Erina's heart fluttered the moment she entered the room to see the nude form of the eighteen-year-old slave boy standing in the corner. He looked utterly adorable! Soft platinum blonde hair, pale skin and a fleshy yet firm, plump posterior jutting out, begging to be spanked.

"What's your name, kitten?" The woman asked him in her sultry voice. It was the first time she had laid her eyes on him. The boy was a gift from the King himself, a reward for the work Erina had done commanding her forces at the Eastern border.

He shivered at those honeyed tones. "My name's Sasha, Mistress."

"How has Selma been taking care of you?" He heard the sound of layers of fabric being peeled off behind him as he moved to hold his hands on top of his head.

"Lady Selma has been very kind and patient with me, Mistress," the boy replied.

"My, a diplomatic boy, how interesting!" Her voice sounded amused. "I wasn't expecting Selma to pick me a cute boy who could be a conversationalist!"

"I'm no conversationalist, my lady," the boy bowed his head before realising he may have offended her. "I mean, I will try my best to keep up but my knowledge about the world is rather limited to keeping someone of your stature amused."

"I said you could be, not you will be," her reply came. "You are still young. True wisdom is seldom found in someone with such youthful buttocks."

The choice of words disconcerted the boy momentarily. "My lady?"

He felt her palm squeezing his left bottom cheek. A powerful hand, one befitting the strong commander of the King's forces.

"Wisdom takes time, effort and patience. I do not expect you to be a perfect boy, the fun in owning someone as young as you is the ability to train you, to teach you."

"Yes, Ma'am," he bowed his head.

"In any case, I did not have Selma pick someone like you to have elegant conversations." Erina raised her hand to deliver a crisp spank to the boy's fleshy left cheek. He gasped at the impact. "Nor did I choose you for your sexual prowess." Another spank followed on his other cheek.

"Mm... mistress," he gasped.

"Selma said you were the former whipping boy of one of the dukes in your former country?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sasha admitted. "It was my duty to be the one taking the licks meant for my master's son."

"It's a silly tradition if you ask me," she popped his butt once more. "But I suppose it explains why you are so well-behaved. Turn around."

The boy did so, eyes focused down on her bare feet. She wore a thin layer of black silk robes, he noticed.

"Look up."

The boy's eyes flicked up, gasping as it focused on her hand. A small thin rod, one meant to strike the bottoms of errant children and slaves. The hand holding the switch was strong as he took in Erina fully. At thirty-four, she looked very mature, black mascara across her strict eyes. Her bronze skin tanned from years. She was big, broad-shouldered with a massive bust which was shockingly firm without any hint of sag.

"Have you been spanked by Selma in the past three weeks?" she questioned.

"Y-yes, ma'am," he admitted truthfully. "She spanked me regularly every night before I went to sleep. She spoke of how I will be struck by your rod often as I carry out my duties so it was important to be diligent."

"You misunderstood," she grinned. "Your duty is to be struck by my rod."

"What?" The boy asked in bewilderment.

"I find no pleasure in some oafish brute sticking his manhood inside me. Nor does the prospect of a woman's tongue lapping up my cunt do anything but amuse me." She snapped the switch across her palm. "But the cries of a naughty boy while I strike his flesh, to hold him while he cries out in pain after... I wished for an adult whipping boy."

He looked down at the floor. "I see."

"Did you find pleasure in your corrections?" Erina asked him.

"I... perhaps," Sasha blushed. "As I grew older... yes. Whenever the young master's older sister would punish me. She had... no modesty to speak of, often bringing me to her bedchambers as she was changing to deliver a thrashing with her hairbrush while she wore only her inner garments."

"Do you wish for me to strip down to my undergarments for your corrections, boy?" Erina queried. She watched him gulp and nod quietly.

"Very well, then. Kneel in front of the mirror with your buttocks up high. I'll let you watch me thrash you." She slowly began removing each layer of fabric as the boy quickly made his way over to the mirror. He watched as each layer of clothing was discarded, the warrior woman's toned athletic frame coming to view.

Erina made her way over to the boy. "You may cry and scream, Sasha, as much as you like." She tapped the switch across his fleshy rump. "As this isn't a punishment on behalf of some stupid lad, I shall offer you a reward at the end." She raised the rod and struck his soft pillowy rear at full strength.

"Yeeowww!" he cried.

"Your buttocks are quite something, boy!" She beamed as she struck again. Watching how his rear rippled like firm jelly. "No wonder your former mistress liked to thrash you so much!"

"Ahh! She would have my buttocks oiled and massaged and kept in good condition, my lady." He tried to focus on how attractive the lady looked as she struck him over and over. The swell of her breasts underneath her flimsy bra, the way her hips moved as she struck him. He tried to stay still and take his licks in quiet dignity but soon realised how she loved it when he wasn't trying to remain stoic.

"I like it when I can get my men to cry out and scream," she hummed, walking over to rub and squeeze his buttocks. "So go ahead. I've had a dozen barbarian men who cried and wailed like little girls. Do you wish to test your pain tolerance against theirs?" She asked.

"No, ma'am!" he replied immediately, watching as she went back in position. With the next lash, Sasha let out a very 'girlish' cry as his mistress termed it.

"Excellent! You are indeed a fine young Whipping Boy, Sasha!" Erina stripped him methodically, a painter working on her fleshy canvas. The switch was of a smooth, whippy whalebone, flexible and light enough to not bruise but to sting. It was used on his rear when his master failed his studies, so Jake felt he was smaller once more as the memories of that time filled his brain. He now started blubbering and begging like a child, much to the muscular woman's delight.

"A dozen more strokes, sweetness," she spoke tenderly as she worked his sitspots. Lash after lash delivered with vigor. By this point, Sasha made no attempts to hold back himself. Her whipping had him go back into his primal instincts, sobbing as tears flooded down his handsome face.

As she finished up, his buttocks were a nice hot glow of cris crossing lines. She put the switch away and went to Sasha. "How long does it take for you to heal up?" she questioned.

"F-four hours, Ma'am." Sasha looked up with a face covered in tears.

"Good." She stretched. "I do need a nap. Up, lad." She picked him up, carrying him over to her bed, allowing his face to mush up against her bosom. Her strength was immense, he felt he was a boy once more, being carried by the maids for a nap. "Your reward for taking your lashes is the opportunity to warm my bed."

"Did I please you, Mistress?" he asked through his tears.

"Oh yes." Erina kissed his tearful face. Her palm went to his welts, softly rubbing and kneading his flesh, which got him to moan softly in pain. "Rest, my boy. Later we will see how well you take my strap. I miss the cries and screams of my soldiers during peace time."

He pressed into her warmth at the comment. "I will take it well, Mistress." He felt very safe, protected cuddling her. His cock getting slowly erect and pressing into her stomach.

"Good." She yawned. "And I better not wake up with your cum on my body, boy." She smirked. "Otherwise, there will be hell to pay."

"Of course not, Mistress." A mischievous smile flashed across Sasha's face. He remembered when his young lord had it, how he would beg and plead him not to go through with his mischief and it ended with Sasha across his lady's lap, the young lord watching with rapt interest. He remembered as he grew older than sixteen when would lose control and end up soiling her thighs and how the young master would laugh at the scene.

How would his mistress react, he wondered as her eyes drooped and slumber took over them both... if he was not her good boy?