Anonymous

Experiences of a Country Girl

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER 1: I MEET MR. RALEIGH

I had just come from the woodshed, where I had been given a sound whipping with the strap by my dad and was rubbing my extremely sore and smarting bottom, when I saw Lester Raleigh for the first time. Later events have proved that meeting under such circumstances was very symbolic. Mr. Raleigh drove up to our farmhouse in a sport roadster, tooted his horn to attract my parents, and when they came out of the house and looked and looked at him curiously, he introduced himself. He explained that he had just bought the farm adjoining ours and was driving around getting acquainted with his neighbors. He was not at all like the sort of people we were used to, being free-spoken and quite affable, and looked to be expensive make, indicating he had money. His about thirty. He was well-dressed and his car an agreeable manner even brought my mother out of her usual reticence to talk to strangers, and she smiled and seconded Father's invitation that he remain for dinner which she was just getting ready to put on the table.

“This is our daughter, Lucille,” said Father, motioning toward me.

I didn't know whether to drop him a curtsy or extend my hand in greeting, and in confusion tried to do both at the same time. I was then eighteen years old, that complex age when a girl is trying to drop adolescent manners for adult ways. I tried to stammer some word of greeting, but I spoke incoherently and blushed furiously.

My blush caused Mr. Raleigh to smile with interest, and he commented on it in a complimentary way to my mother.

“You'll have to excuse Lucille, Mr. Raleigh,” she said. “Her paw had to take her out to the woodshed and give her a licking a while ago, and I guess she's still smarting from it.”

That remark, spoken in such a casual manner by my mother to indicate that trips to the woodshed for a whipping were not unusual for me, brought an even deeper flush to my cheeks, and caused Mr. Raleigh to look at me with renewed interest.

From the way he acted at first, I thought he was going to question me about the punishment. But he restrained himself and passed over the subject by remarking something to Mother about naughty girls needing a spanking once in a while.

During dinner, in reply to questions from Father, he laughingly admitted that he didn't know a thing about farming and had no intention of learning. He explained that he was an artist and, feeling that he would like to have a country retreat where he could get away from the noise and confusion of the city whenever he liked to go there, he had purchased the adjoining farm as a sanctuary. He willingly offered to let Father use as much of the farmland as he wished. When he left that evening, he smiled at me in a most peculiar sort of way as he pinched my cheek.

“You had better try being a good girl in the future, Lucille, so you won't be taken to the woodshed and given another spanking,” he said.

After that, he became a frequent visitor at our home, dropping in whenever he wished. Mother and Father both liked him, for he rarely came to see us without bringing a gift of some sort for Mother and tobacco and things like that for Father. But even though he brought me candy and books, I did not care for him.

There was a certain light which came into his eyes when he looked at me that made me afraid of him. What it was, I do not know, but he had that strange way of looking at me, especially when he knew I had recently been given a whipping.

From the very beginning of his visits to our place, he showed a decided interest in the fact that I was whipped by my parents. He hardly ever visited us without asking if I had been spanked lately; and once, when Mother remarked that she had just given me a taste of the switch, he asked how she had done it. Mother explained that she had taken me out to the woodshed, lifted my dress, took down my panties, and whipped my bare bottom with a hickory switch. Father, she explained, always used a strap on me.

Mr. Raleigh said he was sorry to learn I had been a naughty girl, and hoped that the whipping would do me a lot of good. But he did not speak very convincingly. In fact, he acted as though he was pleased that I had been given a smarting bottom and hoped it would happen again soon.

Since I had always been whipped by my parents, and since most of the other girls in the neighborhood I knew also got their bare bottoms whipped by their parents, including many who were much older than me, I did not think it so strange or unusual. It was embarrassing, though, because of the shameful way it was given to me, but that was all. I could not understand why there should be anything about punishment to interest anyone.

But it did interest Mr. Raleigh, and he never lost an opportunity to talk about it to my parents.

“Don't you find it rather hard to give a whipping to a girl as big as Lucille?” he asked Mother one day.

“What do you mean?” asked Mother curiously.

“Doesn't she struggle, and protest, and try to break away from you?” asked Mr. Raleigh.

“Not Lucille,” answered Mother emphatically. “And she'd better not try cutting up any such didoes as that, either. She knows that when she's got a licking coming to her, the best thing she can do is to remain still and take it. If she doesn't, I reckon her paw will get the strap and make her sing another tune pretty quick.”

Although I could not understand anyone being interested in the fact that I received a whipping when I did something my parents did not like, I did find it terribly embarrassing to hear Mother talking about it in front of me to someone who was practically a stranger to us. But Mr. Raleigh seemed to gain her confidence and get her to tell him many things about why I was whipped and how often I was given a well-tanned bottom.

