CONFESSION AT HOME

BY SHARPERGIRL

Note: All of my works include fantasy accounts of severe corporal
punishment, including punishment of the erogenous zones,
inflicted on young girls. These works are meant to arouse sexual
excitement and enjoyment for those readers interested in this
kind of fantasy subject. They on no account suggest that anyone
anywhere should perform such acts nor do these works suggest that
such acts have ever been performed.

We were blessed to live in such rural tranquility. Our lives
although simple by city standards were rich in everything that
truly nourishes the soul. Most of the population of our modest
town was either directly or indirectly involved in farming. This
closeness to the Earth also lent itself to an acceptance of a
moral code, which in our case was expressed in an almost
universal devoutness to the Christian faith.

My life had been uncomplicated but not without tragedy. My
parents were killed in a road accident when I was a baby. I was
brought up by elderly grandparents with a lot of help from the
Church minister. My twelve years had been happy enough. No great
knowledge of the world outside our community was necessary. I was
loved and reciprocated that love for the people around me who
looked out for me and helped me along the road to adulthood. I
was doing OK at school and enjoyed the sports and social
activities it provided for my peers and me.

I was also very involved with the church choir and wore the
uniform with pride. I practiced most Saturdays in the church hall
where Pastor Michael tutored us and coaxed harmonies from our
youthful and eager voices. This idyllic life was not without it's
drawbacks however. Discipline was strict. Spankings for children
and teens were still the norm in most households. Even though the
schools had been obliged by law to consign their paddles to the
museum, home discipline still came in sharp smacks and hot tears.
I have to say looking back that this did not at the time seem in
any way unfair or abnormal. The rules and limits were well
defined, we as kids knew where we stood and new what to expect if
we did wrong. The story I am about to tell however will reveal
how such simplistic views on right and wrong, and also how to
maintain discipline, resulted in a completely overwhelming
influence on my life and some of those around me.

When I was about eight years old my Grandfather became very
frail, and my Grandmother although still capable of running house
and home became fearful about a lack of discipline. Up until this
time I had been disciplined by my granddaddy either over his knee
with the back of a hardwood hairbrush, or sometimes a trip to the
outhouse was necessary where a supple razor strap would be
brought to bare on my backside and legs. I was not a bad girl,
but seldom would a month go by without my rear having to be
reddened and tears shed.

With the failing health of the dear old man a new system had to
be worked out. The choirmaster at the church, Pastor Michael had
always been a close friend of the family. He had been consulted
many times about my up bringing and how best to handle a spirited
little girl whose guardians were perhaps a little out of touch
with current trends. He had always been a wise and fair arbiter
for me. He had seen to it that I had not missed out on trips or
events frequented by my peers that my Grandparents were unsure
about or disapproved of. Visits to football games, school trips
to camp, even a pop concert in the next state, were championed by
pastor Michael on my behalf. It was entirely reasonable to me
therefore that my Grandmother took me to see him and to put it to
him that he would be responsible for disciplining me when needed.
He was a tall and fit looking man of fortysomething, with
slightly graying hair. He was single, his devotion having been in
the Catholic tradition of celibacy. We met him in his small house
next to the church hall. He invited us in, dressed as he always
was in his black suit and clerical collar, he always had an air
of authority.

There was some discussion and I was asked about things and told
what to expect. Pastor Michael would not be on hand to come
running to my attendance at any old time of day. He agreed
however to put aside time on a Saturday morning after choir
practice. I would report with a discreet letter that would
determine if I needed attention or not. Pastor Michael was a
former schoolmaster at a seminary and showed my Grandmother and
me a large flat paddle with holes in it. "This is a very
effective tool, I'm sure you won't want to be visiting me on a
regular basis for this!" My Grandmother commented that at eight
years old I was getting too big and too sassy by half for the
hairbrush and that the substantial paddle was just what I needed.
And so it was that the arrangement was made.

Several weeks passed where I was very well behaved or lucky not
to be caught doing anything I shouldn't. By biggest fault was
swearing, a hard habit to snap out of in polite company when you
spend most of your day with farmers kids. And so it was one day
when I turned up home from school, Grandma was waiting on the
porch. "Oh Susan, you really let yourself down! Sergeant Miller
from the Police station just called to let me know he heard you
and your gang of hoodlums cussin' and swearing like troopers all
the way down the high street! And he told me you used some
disgraceful language!" I was not about to lie or plead my way out
of this. Ordinarily I would have been on my way to the outhouse
to await a bare ass encounter with the razor strap. Under the new
deal however my date with a sore hiney was deferred for two more
days.

