The Antebellum School Proj Ch 5

[Greyman]

The Antebellum School Project
BY: Hooked6

Chapter 5


Laying on my stomach I continued to write my most inner-most thoughts of what I had experienced that day – the shame at being seen naked by my school peers; the indignity of being shackled; the humiliation of being fondled and groped by several of my classmates during the inspection period to the point of orgasm as my classmates witnessed it all; the degradation of being bid on and ultimately purchased by another human being (my own step-sister as it turned out); and the down right pain of actually being branded on my bottom with the mark of a slave and the anger of having no control to prevent being permanently disfigured like that.

I also debated mentally as to whether I wanted to share the intimate and sensual feelings I experienced through it all. I knew that at some point the University’s Scholarship Committee and ultimately the Board of Reagents would read everything that I had written. My first inclination was to refrain from writing such intimate details. As I pondered the pros and cons of my decision, I realized that Angie was going to include all the videos of my experience as part of her submission and everyone on the committee would see for themselves how aroused I was, so I decided to include it all.

I am sure that the fact that I was still very horny factored into my choice, as well as to a lesser extent, wanting my sister’s project to be as believable as possible also figured into my calculus. I had endured so much and had come so far to have the committee then reject her scholarship on it being implausible and scarcely credible. If that happened, I was sure I could kiss my $30,000 that I was promised if Angie got her full-ride scholarship.
By the time I finished my entry in my journal, it was well after midnight and I was exhausted. I put out my oil lamp and went to sleep.

I had no sooner dozed off than I was rudely awakened by my sister announcing that it was time for another application of the Indian Medicine as she called it to help heal my wound. I grumbled at the intrusion but I let her carry on with what she had to do. It turns out she had to do another application at 3am as well. Just my luck. I nodded off to sleep as she was still dabbing the salve on the butt.

*****

I woke to the sound of pounding – lots of pounding and banging. At first, I thought someone was knocking my storage room door but when I looked, the door was still open like it was supposed to be. “Stupid neighbors,” I mumbled. “Who makes such noises at this time of night?”

Doing my best to get back to sleep was of no use so I just laid there with my eyes closed hoping they would stop whatever it was they were doing and go to sleep themselves.

“Good morning!” Angie called out as she entered my room in her usual cheery voice. “It’s time to get up.”

“What?! It’s morning already? What time is it?”

“It is 6 o’clock.”

“It’s too early to get up. Give me another hour, please Angie? I had a hard night laying like this on my belly all night,” I whined as I buried my head into the poor excuse for a pillow I was given.

“Why you lazy worthless piece of crap. We have lots to do today,” She explained still using her ‘happy voice.’ “Hold still, let me see your wound here for a minute.” She bent down, and using her hands and fingers, she moved my skin around a bit on my bottom for several minutes stretching the skin this way and that. “Does this hurt?” she asked as she put pressure directly my branded area.”

“Not really, why? Is there something wrong with my wound?”

“Oh no! Not at all!” She said a bit surprised. “I am shocked at how good it looks. There’s no oozing or any signs of an infection and your skin has healed over nicely. You actually have a hard, red-looking, raised circular scar on your ass – just like the books said it would look. AMAZING!” I then heard the sound of her camera-phone shutter going off. “Here. Look!”

Angie came around and put her phone in my face and showed me the picture she had just taken. Sure enough, I had a raised, red scar in shape of a circle with an “S” in the middle. It looked a lot better than it did only a day ago. It was clear and plain as day. I immediately reached back and touched it with my fingers. There was no pain and it felt just as it looked. I could actually run my fingers back and forth over it. It felt weird! I wasn’t sure if I was disgusted by it or if I was proud at how good it looked. I guess Mr. Longacre really knew how to brand things. I was truly amazed that the darn thing didn’t hurt at all.

“Enough, dilly-dallying. Get up and go pee or whatever you have to do and get back here as soon as you are done. You have breakfast to fix. I promised mom, Mr. Conner, and Miss Sedgewick a good meal this morning.

I got up and was going to complain but noticed that Angie had that stick-whip thing in her hand and thought better of it. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied and headed out of my room and down the hall to the back door.

“Don’t forget your wash your rag,” she called out after me.

I reached the back door and opened it and was greeted by the site of several men – carpenters I supposed – all working and hammering things. So that’s what that pounding noise was that woke me up this morning.