Several times he threw hints to be present when I was given a whipping, but since my parents did not think it unusual for their daughter to be whipped, they did not understand the hints. Mr. Raleigh acted at times as though he wished he might be able to take me out to the woodshed and give me a whipping, but lacked the courage to ask the privilege. I honestly think that if he had asked and my parents felt I had done something to deserve it, they would have permitted him to whip me. To them a disobedient girl deserved to be whipped, and it did not matter much to them who did it as long as her bottom received a good tanning. Besides, Mr. Raleigh had made a very favorable impression on them, and they thought everything he did was above question… I believe they would have approved of him whipping me even without asking their permission…

CHAPTER 2: SOLD INTO SLAVERY

Even though I was an only child, my parents did not have a great deal of affection for me. They wanted a boy when I was born. They felt a girl was only so much more extra expense, while a boy would have been a real help to them around the farm. About that time, the drought was beginning to create havoc among the farms. My father had planted a large mixed crop, but none of it was saved from the scorching sun.

“Maybe Mr. Raleigh would advance you some money to tide us over till next year,” Mother suggested one evening as she and Father sat discussing conditions.

“Maybe,” Father replied, but his tone was hopeless. “I have no security to offer him, so he might not care to. The bank's holding a mortgage on everything. People don't like to advance money these days without good security for it.”

“But we've got to do something,” Mother declared. “Perhaps Mr. Raleigh would give Lucille a job as housekeeper or something and she could help us out with her wages. We've put her through school and done things for her, so she can help us out now.”

“I'll see him about it in the morning,” Father answered. “He's got a couple of black girls working up there, but I guess he could fire one of them and hire Lucille.”

But Father was saved the trip, for, a short time later, Mr. Raleigh drove up to the house. After he had been welcomed, Father explained what he and Mother had been talking about.

“I'm afraid even if Lucille turned all her wages over to you, it wouldn't prove of any great help, Zack,” Mr. Raleigh said. “Even in the cities, domestic help doesn't get more than six dollars a week and board. Besides, while I'd like to help you out, I've come to regard Lucille as sort of a younger sister and would feel rather strange about hiring her to work for me.”

“Then I guess we're going to be plenty up against it this winter,” Father said mournfully.

“Maybe not,” Mr. Raleigh said slowly, after he had glanced at me speculatively several times.

“You say you've no security to offer for a loan, but you're thinking in terms of banking finance. Now, if you want a loan from me, I can let you have up to five thousand dollars for as long as you wish and for security you can turn Lucille over to me. She can remain with me as my ward, as a sort of guardian till you find it convenient to pay off the loan.”

“Do you really mean that, Mr. Raleigh?” Father asked excitedly. “You'll let me have five thousand without security-all I have to do is let you keep Lucille to guarantee the money'll be paid back?”

“Right,” Mr. Raleigh agreed. “Of course, there are a few strings attached to my offer. One is that Lucille will regard me as her guardian, and that as her guardian, I shall be privileged to give her a whipping whenever she is disobedient, the same as you and your wife do. Do you object to that?”

“Not at all,” Father replied. “In fact, if Lucille isn't obedient to everything you tell her, we'd expect you to give her a licking.”

“Now there's one other point,” Mr. Raleigh continued. “Is Lucille strong and healthy?”

“She ain't been sick for a long time,” Mother spoke up, “and she's strong enough to do housework, the same as me.”

“I'm afraid,” he said slowly, “that it would be best to examine her.”

“You mean-undressed?” asked Mother.

Mr. Raleigh nodded, while I shrank back, looking at him horrifiedly. He said, “There's no need for her to feel strange about it. She wouldn't feel strange about undressing before you, and as her guardian I shall be taking your place.”

When my parents seemed to hesitate he drew his checkbook out of his pocket and uncapped his fountain pen. That settled the question for my parents; to them, money was far more important than their daughter's modesty.

“Lucille, go over to Mr. Raleigh,” directed Father.

I wanted to protest it. It seemed bad enough to know they were willing to turn me over to him with the privileges of him whipping me as they themselves had done so many times, but to know I had to get undressed and let him examine me seemed entirely too cruel.

“Did you hear me, Lucille?” Father demanded. “Now you look sharp when I speak to you, young lady, or I'll get the strap and teach you some manners.”

And Mother added: “You mind your father's wish and do what he tells you, or I'll take off my slipper and give you a good taste of it before he takes you out to the woodshed.”

Having been trained to always do exactly what they said, and seeing that they intended to make me submit to practically every request Mr. Raleigh made, I bowed my head and walked obediently over to where he sat.

“You must learn to be a good girl, Lucille, and mind what you are told, so my first duty as your guardian will now be to put you over my knees and give you a spanking,” Mr. Raleigh said. “Now take off your dress like an obedient little girl.”

With my fingers trembling and tears of shame welling up and blinding my eyes, I unfastened the snaps on my dress and pulled it up over my head, letting it fall to the floor at my feet.