Saturday morning came. I rose early and had a light breakfast and
like most Saturdays got into my Choir uniform. A crisp white
cotton shirt and a red Plaid pleated skirt or Kilt as the Scot's
call them. Black pumps and white knee length socks completed the
outfit and I was already on my way out of the door when Grandma
stopped me and handed me the letter. "Don't shame yourself or
your family Susan, take what is coming to you with good grace and
learn your lesson". I felt a little queasy when I remembered the
big paddle. I handed the note to Pastor Michael and could not
concentrate at all on my singing. After the hour of practice my
colleagues all dispersed and went off home. Just the Pastor and
me left in the church hall. He opened the note and looked at me.
He shook his head and ushered me out of the hall and across to
the small house next to the church where he lived.

Once inside he turned to me and said "Susan, you have really done
something very unbecoming of a girl of eight and completely at
odds with what we expect from Choir members." His voice was quite
stern, harsh even, but I knew he was right to be angry. "I hope
you realize that the punishment is not going to be at all
pleasant for you." I felt this was stating the obvious somewhat
but could not bring myself to do much other than to sigh and
shrug in resignation. He sent me into the living room. "Shut the
curtains Susan and turn on the lights while I go and get the
Paddle". I was really shaking with some trepidation now. The room
darkened and artificially lit during broad daylight took on a
sinister atmosphere. The Pastor returned minutes later with the
large flat hardwood paddle. He laid it on a small table next to a
leather armchair. I stood staring at the formidable wooden
instrument. Tears started to well up and my stomach began to
tighten. I never knew why but whenever a spanking was imminent, I
would get intense butterflies and a strange intense tingling in
my pee tube, this was no exception…I wanted to itch myself there
badly and had to shuffle my feet and squeeze my thighs together
to try to stop the anxious feeling.

"You are going to get two dozen hard spanks Suzan, twelve across
your bare bottom and six on each thigh. It is very important that
you are positioned correctly and that you do not move around
while the paddle is being applied". He went on to describe the
position in which I was to present myself. I was told to kneel
with one knee on each of the padded arms of the leather chair. I
was made to remove my shoes before climbing up onto the arms.
Once up and straddling the seat of the chair I was told to
shuffle forwards facing the back of the chair until my knees
rested against the upright chair back with my hips level with its
top. "Now Susan, bend from the waist forward over the back of the
chair and reach down with your arms toward the floor". I did as I
was told, breathing heavily. In this position my body was well
supported and in a very stable position. "That Susan, is the
position you must remain in for the spanking. If you move out of
position we will have to start from the beginning, do you
understand?" I murmured my answer from behind the chair. I heard
him move toward me and felt the cool air on the tops of my thighs
as he flipped my skirt up over my back. I felt very vulnerable
and started to sob quietly.

"Now Susan you realize that in this position your legs are widely
parted. This makes the position more stable and allows me to
spank your thighs as well as your upturned bottom. I am also sure
you realize that without the benefit of your underpants this
position would be extremely revealing and makes for a lewd and
unseemly display of your vaginal opening." I swallowed hard with
embarrassment realizing this last point all too well as I felt my
slit opening inside my little white panties. "I'm afraid I will
have to ask you to remove your panties as it is important to
spank your bare bottom, but as a man of the Church I cannot allow
such a flagrant display of an eight year old girl's vagina during
a punishment session in my own home. I am therefore going to
allow you to cover that area in a special way before we proceed,
you can get down now while I explain". Tears of embarrassment now
flowed down my cheeks as I got off the chair and stood before
him. He sat on the seat of the chair and produced a wide strip of
band-aid type plaster. "I want you to cover your opening with
this, stick it down well on both sides and position the wad of
dressing along the line of your vaginal slit."

