The woman in the green dress leaned back in her chair, her delicately rouged lips parted
to expose even, white teeth in a superior, self-satisfied smile that cut Amelia to the
bone.

“Surprised?” the woman asked.  “What do you think, Amelia dear?  I am the new Mistress of
Watchnest Hall.  Isn’t it wonderful?”

“You are my friend,” Amelia said, bewildered.

“I was your paid companion,” Judith Carver said bluntly.  “For three years I had to put
up with you to earn a living.  Don’t imagine there was any more to it than that.”

“No, Judith, you don’t mean that.  You can’t.”  Tears stung Amelia’s eyes as another of
the foundations of her comfortable existence was demolished.

“Oh, but I do, Amelia!  Believe me, I do.”  Judith stood up.  “You little fool.  You had
everything - wealth, leisure, and the freedom to enjoy them properly.  How many times did
I say you should travel, spend the season in London, see Paris, Venice, Rome?  But no, you
only wanted to cling to this place.  We could have had such times, such excitement and
fun, but you wouldn’t leave here.”

“We did have fun,” Amelia argued.

“You may have.  I was bored.  You understand?  Bored.”

“But we were friends,” Amelia said stubbornly.  “We laughed together.  I confided in
you.”

“And I confided in Victor.”

Amelia lowered her eyes.  When she raised them again, they were filled with contempt. 
“Deceiver,” she hissed, temper flaring.  “Traitress!”  She lunged across the table,
scattering plates and cutlery, spilling the contents of Judith’s wineglass over her dress.
 The woman jerked backwards, falling heavily into the chair behind, and chair and Judith
upended together in a confusion of silk petticoats and kicking legs.

An arm locked around Amelia’s waist and no amount of her straining and struggling could
break its grip.  The brunette was staring at her with a look of horror on her face, and
the blonde girl jumped to her feet, a hand to her open mouth at sight of Judith flailing
about on the floor.  The older girl looked away, but not before Amelia saw the flash of a
grin on her face.  Victor ran forward and solicitously helped Judith to her feet.  She
came upright with a squeal of rage that made Charles’s grip on Amelia tighten even more.

“Get her out of here, Victor,” Judith yelled, face flushed crimson.  “Get her out before
I claw the eyes from her head.  Out!”

Victor looked at Charles and cocked his head towards the door.  Needing no second
bidding, Charles dragged Amelia away.

Back in the servant’s room, Charles pushed her down on the bed and lit the lamp.  Her
eyes were still bright with anger, her breasts rising and falling in time with her rapid
breathing.  With a shake of his head, Charles sat beside her.  She covered herself with
her hands.

“This morning I thought you understood,” Charles said, “but your behaviour just now shows
that your position in this household is not yet clear to you.  And the first thing you
need to learn is that naughty servant girls get punished.”

Without warning, he forced Amelia over his knee.  She fought, straining her hands and
feet against the floor in an effort to break the pressure holding her in place.

“Now,” Charles said, untroubled by her struggles, “I am going to provide you with further
clarification.”  His palm rested where the lips of Amelia’s sex swelled out between her
thighs.  He rubbed her.

“No,” she said through clenched teeth as the pressure struck a spark of arousal within
her.  He pressed hard, grinding his hand against the outer lips of her sex, separating
them and exposing the warm, pink inner labia to his touch.  A glow of excitement spread
through Amelia’s belly and she wept tears of frustration, knowing every shiver of pleasure
would communicate itself to the man across whose knee she lay, that already his hand was
damp and her woman-scent was rising to fill his nostrils.

Then the hand was gone, but there was no time for her to feel relief.  A ferocious impact
on her upturned bottom made the breath whistle through her teeth, and the crack of the
blow came at the same instant as fiery pain blazed across her buttocks.  Charles struck
again immediately, landing another blow on the same spot as the first.  With a shriek, her
tears of frustration now tears of pain, Amelia writhed under the spanking, twisting her
hips in a vain effort to escape the hard hand that was making her bottom bounce and burn. 
But her movements only served to rub the soft skin of her belly against the rough stuff of
Charles trousers, especially, it seemed, the newly hairless area above her moist and
tingling sex.  The blood pounding in her veins forced her nipples to two hard, straining
points, and in defiance of her will, her arousal intensified.

“No more,” she cried.  “Oh, stop!  Stop.  Please, no more.”

Charles slowed his blows, but not in response to her pleas.  He began alternating smacks
between each of Amelia’s stinging buttocks, pausing so that she had time for a dreadful
anticipation of each strike before it fell.  Her skin was on fire and she could feel a
deeper, throbbing pain, worsening with each fresh blow to her firmly muscled bottom.

Yet, in some way the torment was fuelling the surges of sexual desire and the fluttering
contractions in her sheath that had set her juices flowing.  She still pleaded, though her
words were so breathlessly incoherent that even she no longer understood them.  There was
a part of her that yearned for the pain to stop, and another that craved for the pleasure
to continue.  Yet, the feelings were intertwined; two very different sensations mingling
and blurring into one.  Though she still writhed over Charles knee, Amelia no longer knew
if she struggled to avoid his smacks or to meet them.  Her excitement was mounting with
every blow, and a huge sense of breathtaking expectation filled her as she felt the first
delightfully shivering spasms of the orgasm that was about to convulse her sex.

Abruptly, Charles let her tumble to the floor.  She groaned in frustration and
disappointment as the ecstatic release she craved was suddenly denied her.  Hardly aware
of what she was doing, Amelia slid a hand down her belly towards her trembling sex. 
Charles slapped it away.

“No you don’t.  I can’t think of a better punishment for a little wanton like you than to
deny you what you desire most.  No more coming for you today, Amelia.  Nor tomorrow
either, if we think you haven’t learned your lesson.”

Amelia stared up at him, filled with horror and shame at how she had lost herself in such
gross carnality.  Rolling onto her stomach, she pressed the palms of her hands to her
burning bottom and sobbed.  Charles stood over her and jerked her to her feet, pulling her
hard against him.  Trapping her arms at her sides, he bent his head and took possession of
her mouth in a long, hard kiss.  Despair was a cold hand clenching inside her as Amelia
felt her response, crushing her lips to his and trying to rub her erect clitoris against
him.  Charles pushed her away.  Amelia saw the thick bulge in his trousers.

“You really are insatiable, aren’t you?”

Amelia said nothing.  Her utter humiliation at her behaviour could not overcome the
urgency of her lust.  She was sure he was going to take her.  She felt no repugnance.  Her
sex twitched eagerly.  Shame burned as fiercely as her passion, but briefly, for even to
herself, Amelia could not deny she wanted Charles to use her and set the sparks of delight
flashing once again.  Suddenly she saw anger on his face.

“You’ll have it, you little wench, but you’ll take no pleasure in it.”  He unbuttoned his
trousers.  “Get on your knees.”