“Hit me harder, my lord. Do not spare the rod,” the near-naked woman demanded.

“You deserve it, my lady, you know you do,” replied an imposing and authoritative male. “You did not obey my instructions, and you spent without permission.”

As I heard the voices, I took in the scene in front of me and looked closely at the man. He was tall and fully dressed. The lady had addressed him as my lord.

Is he a real lord? He looks like one, or is this the lady just being respectful?

The lord was a very handsome young man with a mane of long brown hair. Was he wearing a wig or was this his own hair? He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, silk waistcoat, blue coat with brass buttons, dark-coloured breeches, white stockings, and black buckled shoes. The shoes were polished to a high sheen and reflected the multitude of candles which, in the absence of electric lamps, were the sole source of illumination for the room in which the three of us stood.

Very late eighteenth century. Very Regency.

He was a fine specimen of a gentleman and held himself with pride and dignity, much as some favoured dandy would have done in the royal inner circle of those turbulent times. I looked at his trousers and noticed the bulge there at the front, straining to burst the shiny buttons, which were all that held back his engorgement. It was obvious that he was sexually aroused and enjoying himself spanking the woman.

The lord was standing in the middle of the candlelit room with a wooden paddle in his right hand. My attention switched to the woman. She had a mane of wonderfully pleated hair cascading over her bare arms, with delicate fresh flowers embedded in her magnificent coiffure. Her only garments were white stockings and a black garter belt. I could see her delicate, slender form with supple breasts but could not see her face. Her arms were stretched upwards, and she was tied by her wrists to a rope hanging from the ceiling.

I took in my surroundings of red painted walls and a deep soft Turkish carpet under my feet. There was a candelabra in each corner. The room was very sparsely furnished. I noticed a bed, a bench, and an ottoman. There were other items of furniture, too, but their shapes were peculiar and unfamiliar, and their purpose was unknown to me.

He hit her again. This time the stroke of the paddle was much harder, and he grunted with the effort, his long hair flying up and then falling back on his shoulders. The paddle landed straight on the pink cheeks of the lady’s naked bottom, emitting a pleasant smack sound as it did.

The woman squealed in appreciation.

“That’s good,” she gasped. “I want more of it. Please punish me, my lord, as I did wrong you. I did not obey your instructions, I spent without your permission, and I deserve to be punished by you.”

She was obviously enjoying being hit by a paddle on her exposed bare bottom, which had now changed its colour to a crimson red…

The gentleman was delighted with her response.

“You are a mean, disobeying harlot,” he shouted, swinging the paddle back for an even harder strike. He then swung his arm forward and whacked the young woman’s buttocks again.

She squealed once more. “Yes, my lord, I am a mean, disobeying harlot. I deserve my punishment. There is no excuse for spending without your permission.”

What has she spent? His money? What’s going on here? Why am I standing in a room watching a Regency-era gentleman administering this punishment and for what reason? Why is her crime of spending without permission so great? What does it really mean?

Is she a shopaholic maidservant and he a controlling master punishing her for overspending?

“You’ve displeased me,” shouted the lord, “you need to control yourself more, you can only spend when given permission.”

He put the paddle away on a chair nearby and took from there another tool of torture, something which looked like a leather whip with many endings. I suddenly realised what it was. This was the famous cat-o’-nine-tails. I’d seen a picture of it some time ago and was appalled that it was still used in some countries to administer corporal punishment.

And it was definitely in use in the Royal Navy during that period.

Surely he is not going to hit her with this. It would be appalling. Why would a gentleman like him want to punish this young woman so severely? What was her great crime that she ended up deserving such harsh punishment?

He came close to his victim and started fondling her buttocks with his right hand. He then slid his hand between her thighs, touching her feminine treasures and feeling her dampness.

Oddly, the expression on his face was one of stern disapproval.

“You are already well aroused,” he said, apparently displeased.

“Yes, Master, I am sorry, my lord.”

“This is without my permission.”

“I am very, very, sorry, my lord, please forgive me again.”

This time the man said nothing while eyeing her magnificent behind. And so the woman continued to speak, her voice quiet and submissive, yet somehow filled with desire and frustration.

“Oh, my lord,” she said. “I am so weak. I have no control over my body—as soon as you touch my altar of love, I am ready to spend. Please have mercy on me.”

He looked sternly at her, while vigorously rubbing his erection with his right hand, which he had withdrawn from the lady’s pink buttocks.