Celia caught the rising ire in the housekeeper’s voice as she dressed down the maid next door. She always began her punishments by shaming her minions, shrinking them into submission with pokes of her whip or the strap in her hand. She seemed to savor these moments as if she were sampling one of Housekeeper’s soups. While she lectured the maid, she began to slap and hit with her balled fist. Each smack seemed to enhance her growing frenzy, her demonic need to punish.
She began to whip the girl, ignoring her muffled screams, driving her deep into hysteria. Celia knew the cause of the screams. The housekeeper’s whip was her favorite implement. It had tiny metal bits attached to its tendrils that delivered a bright sharp sting and bit hard into a maid’s skin. Celia listened and was ashamed
