Dawn had barely broke when I heard a soft knock at my door. I did not respond at first, thinking it had to have been my imagination. But no, someone was tapping, and when I slipped on my robe and opened the door, I was astonished to see the Mistress standing in the corridor, holding a small candle in the dim morning light.

"Madam!" I exclaimed. Her appearance was startling to me. She looked much older and much younger at the same time--it was quite puzzling to me until I realized that it was only her strained expression made her look old; her features were young and vibrant, never more so. She was smiling like it was arduous work and she appeared extremely nervous.

"Good... morning..., Miss... Janey," she said slowly, as though each word was extracted from her lips at some high price. "My Master has sent me to care for you. Do you require my assistance?"

A smile came across my face at these words. "Why certainly," I replied. "Please come in and check my wounds. I believe the dressing is in need of being changed."

The woman seemed to hesitate, and I saw her face fall slightly, as though she had been hoping I would refuse her request for assistance. But she entered and closed the door, and lighting the lantern at my beside proceeded to lift up my robe and examine my bruised and battered backside.

I winced as she carefully began to remove the dressing. I heard her gasp in horror and disbelief and when I turned to catch her face out of the corner of my eye I saw tears in her eyes. "Oh, Miss Janey!" she breathed. "I-I had no idea. Why these marks look like they were made this morning!"

"They are much improved," I said calmly. "Three days ago they were a sight to behold, I am told." The Mistress was quite pale, now, and I saw her hand was trembling. "Is something bothering you?" I asked in an even tone.

She looked at me in horror, as though I had issued a threat. "Oh, please, Miss Janey," she said solemnly and with deep pleading in her voice, "I am so sorry! I never suspected you were this--this _damaged_. I am afraid there are going to be permanent scars."

"Why should you be sorry about what happens to me? I'm just a servant," I scolded angrily.

Her eyes dropped to the floor and she blushed with shame. "You are much more a Lady than I have ever been, Miss Janey," she said very softly. "I-I must confess something horrible to you. I do not know how you can forgive me, but I beg you for mercy." Her eyes met mine briefly and then she looked away. "It was I who stole that ring, Miss Janey. I stole it and placed it within your apron so that it would make people think you had stolen it."

I gasped loudly and gave the woman a fierce glare. "You caused this?" I shouted. "But why?"

Mistress DeMarcco began to cry. "Oh, Miss Janey, I am so sorry. I am a horrible person. I-I wanted to cause you harm. I wanted the excuse to beat you."

"To beat me! But why? Why have I ever done to you?"

The Mistress looked away and shook her head back and forth. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"But then why?"

She began to cry then, great choking sobs that shook her entire body with convulsions and I could not stop myself--my tender servants' heart was too much a part of myself--I took her in my arms and comforted her, whispering gently in her ear that everything would be alright, that it was okay, and I forgave her. She wept for a long time and finally looked up and me through her tears and I saw great sadness in her eyes.

"The Master said you are to beat me daily," she said bluntly, and I nodded. Her face hardened. "Then please do so, Miss Janey. Please do so now. Please beat me long and hard--spare me none of your false mercy. I need to feel you beating me, I need the feel the pain I gave you so many times."

"But Mistress--" I began, my resolve suddenly failing me. This woman now appeared so fragile to me I couldn't hardly imagine flogging her.

"No arguments," she whispered. "Please." She reached into the pocket at the front of her dress and took out a long strip of leather. She handed it to me wordlessly and laid herself face down on my bed.

Taking a deep breath I resolved to do what she and the Master asked, though suddenly I knew that I should gain little pleasure from it. There is no sweetness in revenge if the recipient is contrite and humble, I discovered. The Mistress was already far more punished inside than anything I could do to her flesh.

I took her dress and lifted it above her waist and carefully made my way through layers of petticoats until I had unveiled my Mistress' naked buttocks and thighs. To my astonishment I saw that she bore the markings of recent punishment, and I realized that the Master had not been exaggerating when he told me how he had dealt with her. She had certainly been well-used, but already the flesh was healing and the few welts remaining would be gone in a few days.

