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"Jennifer, you whip her. I'm too tired tonight," I announced.Both girls' heads came up and twisted toward me at this. Brittany coughed in the middle of a sob. A sudden light came to Jennifer's eyes and we shared a conspiratorial understanding.Brittany stared at me in dismay. "Oh no... Not her... Please!" she begged. She had risen to her knees in supplication. "It won't ever happen again... Master... please don't let her whip me." She sounded pitiful. She started crying again.Jennifer was watching me. I shrugged my shoulders in an indifferent manner. "Try not to break any more of her skin when you whip her," I said in a serious manner. "We don't need anyone getting an infection out here."Brittany crawled to my feet. "Oh please don't let her whip me," She pleaded earnestly. "I have been trying so hard to do everything right. She is just so mean. I can't stand having her whip me. It's not fair."I pulled my leg away from Brittany's grasp."You must learn, Brittany," I told her coldly. I. I had Saturday off but only could leave after Ihad served her coffee in bed and had to be home by 9:00 pm.The morning email with the images of all the girls that would be workingat the brothel would go out at 9:00 am to all the men in London richenough to pay £500 for anonymous pleasure with the woman of their choice.It was flattering that I was considered beautiful enough to be the onlyt-girl deemed to be worthy of wearing Derek's initials. The tattooadorned every woman's ass at the house, now including mommy who worked asa receptionist there. Her life had certainly changed in the past weekafter she had come up from Sydney to help me recover from the operation.A beautiful woman of 55, she and I looked more like sisters because ofher youthful appearance and perfect body. We were both petite, 5'5" inour stocking feet with perfectly shaped legs and matching hair styles,although mine was blonder in colour. We could share the same wardrobe andeven exchange shoes, since our feet were both.
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