“Morning, Miss,” one of the guys said as he reached down in front of me looking my naked body over in the process. He picked up a small board that was laying at my feet on the grass. “Here, let me get this out of your way. We will be done here in a few minutes. Don’t mind us,” he said.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” I screamed and slammed the door shut. There were strange men working out there. I wasn’t going to go out there and do my business while THEY were out there! I was naked for Pete’s sakes.

Angie must have heard me scream and came back to check on me. “What’s wrong? I heard the door slam.”

“There are men out there! What is going on?”

“Oh that? That’s a little present from me to you to make your life easier.”

“Huh?”

“They are building you a period outdoor barrel shower. You’ll love it as you will eventually have warm water to get clean with.”

“Oh . . . that’s um . . . nice of you,” I stuttered trying to makes sense out of what a barrel shower was and how I was going to get warm water out of a barrel. “I’ll just wait here until they are done. The guy said they were almost through anyway.”

“Nonsense! We have wasted too much time all ready. You get your ass back out there and pee.”

“But,” I protested, “I have to do . . . the other thing as well, ya know?” I whispered, Can’t I just wait until they are done, please? It’s embarrassing.”

“You mean poop?” Angie asked laughing? “What do I care if you are embarrassed. You’ll have to do that sometime and I would rather you do that now before you bathe rather than later on and be dirty all day. We will have company before too long and they are sure to notice such things. NOW GET YOUR ASS OUT THERE or I will drag you out there myself and whip you in front of those guys and you will STILL have to take care of business!”

I reluctantly opened the back door and looked out. All three guys were working – one on a ladder and the other two were holding some small boards watching what the guy on the ladder was doing and giving him some directions.

I felt Angie’s hand on my back giving me a shove so out I went and ran like a crazy women toward the hole in the ground. Maybe if I was fast enough, I could get far enough away they wouldn’t realize what I was doing out there.’’

“Hey! You forgot your rags – the dry one and the wet one for your back passage! Get back here!”

I had no choice and slowly walked backed towards the house. Did she HAVE to shout about one rag for my back passage? Now they will know for sure what I was going to be doing.

When I reached the house, I heard one of the guys chuckling a bit as Angie handed me the rags. She had already wet one of them for me saving me the trouble.

Taking the rags in hand, I quickly ran off. I then heard everyone suddenly burst out laughing. They knew alright, they knew.

I kept my back to them as I hovered over the hole in the ground out there for the whole world to see and did my business. I then awkwardly cleaned myself as I assumed they watched. How awful! I had never done anything like this before. I then carefully folded up the rags and resumed my long, slow trek back towards the house.

The workmen had finished and were talking to Angie when I arrived. “Well, what do you think?” she asked, waving her arm proudly towards a wooden barrel that was cut in half mounted on a wooden frame fastened to two round vertical logs buried into the ground and rose about 8 feet in the air. A small rope dangled from the bottom of the barrel that hung down to about 4 feet above the ground. The workmen had also made a wooden platform directly on the ground underneath the barrel. The platform had a wooden frame on the sides keeping it off the ground. The floor had wooden slats with 2-inch spaces between them. The platform looked like what we would call a shipping pallet today only a little bigger.

“Nice,” I said quietly as I looked up at it. So, this was an old-timey shower, eh? Interesting, I thought.



“This is a slave shower. The residents of the big house normally took baths in their rooms. Slaves cleaned themselves outside.”

“So, like, how does it work exactly? Am I supposed to pull the rope and the entire barrel tips over and dumps all the water all over me or something? How to I rinse off then after all the water is gone?”

Angie sighed impatiently. “Go wash up your dirty rags in your bowl by the house then hang them up to dry and come back and Mr. Anderson will show you.” Angie directed.

I did as she asked as everyone talked among themselves. When I started back, Angie called out, “Bring a new rag and your soap.” She wasn’t really going to make me wash myself while they looked on, was she?

“Step up on the wooden floor, little lady,” Mr. Anderson instructed gently.

I carefully stepped up onto platform. “Now, Little Lady, if you look up, you will see several holes in the bottom of the bucket. When you pull on that rope, a small, metal plate inside the bucket will slide away from the holes and water will fall. That metal plate is connected to a small spring hinge like the larger spring hinges on a wagon or a horse drawn buggy. As long as you keep pulling on that rope, the water will drain out of the bucket. When you let go of the rope, the hinge will cause the metal plate to slide back over the holes and the water stops.”