Except that I was about to add new ones. I hefted the strap and felt its weight in my hand. It was thick and heavy and would mark the flesh well, I knew. My mind thought back to all the punishments this woman had given me but I felt no anger, only a twinge of sadness.

I suddenly wondered if I was capable of whipping my Mistress. Though I had been whipped regularly during my time at the DeMarrco's I had little experience on the other end of the strap. I recollected a short stay in Middleton where I assisted a governess for a period and watched her frequent spankings and canings of the three young children in our care. These sessions had always filled me with a sense of horror and dread--no doubt from the association with painful memories of my own childhood punishments. But when the governess injured her wrist in a fall off a horse it had fallen to me to administer the punishments, and under the close eye of the strict governess, I had been forced to cane the two boys and the girl several times until the woman was able to resume her disciplinary duties. Initially I found my duty a trial and in the interest of mercy, did not cane nearly as severely as did the governess, the result of which was that the children began to misbehave in much worse manners and I was forced to cane them all the more frequently! In the end I learned that discipline needed to be severe to be learned, and though it still pained me, I became merciless and cold to their cries and pleas. I supposed that I would need those skills now.

I lifted the strap high and brought it down with as much force as I could muster directly across the naked buttocks of my Mistress. The slap of the leather against flesh sent shivers of excitement and terror up my spine, and the Mistress cried out in surprise and agony. A thick red stripe lay diagonally across the Mistress' buttocks--from the top of the left check to the lower right of the right cheek. The mark on her left cheek was the fiercest, the tip of the strap carrying the majority of the impact.

Again the strap came down with a fearful crack and the Mistress tensed and shivered. This time she did not speak, nor did she open her mouth on the next three, though she did begin to moan and wiggle. I knew the routine from experiencing the other side so frequently. I knew the pain must be growing to a peak now. Further strokes could not increase the amount of pain--they could only prolong the agony and change the character of the feeling.

I whipped the Mistress soundly, that morning. I beat her mercilessly, hardening my heart to her sobs and clenched fingers and begging. I did not stop a twenty, but gave her fifty strokes of that strap; thirty across her buttocks and twenty on her thighs. I varied my strokes and position and made sure I neglected no area of her flesh. I wanted her to feel this whipping all day long, to know what it was like to have to work and walk and function normally while your body cries out in soreness and stiffness.

The Mistress did not protest; she took her whipping well. I was impressed with her fortitude and I told her so. She bowed her head and told me that I was an inspiration to her, that she had never known a servant like me that took her blows with such sanguine acceptance and yet obviously felt and suffered the blows.

"Thank you, Mistress," she said when I had finished the whipping and told her to get up.

"You are welcome," I said gallantly. "There is plenty more where that came from--disobey me and you shall earn yourself another taste."

"Yes, Mistress," she whispered. "I am yours to command."

"Change my dressing," I ordered. "I think a fresh application of salve would be much appreciated right now." I stretched out on the bed and let the woman fuss over me. She massaged the oily salve into my bruised and welted fleshed and I groaned at her heavenly soothing yet devilishly sensitive touch. Afterward she applied a new dressed and left to fetch me breakfast.

The next few days passed quickly, as I healed both physically and emotionally. It was soon made obvious to the other members of the staff that the Mistress had been made my slave. I made sure, however, that they treated her with respect and I asked them to report to me personally any failures of behavior on her part.

At first there were a number of these. Stories of the Mistress' rudeness or disobedience were brought to me by many of the servants. I recognized at once that many of these reports were false or exaggerated, but as long as there was no direct evidence to contradict the servant, I took their word as fact and punished the Mistress accordingly.