He spoke so matter of factly that I could not believe what I was
hearing at first. "You will find it much easier to preserve your
modesty if you remove any pubic hair before coming here for the
paddle in future". I nodded automatically in response to his
suggestion. "Now, if you go through that door there is a
bathroom. I want you to go there, try to pass urine, as this will
be the last opportunity you get. Once you have done that there is
a clean razor and some soap. Remove your pubic hair, dry yourself
thoroughly and stick the plaster in place. "But pastor Michael, I
don't know how to use a razor, I have never shaved myself
before!" My heart pounded… I had never discussed "fairy fluff"
with anyone but my closest girlfriends or my Grandmother before
today. I only have a little fluff, I'm not old enough to be hairy
yet! Pastor Michael said that even the whispy down must be
removed, he seemed quite insistant, but I sobbed that I could not
do it myself. "Very well Susan, on this occasion I will shave you
bare, but you will need to practice at home and be ready next
time. I took the strip of pink fabric plaster from him with
quivering hands and shuffled off into the bathroom. Having closed
the door behind me I started to hyperventilate, I took down my
thin cotton briefs and kicked them off onto the floor. Sat for a
while on the toilet contemplating my fate and wishing my bladder
would empty. I then ran a basin full of warm water and began to
soap myself between my legs and over my downy mound. I really did
not have any "hair" only the lightest covering of soft fuzzy
down.I got all soapy and called him in. I nearly died with
embarrassment as he perched me on the edge of the wash bench,
made me spread my legs wide open and set about my fairy with a
disposable razor. After a few moments I was shaved clean between
my legs, he left me to dry myself and I was now seated on the
edge of the toilet seat legs splayed, applying the adhesive strip
to cover my bare, fluff-free vagina. With my heart pounding in my
chest I emerged from the bathroom with my skirt in place but
holding my tiny white panties like a white flag of surrender.
"Put those in your pocket Susan so you don't forget them, you
won't be wanting to put them on for quite some time after I have
finished with you, now, up on the chair into position and let's
get this over with".

I leaned over the chair back, my pelvic bone pushed back and
outward stretching the fabric patch that protected my slit from
this man's gaze. I steadied myself and thought about what Grandma
had said "Don't shame yourself or your family Susan, take what is
coming to you with good grace and learn your lesson". I gripped
the lower edge of the Chair back, locked my skinny leg muscles
and shut my eyes tightly wanting so badly to get this ordeal out
of the way. I felt him raise my skirt, cool air on my buttocks; I
felt my anus twitching involuntarily with anticipation and my pee
tube starting to tingle as the anxiety peaked.

"I will start on your thighs Susan, each thigh in turn until you
have had six spanks on each, then we will have a dozen across
your bare buttocks, Before each spank I want you to ask for your
punishment in an clear voice, If you are crying or screaming you
must wait until you can catch your breath before asking for the
next spank." I was crying now, the tears dripping onto the carpet
behind the chair. "You will say: Please spank my bare bottom hard
for using naughty words."

I took a deep breath gritted my teeth and hissed, "Please spank
my bare bottom hard for using naughty words."

There was a low-pitched whoosh, my body went rigid, my heart
leaped, my neck snapped back. There was a loud crack! Like a
firecracker as the hard wood caught my stretched left thigh just
below my bottom. My squeal was stifled by an involuntary reflex
that pushed the back of my tongue up into my throat, the pain was
scorching and my slender body convulsed, and juddered against the
chair back. I gasped and hissed and tried not to disgrace myself.
Pastor Michael had moved to the other side and was waiting….

"Please spank my bare bottom hard for using naughty words."

Again the low whoosh signaled the arrival of another scorching
blow cutting across the top of my right thigh, impact rippling
through my slender muscles, white heat burning the tender skin
and the involuntary thrashing of my pelvis against the sturdy
leather upholstery. He moved back to my left side…. "Pplease
spank mmy bare bottom for using naughty words."

"Incorrect Susan, you will ask me to spank your bare bottom
HARD…. remember?"