“How much water is in there? I mean I doubt there is enough in there for me to clean myself and rinse off.”

“That there, little lady, is one-half of a 25-gallon barrel used to haul water on a 19th century buck board wagon. So that is roughly 12 and a half gallons. The trick is to pull on the rope and allowing the water to get you wet then let go. Then you can take your time washing yourself and your hair or your private unmentionables.” He paused as the other men giggled obviously amused at his use of his delicate language. “When you are done, pull on the rope again to get rinsed off.”

I nodded my head and just stood there hoping that if I didn’t ask any more questions, they would go away, but they didn’t budge an inch.

“Well, get on with it or I will whip your hide something fierce,” Angie said impatiently.

I reached up and pulled the rope and I felt the tension give way but no water rained down. “Nothing happened, sir.”

“Pull harder . . . I mean really hard . . . that’s it.” He instructed and sure enough, as I pulled harder, water came down like he said it would. It took all my might to keep holding that rope down as I twisted and turned my naked body until I was good and wet.

I shook my arm after letting go. “It’s too hard,” I said. I’m not that strong,” I complained as I stood there dripping wet as everyone looked on.

“I’m sure you will soon develop your muscles after all the chores you’ll have to do. You did just fine.”

Reluctantly, I soaped myself up washing my arms, legs and belly. But Angie saw my hesitation about lathering up the rest of me and yelled at me to get a move on.

The instant I felt my soapy hands running over my breasts I felt a surge of sensations that went right down my spine and to my pelvis. Darn, did that feel good! Knowing that these men were watching my every move only amplified these sensations. It wasn’t long before my hand was between my legs rubbing myself in earnest, ostensibly to get myself clean of course. I heard Angie start to giggle as she knew what I must have been feeling and how embarrassing this was for me.

“Don’t forget your butthole,” Angie said trying to be helpful but chuckling the whole time. I must have turned two shades of red I was so embarrassed. Why did she have to say that? The smiles on the workman really got to me as I knew what they were thinking. I worked the soap all over. Then pulled the rope with one arm as I tried to rinse off. I used one arm to try and rinse off then changed arms pulling the rope to do the other side. I barely got my legs rinsed when the water ran out. My chest, backside and hair were still full of soap.

“Hey! What happened? What happens now? How do I fill that barrel thing?” I asked, trying to keep the soap dripping from my hair out of my eyes.

Mr. Anderson looked at one of his workers. “Charlie, did you fill that barrel all the way up?”

“Gosh darn it. No, I only filled it up enough to check for leaks earlier this morning. It was only half full. I meant to fill it the rest of the way up but I forgot when she came out all nekid.”

One of the other guys ran away from the barrel tower the short distance towards the house. I thought he was going to turn a valve or something to fill up the barrel. Boy was I wrong. He returned and tossed an empty wooden bucket with a handle on the ground. “There you go, slave. Go fill it up and while you are at it, bring back that wooden ladder too.”

I must have looked a sight – still soapy, my hair dribbling soap down my back and breasts. There was no way I could carry both the ladder and the bucket. I got the ladder and leaned it against the back of one of the poles and then went to fill up the bucket. I had to use two hands to carry that bucket as it was pretty heavy – not too heavy to manage, but two hands made it easier. Then I had to climb that ladder several rungs, one hand on the ladder rails and the other hand holding the bucket. When I got high enough, I balanced myself by using my legs spread wide against the sides of the ladder so I didn’t fall and raised the bucket and poured out its contents.

As I was emptying the bucket, I noticed the guys were all behind me on the ground looking up between my legs which made me cringe. “Don’t worry. If you fall, we are back here to catch you,” one of them said helpfully

Yeah sure. “I’ll bet you that’s what you are back there for.” I said to myself. The sensations in my pelvis returned when I realized they only wanted to gawk at my sex. It was a rather nice feeling despite knowing they were just treating me as a sex-object. It was also weird that they thought of me in that way even though I was covered in soap. For the life of me I couldn’t imagine how that sight of a wet, soap covered girl with disheveled hair could be sexy. Men are weird, I thought.

