Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Historical, BDSM, MaleDom, Spanking, Interracial, White Male, Oriental Female,
Desc: Historical Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is a fictional account of a British Colonial official and how he came to punish his maid while he was in Burma in the mid-1920s.
The first time I whipped my maid was after the cook and the gardener proved to me that she had been stealing food from my pantry. I wanted to just give her a warning and tell her to never do it again since a little bit of rice that cost a few rupees was hardly worth the trouble of a whipping. My other servants, however, insisted that that she should be punished. To show her mercy they said would only encourage her to steal even more from me in the future. In the four years I had been in Burma, the natives I dealt with on a daily basis had been more troublesome than I had ever anticipated. In order to play my role in the order of things, I often had to do things that I would rather not, and punishing the maid was one of those things.
Finally, in order to keep peace among the servants in my household, I called the maid into the drawing room to question her about the theft. The cook and the gardener were in the room to provide evidence if needed. She must have known there was no use in denying what she had done, and she freely admitted the theft. The gleeful looks on the face of the other servants troubled me because it was obvious that they were looking forward to watching when I punished the maid. The cook offered to fetch a rattan cane for me to use on her, but I told him that my belt would be sufficient for the task at hand. The downcast look on his face showed his disappointment that I wasn't going to cane on her bare bottom.
Once the punishment implement was decided, I told the maid to remove all her clothing. As she was doing that, I unhitched my thick leather belt and drew it through the belt loops. Once she had stripped, her naked body made her look much younger than the age of 20 that she claimed to be when I hired her. Based upon the smallness of her breasts and her thin hips, one would have judged her to be in her early teens at the latest if she had been an Englishwomen. The only thing that gave any credence to her age was the delta of thick pubic hair between her legs. I told her to lie over the arm of the sofa against the wall. Looking at her tiny buttocks, I was happy for my decision to use the belt. A cane would have been much too harsh for a woman with a small backside as small as hers.
I told that I was going to give her twelve lashes with my belt, and that if she was ever caught stealing food again, I would double the number of strokes the next time. The room was silent, and I could hear her breathing quicken as she anticipated the pain that she was going to suffer once the lashing began. The excitement evident on the faces of the cook and the gardener was unseemly, but I didn't see a way of depriving them of their entertainment since they were the ones who had reported her treachery. I resolved to keep a close eye on them in the future and cane them severely if an opportunity presented itself.
I drew the belt back and delivered the first blow which left a long red stripe about three inches wide on her left hip. The next lash landed on her right hip and left a matching mark on that side. As I continued the lashing, she showed no reaction, and her willfulness angered me. Therefore, I delivered the last few blows with as much force as possible in an effort to break her spirit. When it was over, her entire backside was crimson, and in a few areas where I had lashed her the hardest I could see bruises that were beginning to darken. She was also crying by this point, and I felt satisfied with my handiwork as I surveyed her backside and listened to her tears. The next day, she thanked me profusely in her soft, lilting voice for using my belt on her instead of the cane. She said that when her sister had been caned by her employer, her backside had looked much worse than hers had after the belting she received the day before. It was only then that I began to feel shame for my decision to punish her at all.
The next time I whipped her was when she broke a serving dish that she knocked off a counter in the kitchen. If the other servants had been home at the time, they would have agitated for me to punish her because it would provide them with a little entertainment to break the monotony of the day. As it was, she and I were home alone, and there was no need to discipline her at all. However, in her mind she had done something worthy of punishment, and she asked me to use my belt on her again. I initially resisted, but she insisted, and I finally relented. It seemed like we trapped in a rigid system that didn't allow me to show mercy even when I would have been willing to grant it.
I took her back to the drawing room, and based upon the precedent established during her first whipping we both knew what was going to happen. As she lay naked over the arm of the soaf and presented her backside for punishment, I was struck by the beauty of her perfect golden skin that would soon be marred by the lashes from my belt. I delivered twelve more blows across her tiny bottom and was mesmerized by the way her buttocks flattened out with each blow and rebounded as I drew the belt back to deliver the next lash.
This second time I whipped she was not as willful as she had been the first time I whipped her. She cried freely after only a few lashes, and it dawned on me that she hadn't held back to defy me the previous time. She had done it to deprive the cook and the gardener the pleasure of hearing her cry out during her lashing. At the conclusion of her second whipping, her bottom was crimson, but there were no visible bruises since I hadn't lashed her as severely the second time. Regardless of the severity of her whipping, her body was wracked with the force of her crying by the time I finished.
When I observed her reaction to her second whipping, I realized I felt a deep affection toward her. It had undoubtedly been there for some time but I had been able to suppress it until the tears reminded me that she was a human being who deserved my sympathy. I had been able to hold my feelings in check for so long because much of our training conditioned us to think of the people we ruled as something less than human. The first thing I did when I realized my true feelings was to take the tiny, delicate woman into my arms and comfort her as one would a child.
Once her tears stopped, I carried her into the bedroom and marveled at how light she was. She did not resist when I made love to her, but in the system we lived under, resistance really wasn't an option for her. From the way she reacted to the things I did to her, I could tell that she enjoyed our lovemaking. The fact that I had given her pleasure, however, didn't assuage my guilt over what I done to her in the drawing room. After her second orgasm, she said she loved me over and over in her native language, even though we both knew that the society we lived in would never allow me to love her back. We made love many more times after that, but I never saw her again after I went to England on leave the following year and never returned.