“What are you wearing?”

“I-”

 “Never mind, you know better. See the butler.”

“But... Yes, Mother.”

A long trudge through the mansion to knock on an open door.  “Mr Bates?”

“Another punishment, Miss H?”

<nod>

“You know the drill, I’m afraid.”

She does.  Pants down, over his knee.  

Eleven swats, one for each year of age, elicit whimpers then sobs.

Then into the corner, nose to wall. Eleven minutes with rear still bare, tail held high.  Shame as fiery as her rump.

“Hot chocolate to your room for when you’re done, Miss?”

A last tear vanishes into fur.  “Thank you.”