upon a blank page."
Miss. Priscilla settled herself in her chair with a look of satisfaction. I felt singularly helpless. I understood that every answer I made handed me over more and more as a slave. Yet if I did not answer I would be cruelly punished until I did.
"I pass to another subject, Denise. When you have admired women, what is it in them that you have admired? When you think of women, what about them do you think? What about women attracts you so?"
I was startled; I would not answer her.
"If you don't answer immediately, Denise, I shall lock a bright pair of steel handcuffs over your delicate white gloves."
My heart gave a jump. I blushed rosily-with pleasure. I saw the little white-gloved hands, which so daintily held up my lovely frock. To have them handcuffed by Miss. Priscilla! A divine longing filled me. I looked at my little buckled slippers of satin. Oh, to be handcuffed while wearing those fairylike ballroom shoes. The strangest sensations overcame me.
"If you handcuffed me," I said timidly and not replying to her question, "I should not be able to keep on holding up my dress."
"I will prove to you that you are wrong, Denise." She took up a shining pair of handcuffs; thin broad bands of steel linked close together. She was actually going to handcuff me. Oh, the expectation was delicious!
"Let your skirt fall. Now your hands together, palm to palm in front of you."
My hands met at once in position. I could not help but admire the tight unwrinkled gloves of spotless leather.
Miss. Priscilla took my hands and roughly fitted me with the handcuffs. What a stimulating picture met my feverish eyes in the mirror! An elderly sharp-faced woman, in a black robe, looking just as I should imagine a prison Mistress would, chaining the exquisitely gloved hands of her pretty young prisoner. Click, click, the handcuffs snapped to. I was helpless. She then took a long chain with a spring hook at each end. She snapped one end onto a ring on my left handcuff. Then lifting my skirt all around so that my ankles were visible, she drew the chain tightly around behind me, under the up-swell of my thighs, and fixed the other spring hook to the right handcuff. The chain thus did three things: It held down my handcuffed hands, bound my thighs, and kept my dress up. I smiled at my reflection in the glass. I felt and looked so deliciously helpless. Miss. Priscilla sat down again, calmly watching me.