Nineteen year old, Brenda Clarkson lay, as instructed, secured over the top of the large mahogany table in Brian's dining room. She was wearing a crisp French maid's uniform consisting of a sheer, tight flared dress with a keyhole cutout, an apron, black stockings, black silk panties and bra, and her hair was pinned up under a cap.

 

Her shapely, smooth legs were restrained with thin, black leather straps at the knees. Brian had bound her ankles together then tied to a rope leading to the right table leg and her trim, white arms pulled, and stretched out in front of her, her thin wrists tied to ropes leading to the tables opposite end legs.

Before he tied her, she was ordered to lie face down over an overstuffed, red velvet sofa pillow, placed at the end of the large oak table, designed to ensure that her young, tender buttocks were raised and the center of focus as her entered the large formal dining room.

The ropes had been tied to allow enough slack for her to raise her upper torso some, or to arch her back and push her young, fleshy ass cheeks up and out if ordered to. A large, ornamental, beveled mirror on the wall in front of her allowed Brian, her landlord to watch her facial expressions at anytime.

 

As Brian walked back into the room, lightly tapping the long supple birch rod against his black, leather, riding boots, a stern look crossed his face. He was looking forward to providing Brenda with her first real "rent in arrears" whipping.

Brenda's icy, blue eyes widened with fear at the sight of the rod. Her long, toned legs lightly rubbed together in nervous anticipation of the feel of the rod across her fleshy ass cheeks.

 

She opened her mouth and started to question, to plead to be let off this month's rent but not a word was said before Brian cut her off sharply, "Be quiet, Brenda," he ordered her in a calm voice, "the only sound we're going to hear this afternoon is the sound of this birch rod skinning your young buttocks."

 

Brenda surrendered her body to the table. She knew the rules at Wayward House and it was true that for the last three months she had been unable to pay the rent. Brian had been sympathetic at first and

 

Brian smiled as he stroked the birch rod softy across her ass cheeks.

 

"Young Brenda Larson, nineteen years old and a freshman student," he thought.

 

Brian had seen her hanging out at nightclubs, intoxicated, or high, looking for men with fat wallets, and easily distracted by a pretty, blonde girl in her too short and too tight skirt who accidently rubbed against them while picking their pockets.

 

He had wanted to help her out, try to set her on the right path so he talked to her and offered her a room at Wayward House, and now the blonde haired, plump assed Brenda Larson, was a tenant.

 

Brenda had been living there three months, which was long enough to know better than to hesitate at her landlord's command, and long enough to know better than to refuse a request, especially when she was late with the rent.

 

Brian set the long, whippy birch rod down and gently caressed Brenda's pretty, expressive face, poking his finger in her small mouth, enjoying the sensation of her soft lips and gentle tongue wetting his fingers as he slowly pistoned them in and out. He withdrew his finger, smearing her saliva across her lips, making them glisten.