I carefully climbed down the ladder and walked back to the house and filled up the bucket again. I repeated this process 5 times before the barrel was pretty fill. The last time I climbed down the ladder I actually slipped on a wet soapy rail and fell backwards screaming in a panic. True enough, the guys caught me before I hit the ground. I was so relieved until I became aware that there were hands covering both of my breasts and another hand was high on my thigh resting against my labia. Just the thought of these guys touching me like that – innocent though that touching was – almost sent me over the edge.

They put me down gently and I thanked them for coming to my rescue.

“Good thing we were here, right?”

I smiled a knowing grin and replied, “Yes, it surely was.” I have NEVER been a tease or a flirt, but I had to admit that was fun.

In no time I finished rinsing off and then was told to fill up the open-topped barrel again so that the sun could heat the water during the day for the next time I bathed. So that’s how the water got warm . . . the sun. How clever.

Once again, the men stood guard since the ladder was still wet and soapy only this time, they got a much better view of my pussy because I was now clean and no soap obstructed my important bits.

When I was through, the workmen bid farewell to Angie, picked up their tools and left. Angie combed out my hair for me as I “air-died” in the rising sun.

*****

“Stir the eggs in the pan, Honey. Don’t just let them sit there frying. You are making scrambled eggs, remember?” Angie instructed. The only things I had ever really cooked in my life was heating up a frozen TV dinner or making popcorn in the microwave, Now, here I was actually cooking in a cast-iron pan.

“OUCH!” I cried out as hot grease from another cast-iron pan containing bacon splashed my arm. “Damn, that hurts!”

Angie was showing me what was expected of me whenever I was on kitchen duty as a “House Slave.”

“There are three main types of slaves that you are going to learn to master for my project,” she explained, “House Slave, Farm Slave and Fancy Girl.”

All the kitchen house slave stuff surely didn’t suit me. I am not naturally very kitchen- savvy like my step-mom or Angie seemed to be. That Fancy girl thing sounded right up my alley. I wasn’t really sure what a Fancy Girl did but I imagined wearing a fancy silk dress, mingling with other well-attired men and women serving as an attendant for the lady of the house or maybe greeting guests as they arrived and maybe announcing them. I liked the idea of being on the softer side of slavery. Now THAT would suit me.

“Watch it!” Angie chastised. “You’re burning the bacon. Turn it over so the other side gets done. And take those eggs out of that other pan and put them in a bowl before you burn them too and then make some more.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You better check your biscuits as well.”

Earlier Angie showed me how to set a proper table and had me place flowers on the table. Where she got the flowers from, I had no idea. She also had me set place-settings for 8 people. Besides Angie, she only mentioned to me about Mr. Conner, Miss Sedgwick and her mom. I guessed the other settings were just practice for me or maybe to give the breakfast guest a choice of where to sit.

“Those biscuits look good, Honey. Nice job. Put them into a bowl and cover them with a clean towel. Then, start slicing some fresh fruit for the table and after that start the grits.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Good grief I’ll never get all this done without screwing something up. There is so much to do.

*****

The table looked good and I double checked that all the condiments had been laid out. Fanciest table I had ever seen in quite some time. Angie came around the corner all dressed in period attire. She looked really nice and I told her so.

“Um, should I be getting dressed now that things are ready? Maybe a serving outfit or something. This is such a fancy table setting I thought you’d want me to make a good impression.”

“Oh, you’ll be making a good impression, alright. You are fine just as you are.”

My mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Naked and in shackles?” I complained. “But you said I’d be given things to wear in certain situations and . . .”

“That’s right. There will be times when you will be given things I want you to wear like when you go to school tomorrow but today isn’t one of them. You don’t get to make the rules or decide what is proper. I do!”

“But . . .”

Just then someone was knocking on the door.

“That’s it. You will be punished for complaining later. Right now, you had better knock off your attitude and answer the door as I showed you earlier. And remember, EVERYONE is your better. YOU are nothing but property. You will defer to EVERYONE doing as they ask unless I instruct you differently or it goes against something that I have already told you.”

“Yes, ma’am” I whined, clearly disappointed that I was still stuck being naked. I was really getting into that whole Downton Abby, Gone with the Wind, elegant thing. I heard what she had said but my mind was still dwelling on what I had pictured in my mind.

I checked myself in the hall mirror and primped my hair a bit, took a deep breath and opened the door. “Welcome to the Harkins house,” I said in a meek but welcoming voice, looking down at the floor as Angie had taught me.