A part of me regretted this unfairness, but I knew that it was justice--how many times had the Mistress falsified or exaggerated claims of misbehavior on the part of her servants? On several occasions I whipped the Mistress publicly, sometimes in the kitchen or wherever the indiscretion supposedly took place, or in the main dining hall. At other times I would retire to my chambers or hers and flog her in private, though I frequently made her stand in the dining hall with her naked buttocks on display so that everyone could see that she had been properly punished.

At first the Mistress seemed to accept her new station and the frequent punishments with a surprising meekness. After approximately a week or so, however, I saw she was becoming more and more irritated and frightened, complaining to me often that I punished her too hard or that her work or punishment was unfair.

One day her complaints made me so angry I stripped her naked in the dining hall and flogged her for half and hour and left her there, naked and whipped. I had one of the servants come by every half hour and wet her down with salt water. Then, before and after the evening meal I gave her a dozen strokes of the cane. I then told her to go to my quarters and await further punishment. She fell to her knees at this and begged for mercy. I was furious that she still hadn't learned obedience and so I slapped her face and taking the strap, I whipped her breasts back and forth for a couple dozen strokes.

"To my quarters, slave!" I shouted. "And you shall receive extra for such insolence!" Weeping, she crawled away hurriedly, and I resolved to beat her senseless that night. She was being treated far better than she ever treated any of us and yet she still found the arrogance to complain! The bitch would learn.

I waited until late to go to my quarters so that the Mistress would have more time to anticipate my punishment. When I entered my room I found her standing with her hands behind her head and staring at the wall. She was still naked from her flogging and her back, buttocks, and legs were covered with glistening welts. The room was chilly but I saw that she still sweated.

"On your knees, slave!" I ordered, and she obeyed me instantly. I sat on the bed and ordered her to undo the laces of my shoes with her mouth and then put my shoes away. She began to cry but obeyed without protest. It took her quite some time and I often had to threaten her with more punishment if she did not complete the task faster.

"At least you seem to be learning, tonight," I growled at her and petted her lovely dark hair as she struggled with my laces. "Your only protest should be your tears--always obey without question. Never open your mouth or show me your eyes. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress!"

"Good. Now when you are finished with those shoes I want you to undress and bath me, and then I will administer what remains of your punishment."

"Yes, Mistress."

She obeyed my every instruction, putting my shoes away by carrying them in her mouth. Then she helped me out of my clothes, commented that my wounds were almost gone, and bathed me with warm water I had her fetch and heat. As she bathed me I noticed she paid particular attention to the area between my legs and I scolded her. Making her stand I examined her pubic area and saw that she was damp and aroused.

"Naughty girl," I scolded. "Doesn't your Master take care of you?"

She shook her head and began to weep. "Not since--not since that first night. He says he will wait until I have become a Lady!"

"At your rate of progress that may take some time."

"Oh, please, Mistress," she begged. "Please be good to me. I do try, I really do. But it's so hard. I find it so difficult to bear."

"What concern is your difficulty to me?" I asked haughtily. "If I command you to do something, you do it!"

"Yes, Mistress," she whispered, a meek and pliant young woman.

"Now get me my nightwear and come back for your punishment."

She brought me the thin gown I used for sleeping at night and helped it over my head. Once I was dressed I sat on the bed and stared at the woman. She bowed her head and looked very sad.

"I was extremely disappointed in your behavior today," I said.

"Yes, ma'am, I know."

"What did you do that was so wrong?"

"I-I failed to respond to you properly, ma'am."

"What did you do?"

"I objected to your punishment, ma'am. I complained and said it was not fair."

I smiled. "And why is that wrong?"

"I am your slave, ma'am. I have no rights, no reason to complain. If you decide to punish me that is reason enough. There can be no unfair punishment from you, ma'am."

"That is correct. You are indeed learning. Now how shall I punish you tonight?"

The cold sad eyes of the Mistress looked up at me in surprise and fear. "Please, ma'am, I am so sore. Could you spank me with your hand?"

"Not the cane?" I exclaimed.

