



                     A FRENCH LETTER

             (Original title: MAID TO ORDER)

                           by

                      Joe Whatever

 

"I still don't understand why Father would send such a ghastly 
letter!" the lovely young aristocrat exclaimed.

"It makes perfect sense, my lady," Maud, her maid, replied, 
soothingly.  "How you can be expected to wield the rod over 
others when you have never experienced it yourself?"

"It has never stopped me before," Elizabeth muttered.

The maid smiled.  THAT was true enough.  The lovely but spoiled 
young blueblood delighted in sentencing OTHERS to the lash.  But 
the order from the Colonel had come directly from the battlefields 
of France: 19-year-old Elizabeth must experience the shame and 
humiliation of the punishment block...with all of the servants 
watching.

"You don't think Mr. Evans would really strip me...naked?" 
Elizabeth asked, her voice faltering.  "I know Father's 
letter says "naked," but...."

Maud chuckled.  Mr. Evans, the estate's muscular gardener, had been 
the victim of Elizabeth's temper for years.  Just that morning the 
maid had heard him bragging to the stable hands about how "'er 
ladyship's fine pampered bottom will wiggle and squirm.  I imagine 
you'll see quite a bit between 'er legs, too, once I get 'er bottom 
dancing," he had boasted.  "I'll take the little filly on quite a 
ride."

"I'm sure he'll treat you with the kindness and gentleness you 
deserve," the maid said, coyly.

"I should hope so," the clueless heiress said.  "After all, I 
can't be expected to prance around naked in front of the entire 
household."

But naked she would be.  Maud had already selected the vulgar 
stable hands who would strip her ladyship naked as the day she 
was born.  Their rough, prying fingers would doubtlessly touch 
all kinds of interesting places as they manoeuvred her lovely 
bare buttocks and slender white thighs into the proper position 
over the block.

"Have the other servants mentioned it?" the young woman asked 
nervously.  "Each time I enter a room the conversation stops.  
And I do not approve of the way those stable ruffians are 
leering at me."

The maid bit her tongue to keep from laughing.  The household was 
speaking of nothing else.  There was a betting pool concerning when 
the mistress would burst into tears...and what lewd acts she might 
exchange for leniency.

The spiteful maid had even invited some of Elizabeth's present and 
former suitors to the event.  No doubt they would enjoy seeing the 
charms that Elizabeth often promised but never delivered.

"Perhaps the stable hands were smiling in sympathy," the maid 
suggested disingenuously.

As soon as her ladyship left the room, the delighted maid 
immediately went out to the garden and resumed the joyful 
task of cutting birch rods for the whipping.  She was careful 
to pick long, slender, wicked rods with plenty of biting, 
scratching buds.  The rods would be soaked in brine, so that 
they would hug every curve.

She chuckled softly.  Selecting stable hands, inviting witnesses, 
cutting birches, and forging letters from the Colonel were all in 
a day's work for a good lady's maid.



Edited by C. Lakewood

                                  