“Your slip, too, my dear,” ordered Mr. Raleigh.

Slowly I pulled the slip over my head and let it join the discarded dress on the floor. That left me standing before him clad in just a cheap dance set of rayon consisting of step-ins and brassiere.

“You make a very attractive picture, my dear,” Mr. Raleigh declared as I stood timidly before him. “As an artist who appreciates real grace and charm, I must commend you on your poise. And your figure is far more mature and interesting than I ever suspected. But we must continue with our examination.”

CHAPTER 3: HIS BEAUTIFUL SLAVE

He arose from his chair and personally unfastened my brassiere from the back, removing it and letting it fall onto my dress and slip. As my breasts were exposed to his view, my hands wanted to fly up instinctively to protect them, because nobody except my own parents had ever seen me undressed so shamefully before. But as I started the movement with a stifled sob of shame, my mother frowned at me in disapproval, and shook her head warningly. Both she and Father were anxious for me to do nothing to offend Mr. Raleigh which might spoil their chances of getting the loan. They knew as well as I that I was not being subjected to a medical examination, but merely being inspected like a slave to satisfy Mr. Raleigh that I had a perfectly formed body. I felt as alone and helpless as a slave girl must feel when she is put upon the auction block, stripped of her clothes, and sold to the highest bidder. And that thought seemed all the more true then, because I had read in history books that slave girls were made to undress under the whip… and, well, if I hadn't taken off my clothes of my own free will, Mother and Father would both have whipped me. They said as much. So I submitted to all that followed with the same resignation. I knew resistance was useless and there was no one I could appeal to for help. All I could do was remain passive and hope my submissiveness would win Mr. Raleigh's approval.

After he had removed my brassiere, he looked at my exposed charms thoroughly. He conducted the examination slowly, and leisurely, making only a slight pretense at its being medical. After he had felt the muscles of my arms and inspected the soft texture of my skin, he turned his attention to my step-ins.

“I'm afraid we shall have to take these off you, too, my dear,” he said, catching his forefinger under the elastic at the waist of them. “This is once when you will have your panties taken down when it will not be for a whipping. That is, you will not be given a whipping if you continue to be a well-behaved girl. Of course, if you aren't, then I shall have to borrow your father's strap and spank you until you are ready to behave.”

Knowing it was not an idle threat, and that Father would willingly go after the strap to whip me, and the inspection of me would go on after I had been punished anyway, I remained still as he slipped the step-ins down from my hips and let them fall to my ankles.

“Just step out of them, my dear, and lie here on my knees,” he directed.

He seated himself and gestured for me to lie face downward across his lap. Only too anxious to hide my shamed face from his gaze, I willingly assumed the ignoble pose over his knees. I was almost dying of shame and had to fight the impulse to cry, because I had nothing on before this man except my stockings, rolled at the tops over elastic garters, and my shoes. But my parents said not a word, and I knew with despair and fear as well as my supreme embarrassment that they approved whatever he did, so it was useless for me to plead my modesty.

As soon as he had me correctly posed over his knees, he gazed fascinatedly at my posteriors and then began to pinch them painfully. When he could prolong the inspection no longer, he permitted me to stand up while he praised my legs and thighs, then made me assume a variety of spanking poses: bending over and touching my ankles with my hands, kneeling on the floor with my head and shoulders bowed down, bending across his left hip when he put his arm around my waist to hold me in place, kneeling on the chair with my head in my arms against the back. And my parents didn't protest at any time, but watched, seeming to approve of his knowledge of how to spank a girl when she needed it. Each time he gave me some instructions he emphasized them with a smack on my bottom with his hand. He seemed to find it very fascinating, and smacked it as much as possible. I don't know how I kept from crying, for I was in an agony of mortification, and I tried not to look at him all through the ordeal. The examination lasted for nearly an hour, and I felt I had no physical secrets left from Mr. Raleigh by the time he finished staring at me. I cannot describe my feelings during it. At times, I was filled with a nameless terror, such as one has on waking from a nightmare. Yet I knew this was no dream from which I could awaken. Instead, I knew I was being sold by my parents. My only hope was that a display of complete submission to his orders would cause my master — for such he was-to treat me kindly…

“A very perfect young lady,” Mr. Raleigh declared at last, resting his hand possessively on my bare shoulder, and turning to my parents. “Perfect both from a medical and artistic standpoint. As an artist, I have seen many nude young ladies, but none so interesting as Lucille. I am sure I am going to enjoy being her guardian. All right, my dear, you may get dressed now,” he said to me.

Only too anxious to hide my naked body, I quickly put on my clothes. While I was doing this, he took out his checkbook and began to fill in a voucher. I couldn't help but feel that he was making out the purchase price for me.