I suddenly heard giggling. I quickly looked up and saw four of my classmates – Rosie and Frank, Ellen and Clyde - all dressed in period attire! None of these people were at my auction yesterday. I was shocked and embarrassed standing here like this, yet they clearly had been invited as they were all dressed appropriately and must know what happened to me the day before.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite us in? Rosie asked with a big grin.

“Oh, um, yes. Please excuse me. Won’t you please follow me to the Parlor?”

I led the way as they all followed silently, their shoes echoing on the old wood floors with each step they took.

“Nice butt, Honey,” Frank said as Rosie playfully jabbed him in his side with her hand as I showed them into the parlor. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. My mistress will be in shortly. Can I get you something to drink while you are waiting? Some orange juice or some sweet tea perhaps.”

“None for me,” Clyde replied.

“I’ll take some sweet tea,” Ellen said as the others all declined. I nodded to Ellen acknowledging her request and politely started to leave the room. As soon as I passed the threshold of the Parlor, the others began laughing.

I heard them saying things like, “She walks around naked?” and “Get a load of her shackles,” while the girls were more demeaning in their comments like, “Who knew she hardly has anything up top. She must have been stuffing her bra the whole time.” But the worst came from Ellen when she asked, “Did you all see that clit of hers? It was all angry and red poking out like that. It was HUGE!” Everyone laughed all the louder as I passed Susan, my step-mom, in the hall on her way into the Parlor to greet her guests. She gave me a knowing smirk, clearly relishing my humiliation as she walked by me. She must have heard everything those classmates of mine had said – especially Ellen.

I was almost out of earshot making my way back to the kitchen when I heard my step-mom calling, “Honey. Come back here.” Though she wasn’t shouting, from the tone of her voice I knew this couldn’t be anything good.

“Yes, Ma’am?” I asked as I re-entered the room.

She had that smirk still showing on her face as she raised her finger at me and pointed, “What is that?” she asked rather sarcastically.

“What is what, ma’am?” I asked clearly having no clue what she was talking about.

Susan walked right up to me and pointed at my pelvis. “What is THAT?”

I looked at my classmates seated around the room and swallowed. I recalled Ellen’s comment from earlier and put two and two together and realized what my step-mom was asking about. “Nothing ma’am, really.”

“This is the last time I am asking you, what is THAT? I expect an answer.” she asked rather authoritatively as she let her finger touch my clit making no mistake to everyone in the room what she was concerned about.

It’s um . . . well that is my . . . Clitoris, ma’am.” Every one of my classmates giggled at hearing my answer.

“And just WHY is it sticking out like that in front of my guests? Are you horny?

“I can’t help it. Ma’am. It just does that sometimes. I am sorry.”

More giggling from the crowd.

“Well, take care of it. I’ll not have you embarrassing me in front of our guests like that right now.”

“Yes, ma’am” I answered meekly and turned to leave the room.

“I didn’t tell you to leave. Take care of it now; right here.”

She walked behind me, grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me right in front of my classmates making me stand before them up close and personal. “Take care of it until it is gone.” She then gave me one hard slap which echoed through the room.

“Yes ma’am,” I softly said and lowered my right hand between my legs and started rubbing my clit. I was already very wet as you can imagine just from having to appear in front of new set of my peers earlier. Now she was making me masturbate in front of them. I wanted to just die.

It didn’t take long before my body was seriously responding to my touches as everyone was smiling at me and uncomfortably giggling which only made me feel more aroused. Is it possible that I get off from being humiliated in front of others?

Then my body tensed up and I could feel both my anus and my vagina spasming – opening and closing as it were to the pulsations of my clitoris. My eyes were closed and I just froze as I came over and over for such an inordinate amount of time right in front of everybody.

After I came down from that incredible high, I opened my eyes and the last thing I wanted to see was everyone staring at me smiling. I immediately put my hands up to cover my face and cringed at the thought of what I had done. That made everyone laugh all over again.

“Honey.” My step-mom said, “What is that?” More giggling.

I looked down and that damn thing was still poking out, looking angrier than ever.

“My clitoris, but . . . it will go away shortly. It always does after, well, you know . . . I cum.”

The giggling turn to outright laughter again as my classmate, Ellen, asked, “So, you masturbate a lot, slave?”

“No! She made me,” I said in my defense hoping to deflect the obvious conclusion that I was a compulsive masturbator.

