The Red Collection Read Free Page B

underslip for a while … I wonder if you would take care of them for her?’ Madame speaks to her maid in almost an intimate manner. Against my will, I begin to speculate on the type of duties this Latin beauty might perform. She gives me an expressionless look as I hand her my skirt.
    Sliding down my lace-trimmed half-slip, I become more and more conscious of my undies. They are chosen by my Master, as always; and, as always, they are costly and luxurious. The slip is heavy satin, pure white, and was bought at an exclusive Knightsbridge boutique. I sense both Madame and Florenza silently pricing it, and thus estimating how highly my Master values me.
    My stockings and suspender belt, which I will retain, are both equally extravagant. The former are fine deniered, smoke-grey – to match the formal suit I wear – and with a thick welt of lace; and the latter is white silk to match my underslip. My panties, however, are very plain, just the simplest of white cotton interlock, bikini-shaped, but not especially brief.
    I pass my slip to Florenza and she folds it neatly, placing it upon a chair, on top of my already folded skirt.
    ‘Florenza,’ says my Master, his voice appreciative, although I do not know whether this is in regard to the sight of me, skirtless, or due to the dark girl’s undeniable loveliness. ‘I wonder if you would be good enough to lower Susan’s knickers for her? Just as far as mid-thigh, that will be perfect for our needs.’
    ‘Of course, sir,’ replies Florenza dutifully, her voice rather more accented than Madame’s and clearly indicating quite a different nationality.
    I start to shake as her deft hands go about their business. My Master has not exposed me a great deal to the eyes of strangers, so this is relatively new to me. There was of course the time he invited a few male friends around to watch him cane me, but then I was blindfolded, and the resulting darkness calmed my shame.
    Nevertheless, I don’t resist as Florenza eases my panties down my thighs, revealing my belly, and the silky blondness of my pubic grove. I am tempted to try and cover myself, but I fight the need. As if sensing my discomfiture, my Master says, ‘Hands on head, Susan. There’s a good girl.’
    Florenza is crouched beside me, seemingly intent on adjusting the position of my bunched white panties, but what she is really doing, I guess, is studying the sight her Madame has not yet seen. A phenomenon that will soon embarrass me even more. As the pretty servant finally straightens up, my Master abruptly calls out, ‘Turn!’
    I obey.
    ‘
Quel cul ravissant
!’ cries Madame, as her eyes light upon my mortifying secret. A naked bottom that’s already a brilliant pink.
    I feel the scrutiny of all in the room fix on me. They study my soreness, the warmed state of my buttocks. The evidence of my intractable behaviour … There is silence for a few moments, then Madame dismisses Florenza. That she has allowed the maid to see me at all is a punishment in itself.
    ‘Yes, I have already had to deal with her,’ observes my Master as the door quietly closes. ‘Susan is often disobedient and disrespectful in public, but I find a smacked bottom tends to settle her somewhat. We never leave the house without making sure she’s nice and red.’
    How true that is! I think if my Master had his way, I would spend my whole life with a hot, crimson bottom. Dinner parties, the theatre, the ballet; every function I attend, I attend it feeling sore. Every time I sit down, I’m reminded of his preference.
    Today is a typical example of my life. My Master came to collect me at my work place, and when he was ushered into my office, and we were alone, he locked the door. Within moments, I was face down across my own desk, skirts up, pants down, whilst he belaboured my bottom-cheeks with my own plastic ruler. The snapping impacts soon raised a glow of stinging pain.
    ‘An excellent regimen,’ comments Madame, her voice