She bowed her head and nodded. "As you wish, ma'am." She made a motion to fetch the cane when I stopped her.

"I think your suggestion may have merit, Mrs. DeMarrco," I said carefully. "Come across my lap. I shall use my hand." The Mistress' face lit up with hope and relief and she nodded gratefully and clambered up onto the bed and across my lap.

"Do not think this will not be painful," I said firmly. "I shall punish you most thoroughly."

"Yes, Mistress."

I looked down at the naked bottom across my lap, already red with leather and cane marks, but still shapely and graceful and I felt a slight bit of jealousy at her beauty. Even covered with weals and red from spanking her body was beautiful.

My hand squeezed the flesh of her bottom tightly. I could feel her body tense across my lap. I also thought I felt a slight bit of moisture on my leg, and in the guise of adjusting the lady's position I managed to slip my hand between her legs to move her and in doing so, brush against her sex. Sure enough it was dripping with desire.

This surprised me at first. There had been times when I had found a whipping stimulating, but only in the mildest form. The Mistress had been whipped quite hard today and was about to receive more and yet she was damp with desire. Suddenly, though, things made sense. If the woman was this aroused at receiving punishment, how did she react to _giving_ it? Surely that was the answer. It was so obvious I had never quite seen it before. Many masters and mistresses punish out of ego or arrogance. The Mistress DeMarrco, however, punished out of sexual lust.

I lifted my hand and began to spank the woman as hard as I could. Instantly she came to life, groaning and wiggling. I saw that she was attempting to grind her crotch against my leg and I adjusted my position to make certain that she would not succeed. She became more frantic after that, and I increased the pace of the spanking.

Her bottom felt large and warm within my hand. I thrilled to hear her low moans, deep moans that I knew were not of pain but of pleasure. This was exciting her and her excitement was infecting me. I too felt a stirring between my legs, an arousal that made me sweat in nervousness. I felt my face flush in shame and spanked the Mistress even harder.

Finally I stopped, my hand still and resting on her blazing bottom. "There, did that warm you up?" I asked boldly and she nodded, "Yes, Mistress! Yes!"

"Are you aroused?"

There was a short pause. "Yes, Mistress."

"Do spankings always arouse you?"

"Usually, Mistress."

"Does giving a spanking arouse you?"

She nodded and began to cry. "Yes, Mistress."

"When you spanked me, did that arouse you?"

A sob lurched through her body. "Yes, Mistress!"

"Why?"

"I don't know!"

I gave her bottom a sharp slap. "You did not address me properly! Now answer my question: why did spanking me arouse you?"

"I-I don't know, Mistress, I truly don't! It just does, that's all."

"Do you like seeing me naked, is that it?"

I felt her body stiffen beneath me like a board and it was almost with visible tension that she spoke. "Yes, Misstress."

"Why do you like seeing me naked?" I rubbed her bottom in a circular motion as I spoke.

"Because you are beautiful, Mistress!"

"You are lying!" I gave her a couple hard slaps.

"No, ma'am, please! It's true. You are very beautiful, very kind, very wonderful. I-I like you!"

I gasped in horror. "You mean sexually?"

"I don't know!" she wailed miserably, sobbing and wiggling and covering her face with her hands. I didn't move, but only stared at her naked body lying across my lap, so lithe, so beautiful. Had I, too, had such feelings for this woman? I had thought at one time that I hated her, but then I felt sorry for her, and now I did indeed realize I felt an affection for her.

"I understand," I said quietly.

"No, you do not!" she exclaimed, suddenly rising off my lap and standing before me. "You do not understand at all. You see, I am a fraud!"

My hand had been lifted to strike her for rising without permission before the punishment was over, but now I paused. I saw her eyes were wild and she was filled with uncontrollable emotion. She was barely conscious of anything right now. Something deep inside her was threatening to get out and I could see she was on edge, ready to burst.

"Sit down, Mrs. DeMarrco," I said gently, rubbing the bed next to me. "Please, sit down, calm yourself, and explain."