“No matter,” Susan said. “Get busy. I want that thing gone. It would seem that you are still very horny.”

I sighed deeply and got my fingers working again. I had just touched my labia again when there was another knock on the front door.

I froze in a panic as I looked back at the door then at Susan hoping that she would spare me the indignity of continuing.

“Answer the door. And, keep your right hand busy where it is as you answer it. Escort our guests into the Parlor and continue fingering yourself until you cum again.”

I couldn’t believe she just said that to me! Is she nuts? She is supposed to be my step-mom. Nonetheless I went to the door, swallowed hard and opened it like I was taught. “Welcome to the Harkins House,” I said looking at the floor.

Instead, I heard unfamiliar voice saying, “What in the hell. . .?” I looked up and saw a woman with a shocked expression on her face looking at me. Standing next to me was Mr. Conner.

“Who is . . . I mean . . .” I stammered.

“Hello, Honey,” Mr. Conner said gleefully. “Miss Sedwick is unable to make it today so my wife will be filling in. This is my wife, Carla. You may have seen her around the school office as she occasionally picks me up.”

“I, um, no sir, we haven’t met before. Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Would you both follow me into the Parlor. My Mistress is waiting with the other guests.” I then used my free hand to wave them inside as I kept my free hand fingering myself as instructed. I am not sure how many more surprises or how much more stress I can take.

As I reached the Parlor ahead of them, I remembered to announce our guests as Angie had taught me. “Mr. and Mrs. Conner,” I said politely as they went to greet my Step-mom. I took up my place as instructed and just mindlessly kept fingering myself as everyone seemed to be engaged in conversations around the room.

The whole scene was so surreal that it began to have an effect on me by rekindling my arousal, which up to that point had all but disappeared after I saw the strange women at the door. Now I was quite wet again and that familiar tingle made itself known down below.

Just when I was enjoying myself once more, I heard Susan’s Voice asking, “Honey, are you behaving yourself now? Take your hand away and let me see?”

I knew the answer but I hesitantly moved my hand from my pelvis anyway and rested it by my side.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, it hasn’t changed a bit?” Susan said in mock disappointment.

“Um, excuse me,” Mrs. Conner said, “I seem to have come into the middle of something. What is going on here, may I ask?”

“I must beg your indulgence. Our new slave here seems to be incredibly horny this morning. She has embarrassed me in front of my guests walking around with that huge, engorged clit of hers. Impressive as it may be, it is highly inappropriate for it to be displayed like that in polite company. I instructed her to get rid of that but, instead of leaving the room and taking care of it discreetly, she chose instead to masturbate herself until she came right in front everybody.”

But that’s not true. That’s not the way it happened. I . . .”

“Just then, Ellen, interrupted me and threw me under the bus, “Yes, it is, Mrs. Conner. We all saw it. She was standing right there playing with herself bold as brass. It was disgusting!”

“Is that true, Clyde?” Mrs. Conner asked.

“Yes ma’am. That’s what happened. She even KEPT playing with herself after being told to answer the door.”

“But . . .” I protested.

“I’m sorry,” Susan said apologetically “but I need to deal with this now. You see, Honey is new here and is in training. If I let this slide there is no telling what she will try and get away with in the future.”

“We quite understand. Go right ahead.” Mrs. Conner instructed.

My step-mom grabbed me by the hand and led me over to Ellen. “Since you, Ellen, were disgusted at what my slave was doing earlier, you should be the one to discipline her.” Susan explained. “Honey bend over her lap.”

“Huh?”

You heard me. Lay down on her lap. I am going to let Ellen give you an old-fashioned spanking.”

“But I didn’t do anything. I . . .”

“Now or it will be worse for you. I’ll let Mr. Conner do it. Your choice.”

There was no way I wanted HIM to do it so I gently laid down across her lap as Ellen tried not to giggle.

“Ellen, normally she would receive the whip and then be put into the pillory overnight. But she is new to this and has for the most part been well behaved, I think a spanking would suffice. I will let YOU decide how many she should receive. Go on, pick a number.”

Ellen gazed into space pensively as she thought it over. Clearly, she was just relishing her chance to humiliate me but she was acting as though this needed serious thought. “Fifty?” she finally said, a bit unsure if she had crossed the line and chosen too high a number.”

“Fifty sounds fine. You may proceed. Don’t hold back as I don’t want her to think she can get away with disrespecting her owners or their guests.”

