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The lovely Tia finally gets fucked.

I wail, and kick against whatever, whoever, I can reach.

"You will NOT resist your chastisement! Lie still! Now!" The spanking increases in intensity, the rhythm becoming faster and, although I can not help but twitch under each blow, I now hold my legs as still as I can because I understand it will not cease until I obey. Eventually the spanking slows, and then it stops, leaving me weak and sobbing.

Now a hand palms my stinging cheek in circles, soothing the pain. I am so grateful it is over. Then, 'WHAP', my right cheek is given its share of attention too, until I am pushed again to my limit. Again, the palm soothes, and it is finally over.

"You may stand." Trembling, I stand, but find I need the treacherous sofa arm for support. My legs are shaking so much I can't balance on my heels, but I don't want to sit. My skirt is still up around my waist but I don't even move to pull it back down. Madame is standing behind the desk once more.

"Do you remember what I asked of you?" Sniffling, head down, I nod and take off my jacket. I hold it, without initiative.

"Give it to Wilhelm." I look up at the huge butler. Wilhelm is standing beside Madame, still stroking his long, wide cock, now much bigger and blood-engorged. The foreskin is pulled back; the head is almost purple. Expressionless, he appraises my brocade corset, my black leather bra with my peeping nipples, my hitched skirt, and my exposed leather thong. I stagger across the room to him, and hold out my jacket. He takes it, and looks to Madame.

"Go and hang it up. I will ring when I want you," she tells him. His disappointment was obvious but he leaves, taking my jacket and his engorged prick with him.

"Now, I notice you are wearing a thong." I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"You were told to wear crotchless panties, were you not?" Oh no, not again. I hadn't taken Mr. Ambrose literally; I hadn't thought it necessary, but now I am wishing I had followed his instructions to the letter.

"It is this sort of disobedience that brings you to your humiliation. What Mr. Ambrose expects, Mr. Ambrose gets. You are to understand this. And I am to help you to understand this. Remove your skirt and your thong; lay them on my desk."

I ease the tight skirt down from around my waist to around my ankles and step out of it, and then pull down the leather thong as quickly as I can and scoop up both garments. I lay them on her desk as she ordered, and stand before Madame's desk, my hands clasped in front of my naked bush. Despite the humiliating semi-nakedness, all I can really think of are my throbbing buttocks.

"Bring that wooden chair over to the centre of the room and sit on it." The chair Madame indicates is an old, narrow, wooden ladder-back that looked like it would have had rush seating at one time. But there is nothing but the seat frame, now.

After trying several positions, I find the only way I am able to keep myself from slipping into the missing chair seat is by spreading my legs wide enough that my thighs are supported by the frame. I try to brace myself with my feet on the floor but, because I am not very tall, I can only tip-toe the floor in this position. For extra support I clutch the frame of the seat, palms down. This pushes my shoulders back, and my breasts forward. Madame's expression tells me she is pleased. Strangely, I like this. And I am grateful too, that I am not being forced to put pressure on my sore buttocks. I am starting to realise that Madame has planned everything, well in advance.
Chapter 4: Support at Air Time

"Now I can inspect you properly. You are a natural blond, obviously. However, I do not like to see pubic hair. The maid will shave you. In the meantime, your nipples are not of sufficient size. So, we have some work to do."

Madame rings and this time the black maid enters, wheeling a cart.

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