Chapter 1: Introducing the Alexanders

My family was not your average Norman Rockwell American family, which will become quite apparent shortly. I don't mean to say that I didn't grow up in a very loving family, because I did. It was just not the typical home.

My father's name is Bob Alexander. He was a very strong father figure; very firm, but loving and he had an extremely powerful personality. He was a senior executive at a large company, and as a result, we lived a very comfortable lifestyle. My dad was a handsome man, a little over six feet tall, his black hair graying at the temples, showing signs of middle age but still quite fit and strong.

My mother's name is Mary, and she is a more difficult person to describe. Physically she was quite beautiful and kept herself in excellent condition. She had dark blue eyes and light brown hair which she streaked with blonde. She had quite a nice figure, usually tanned, slim in all the places that she should be, with her hips and breasts swelling nicely. She was about 5' 5" and just a tad top heavy. She also had a fairly strong personality in most areas - the one exception was that she completely acquiesced to my father in every way. I never heard a single argument between them growing up, which I did not find strange until I began staying over at friend's houses and observing how their parents interacted. If there was ever a difference of opinion in my house, my father would listen carefully to my mother's arguments, however he would always make the make the final decision. My mother would never second guess him or in any way question him.

As for me, my name is Jake, and I am an only child. I like to think that I have always been a reasonably advanced child. I always had a number of friends and was fairly popular, but I never really felt I belonged in any of the school cliques. Physically, I had light brown hair which had darkened as I was growing up. I was usually one of the taller children in my class, and I was quite wiry until my mid teenage years.

In addition to my parents and myself, we had one other person living in the house, and this was the one area where our family most noticeably different from other families. The woman who lived with us served in the capacity of a housekeeper. I am not sure when she started with us, but she was nineteen years older than me. I never knew what her real name was; in our house, she was only called Girl.

You see, Girl was not a normal housekeeper. She had a bedroom in our attic, and received food in addition to board. However, she was not paid and she never took a vacation. While my friend's housekeepers joked around with the families whom they served and in many cases were considered part of the family, Girl most definitely was not.

Girl was almost always in uniform, and the uniforms that she wore were very revealing. Any time she bent over, her breasts were completely on display. Her skirts were very short and as far as I knew she owned no underwear. The uniform was traditional French maid by way of Fredrick's of Hollywood. In addition to the uniform, she always wore silver bands on her wrists and neck.

Girl had many tasks to perform, and if she did not perform them correctly or if she did something wrong in any way, she was punished. Since she did not receive any monetary compensation, the punishments that she received were corporal in nature. It was not uncommon to hear my father say at the dinner table, "Girl! Punishment position." At that point Girl would bend over the table near my father and pull her skirt up, exposing her bare ass. My father would then use his hand, his belt or a crop that was always at hand, depending on the severity of the infraction.

While she would often cry out softly, Girl would never complain or argue about her punishment. After each administration she would simply say, "Thank you, sir."

Girl was also punished in other ways, though when I was younger this was not done in front of me. Our attic contained two rooms, my playroom and her apartment. One day when I was about six or seven, I was entertaining myself in my playroom and I decided to go see what Girl was doing in her room. I knocked but there was no answer, so I opened the door and went in. The sight before me was truly amazing, though confusing to my young eyes. Girl was suspended naked from the ceiling by her wrists, a red ball in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes. Her legs were spread apart and chained to supports on the wall, and on her back were a truly impressive set of marks. It was clear that she had been whipped hard.

I suppose that I should have been worried seeing her like this, but I was not. Instead, I walked around her, examining her condition. I looked at the welts on her back, and as I continued around her I saw that she was marked on her front as well. I couldn't help it. I reached out and touched a welt on her back. She gasped behind the gag, and attempted to pull away, but she could not go far.

I moved closer and ran my fingers along each of the welts, trying to imagine what it must have been like for her to receive them. I continued following the welts around to her front. My fingers crossed over her stomach and her breasts. Her nipples hardened as I ran my fingers over them, following one of the welts. I moved my fingers down to her bald pussy and her thighs, where there were still more marks. As I traced the marks on her thighs I discovered that they were moist, though being so young, I did not understand what that meant. When I had finished tracing all the marks on her body I took a last look and then I left the room, closing the door behind me.

At dinner that night, while Girl was in the kitchen getting the food, I asked my father, "What was Girl punished for this morning?"

"Excuse me?" my father asked.

"I went into Girl's room this morning," I explained, "and I saw that she had been punished, harder than I've seen her punished before. I was just wondering why she was being punished."

My father looked at me for quite a long moment, not saying anything. Girl came in to clear our plates and then went back into the kitchen. Finally my father said, "Actually, she did not do anything wrong."

"Than why was she punished?" I asked.

"You wouldn't understand it right now, but I promise that I will explain it to you in the future," my father told me, and that was all that he would say.

Things continued normally, at least by my family's definition of normal, for another few years. The next major change in my life came when I was eleven. I was at the kitchen counter doing my homework, and I had a snack and drink next to me. Girl was quietly preparing dinner when she knocked over my glass of milk, spilling it on my work. She squeaked, "I'm sorry, sir," and we both rushed to clean up the mess. When it was clean, I looked over my work and saw that it was ruined, and that I would have to do it again.

Chapter 2 »