"Oh, Miss Janey!" she burst out and collapsed next to me and wept. Though I had lately seen her cry a great deal I had never seen her cry like this. Her sobs came from her belly and shook her entire body as she heaved and trembled and stuttered.

Like that first day she came to my room I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion flood through me. I took her in my arms and held her until her crying stopped and her trembling stopped. I looked into her eyes and she gazed into me. "You are too kind, Janey," she whispered. "You always were too kind."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are going to hate me," she said in a sad, formal tone. "Everyone is going to hate me. I am nothing but a fraud, a cheat and a liar. The Master is right--I am not a Lady and never was and never will be."

"Nonsense, Mistress!" I exclaimed. "You are well on your way! Even I am amazed by your recent transformation."

"Oh, Janey," she said quietly, ignoring my comments, not even seeming to hear them, in fact. "I've hurt you worst of all. Can you ever forgive me? Can you?"

She began to weep uncontrollably again and it was several minutes before I had her under control again. "Shhhh," I whispered, "of course I can forgive you. Just tell me, tell me what you've done. It isn't as bad as all that, I'm certain."

"Oh, it's worse, my worse," she said forlornly. "You are my only real friend, Janey, the only one I ever had or ever will. And yet I have treated you worse than one treats one's enemies. I shall not blame you for hating me."

"But I don't hate you!"

"That's just because you don't know--you haven't guessed. My real name isn't Rosemary Westchester."

"Oh?"

"No, it's Jacoby. Sydney Jacoby."

It was like a bolt of lightening had illuminated my chambers and froze in mid-strike. The room was aglow and I saw every aspect of my friend's face for the first time, her bright eyes brimming with tears and her lips trembling with emotion. I saw the shape of her nose and the structure of her cheek bones--it was true! This strange woman whose existence had been my torture for months and whose fate was now utterly within my hands was none other than little Sydney Jacoby, my dearest friend from so long ago!

Oh, the emotions that raged through my heart in that instant! I swear it would have killed me if I hadn't been of stout stock. I felt a passion within me like I hadn't felt in years. Rage, hatred, wonder, joy, fear, horror--all these were mine and more. I wept and didn't know or care why. I threw my arms around my old friend and hugged her tight and sobbed and then tore myself away and glared at her but then her face looked so distraught I hugged her again and wept bitter tears of remorse and sadness.

"Why, why didn't you tell me!" I cried out, clutching her to me tightly. "You knew! You recognized me--why didn't you tell me!"

She wept and hugged me back and begged my forgiveness. "I am so sorry, dear Janey. At first I thought I would--I longed to share my secret with someone, someone close and trusted. But then I felt a coldness inside me. I was afraid you'd tell the Master--it would ruin me. And I felt an anger--I don't quite know why--a rage that consumed me and I told myself all sorts of vile things about you. Oh, I hate myself for thinking such things! But I thought them true and I hardened my heart and beat you worse than the others because it was you, my dearest friend, and I was angry and bitter at our separation.

"It doesn't make sense, I know. I only know that my love for you became hatred. I was terrified you'd recognize me and report it to the Master. I feared and hated you, Janey, and I treated you awfully. Please forgive me. I know you cannot but please at least tell me you'll try! I cannot bear to live with your hatred. You are my only friend--I've destroyed all others." Her head fell into her hands at this point and she wept most miserably.

Finally she looked up and her eyes were red with tears. A pain shot through me--in the flickering light it looked like she was bleeding tears.

"Please," she begged, "please try to understand. I don't truly hate you, I don't. I never did. I love you! And I need you to love me. I _need_ your forgiveness. Please, before you answer, let me tell you my story. You must have questions. Let me answer a few before you tell me if you can love me again or not!"

I opened my mouth to speak though I had nothing to say--I was still so astonished I did not know where to begin. But her hand came out and pressed my lips closed and she shook her head. "Wait, please wait, and let me explain." With that, she began her story.