“Shall we say a thousand dollars now, with the understanding that when more is needed you may borrow another thousand and continue in that manner till the amount reaches five thousand?” he said to Father, who nodded an eager agreement. And in that manner my sale to Mr. Raleigh was consummated.

While they were finishing this affair, Mother took me upstairs and helped me pack my clothes.

“You want to be a good girl and mind everything Mr. Raleigh tells you, Lucille,” she said to me. “He is being very good to us, and you must show your gratitude by being always obedient to him. Remember, he has your father's permission and mine too, to whip you, and if you are so ungrateful for what he has done for us as to disobey him, I hope he whips the behind off you.” With that sympathetic parting, I was turned unconditionally over to Mr. Raleigh as his “ward.”

He took me to his home that very night. It was eleven o'clock, which is quite late in the rural district, and all the servants at his home had retired. He showed me to a bedroom that had a door communicating into his. It was nicely furnished, but I hardly noticed that. I was frightened. Mr. Raleigh spoke very pleasantly to me, even using terms of endearment, yet still I was frightened.

And I had reasons to be, because after he had carried my luggage into the room, he went into his own bedroom and came back with a strap. “Lucille,” he said, seating himself on a chair, “you have a peculiar appeal to me. Ever since I first learned that your parents whipped you, I have experienced a desire to give you one myself. And tonight, after seeing you naked, I am more anxious than ever to do it. So, since your parents approve of me doing it-as I'm sure you heard them say-I am going to whip you tonight. And I am going to do it in what I consider the most interesting manner, which is-stark naked. It will do you good, for it will let you know in advance exactly what you may expect as my ward when you are naughty. Besides, it will teach you to be submissive to me, which is something you must display at all times, no matter what your personal views may be. Now then, take off your clothes.”

As he spoke, I had an instinctive, terrified urge to flee from the house. But where? My parents had turned me over to him; I couldn't go back to them. I knew if I attempted it, they'd only whip me severely and turn me over to him again. There seemed nothing left except to obey his commands.

“Hurry,” he commanded, his voice stern as he waved the strap at me. “I'll not stand for any hesitation when you are told to get undressed or given any other order. You must learn that when I speak, you are to obey promptly, not wait till it suits your own convenience.” Trembling at the sight of the strap in his hand and knowing that it was soon to be used to give me a whipping, I removed by shoes and stockings, then my dress and slip; finally, unable to delay complete nudity any longer, I took off my brassiere and slipped down my step-ins.

CHAPTER 4: IN HIS POWER

Naked and frightened, my face red with the shame of being stark naked for the first time in a man's presence alone-at least, before, my parents had been there to protect me, scant though their moral aid had been-I stood in the middle of the room awaiting Mr. Raleigh's next command. I thought he would command me to lie down over his knees or bend over under his left arm, as these were the poses my parents always made me assume when I was whipped in the woodshed. But instead, Mr. Raleigh arose from the chair and came over to me. Grabbing me by the ear, he smacked me across the bottom with the strap and started me across the room to another chair.

It was more like a stool than a chair. It had a heavy cushioned seat and heavy wooden arms. There was no back to it. He made me kneel upon it on my hands and knees. Then, taking four pieces of heavy cord from his pocket, he tied my wrists to the sides of the chair, and then my legs. Instead of starting immediately to whip me, he walked completely around the chair, appraising me from all angles. Being tied up helplessly, I could not resist nor did I think it wise to protest. All the charms of my body were very much on display, and he slapped and pinched me annoyingly with his pain-inflicting hands.

“You have a most attractive backside, my dear,” he finally said. “I am sure it is going to look exceedingly interesting after it has been properly colored up with the strap. We shall see if I am correct.”

As he spoke the last words, he raised the strap and brought it down sharply across my bottom. It was even more sternly given than when I was whipped by my father. I cried out shrilly.

“Remain quiet, my dear,” he ordered. “This behind of yours is going to be whipped, and if you try screaming you will only be attracting the attention of the servants. If you care to have them come and see you tied up naked and being whipped, then just continue to yell. But if you are a wise girl, you will content yourself with sobs and crying.”

That caused me to control my cries, but it was difficult. For the strap rose and fell with stinging force. No smarting my father had even given my bottom equaled it. Mr. Raleigh seemed very adroit in administering a whipping, for each crack of the whip landed just slightly above the spot where the previous one had fallen. I tried to twist and control my hind quarters, for the steady cracks of the strap were outraging the nerves. But with my knees tied to the sides, I could not move a muscle. All I could do was kneel there helplessly, with my rear end projected at the correct angle to receive the full force of every smarting smack he laid on it.

While whipping me, he scolded me, telling me that I was impudent and disobedient, but that I would be an entirely different girl when he got through whipping me. He also told me that I had a very pretty bottom and he was going to enjoy giving it many whippings in the future, so I had better be careful not to give him the least excuse, for he would never lose any time in tying me up and whipping me.