Ellen let out a satisfactory breath and looked down at my butt studying her target. “What is that?”

“Oh that? Honey was branded yesterday. She had the mark of a slave burned into her butt so everyone could tell if she was a slave or not.”

“Is that for real?” asked Mark incredulously. “You mean like cowboys brand a cow? Surely, that’s just a temporary tattoo or something, right? Surely somebody didn’t really burn . . .”

“Oh, but they did. We have it on video if you’d care to see it later.”

“WICKED!” exclaimed Frank as if he just won the lottery.

“Won’t that hurt her or cause a problem if I spank over that?” Ellen asked with just a hint of pleasure, which made me doubt that she was sincere.

Both Mrs. Conner and my Step-mom came over and examined my scar rubbing their fingers all over it before Mrs. Conner announced, “No, I think it would be fine. It is remarkably well-healed.”

“Besides,” Susan added, “What do I care if it causes her problems. It is her fault. Her rude conduct brought this all upon herself. Continue, Ellen, and make this good. I’m starving.”

Ellen slapped my butt right cheek rather tentatively. I had prepared for the worse but she seemed to be wanting to take it easy on me for which I was grateful.

That wasn’t the case with the second. It was unmercifully hard! So was the third . . . and the fourth! In fact, with each succeeding slap her blows seemed to grow harder and much worse like she was energized by the whole thing. By the 20th slap I was openly crying; tears running down my face like a 6-year-old.

What made it worse was that everyone was laughing or smiling at me! Ellen stopped at 41, looked at up Susan and asked. “Would it be okay if my friends here each gave her 3 slaps?”

“Absolutely”

“Get up and go lay over Clyde’s lap for your next spanking.” Ellen instructed.

Clyde had the biggest Cheshire cat grin on his face which scared me. Once positioned he let go with three incredibly hard strikes that actually took my breath away.

Frank was next. He wasn’t as severe as Clyde had been but so far, he was the most revolting as he had a very prominent erection that was easily felt when I laid down on his lap. When his turn was over, I didn’t really want to get up as I really liked the way that felt on my naked belly.

Riley, well, I enjoyed hers the most out of all of them. She started by feeling my branding scar and commented on how nice it looked then she softly rubbed both of my butt cheeks before slapping the crap out of me then resumed her erotic rubbing. It was a shame she only had three slaps to give.

When it was over I was instructed to get up and go to the kitchen to be sure everything was ready then come back to announce to everyone that breakfast was served.

As I left I her Mrs. Conner was giggling as her husband said, “See, my dear, I told you that you would have fun.”


Chapter 6 – Breakfast Humiliation and Back to School

Author's note: I would like to hear from readers about what parts they liked or what they thought of the pacing of the story and the details included. Was it too fast, too slow, or just right. Thanks for reading.


....

[lovethissite]

Honey is definitely on her way to be a fancy girl. School should be interesting. Great work on this scene I'm looking forward to the next.

[jeepster]

Thank you very much for the feedback. There are many more surprises in store for Honey because, as you probably already know, none of my stories are like what they seem at first. Thanks for taking the time to write and for reading this series.

Hooked6

[lovethissite]

Good to know really enjoying this series.

[Belinda]

So well done. Her slow realization of her station in life is a fascinating study. Love the journal she keeps. It so adds to the story.

[jardam1]

In my opinion, this series is definitely one of the best that I have read here so far. I'm definitely very curious to see how Honey's story will continue to unfold. She will most likely be a Fancy girl, but I could also imagine her as a Farm slave. I also wonder what her father will say when he gets home and sees what happened to his daughter. In any case, I'm already looking forward to the new chapter.

[jardam1]

Yes, how will the father react when he gets home? Great question. He has not been forgotten. Thanks for the comments, jardam1. You are most kind.

Hooked6

[jeepster]

So well done. Her slow realization of her station in life is a fascinating study. Love the journal she keeps. It so adds to the story.

I am most heartened that you like the journal included in this story. Honey's comments will vary from detailed to general as most women do when they keep a journal or diary. I was afraid the pages devoted to her journal might slow the story down. It is nice to know that it hasn't detracted from the pacing. I, too, think it is important as many will see later on.

Hooked6

[Greyman]

Honey's thoughts and reactions are a big draw of this story. You won't go wrong by showcasing how she's motivated to commit to her role in her ever increasing embarrassment.