"Yesssss, Please spank my bare bottom HARD for using naughty
words." It came, directly onto the already glowing thigh flesh
from the previous swat… I squealed and hissed and could not stop
myself jerking upright and grabbing my scorched thighs…

I realized what I had done and quickly resumed my position
forcing my blazing rear high up over the seat back… "Susan, as it
is your first time I will overlook that, but if you do that again
I will start from spank number one, understood?" I burbled and
nodded and tried to look around at him from the back of the seat…
my hair was stuck to my wet tear soaked face, he was waiting for
his cue. "Please spank my bare bottom hard for using naughty
words." And on it went relentlessly that hard flat paddle beating
my tender thighs red raw making me squirm and shudder trying to
deflect the pain and yet stay in position. After six on each
thigh I was having real trouble asking for my punishment in a
clear voice, as I was almost unable to control my breathing for
the terrible pain. "It hurts a lot more than the strap or the
hairbrush doesn't it Susan?" I agreed grateful for the lull in
activity. I'm going to spank your buttocks now Susan and you are
going to ask me to spank you much harder this time please, and,
when you are ready…

I drew a deep breath, my anus twitched and the tingling in my pee
tube was almost unbearable, my buttocks felt cool due to
perspiration and were in complete contrast to the fire upon which
they were perched. "Please spank my bare bottom MUCH HARDER for
using naughty words." It struck with awesome force right across
the tender part of my spread taut hiney. The paddle slapped into
my buttocks so hard that I felt it's sting across my vaginal
mound, but this was incidental to the excruciating pain in the
buttocks which bore the brunt of the force. My head was shaking
wildly, my back arching and bowing but desperately trying to keep
my bottom in position. I felt the cool air on my anus as it
spasmodically relaxed and contacted. The tingling in my pee tube
started to burn slightly. I'm sure if my vagina had not been
taped up I would have been squirting pee onto the leather seat. I
took a long time to settle and Pastor Michael let me know this
was not acceptable "Get on with it Susan!"

"Please spank my bare bottom MUCH HARDER for using naughty
words."

Again and again and again the paddle battered my young tender
backside, I fought the screams and stifled the gasps, convulsing
and gyrating wildly within the limited parameters of maintaining
my position to receive the stinging onslaught. On it went, I lost
count and was deep in the chaos of suppressing my urge to leap up
and run whilst mustering the resolve to ask to be beaten again
when I felt Pastor Michael's hand on my forehead. "OK Susan, it's
over. Twenty-four good spanks and you took it very well
considering it was your first time. I hope you will think twice
before being such a foul mouth again." I got down from the seat.
My plaid skirt felt like sandpaper on my incandescent rump. I put
my hands on my behind, shocked at the texture of hard blistered
bumps where the paddles holes had left a pattern of impact
craters on my skin. "Go and wash your face with cold water and go
straight home. You don't need to put your underpants back on if
you promise to go straight home. I'll leave you to remove the
modesty patch at your leisure. My emotions were all topsy-turvy
and my nerves were jangling. I moped my face, put a comb through
my tear soaked hair and left, walking very gingerly in the
afternoon breeze for home. I quickened my pace, as I did not want
to meet anyone along the way. The tape between my legs pulled
awkwardly as I lengthened my stride. Eventually I was on our
verandah and through the screen door into the shade of Grandma's
parlor. "Well young lady, looks like you have been given just
what you deserve."

"Oh Grandma it hurt so much, he did it to me so hard I just could
not help squealing and crying, I don't think I took it with good
grace but I certainly learned my lesson."

Grandma smiled, "Good, now let's have your skirt off and see the
damage. I unfastened the skirt and let it drop to the floor. I
gasped as I caught sight of my crimson and purple rear in the
full-length mirror.

"My oh my! What a good spanking he has given you. Thighs and all,
he really knows how to get a girl's attention, thighs really
sting, I'm glad he spanked your thighs. Looks like he had you
bent right over with your legs spread? Hmmm, he's a decent fellow
letting you cover your modesty like that, but then again it's
probably the last thing he needs is to have to look at a little
girl splaying her privates while he's trying to discipline her."
I looked at the floor barely able to imagine what I would have
looked like from his point of view without that small patch of
pink fabric preserving the last vestige of modesty left me. "Now
go up to your room and spend time thinking on your misdeeds and
your punishment. I'll call you down at suppertime."

I closed my room door and started to cry, I took off my shirt and
my crop top. I peeled off my socks and sat on my bed. Initially
the cool cotton sheets felt good but soon the deep throbbing
sting made sitting not an option. I lay on my front, naked
sobbing and still quivering uncontrollably at irregular
intervals. Removing the modesty patch was a horrible experience.
I tried gradually peeling it away, but resorted to tearing it off
in one sharp pull. I really did not need any more pain, and
although it was over in seconds I lay for a while on my side with
my hand between my legs.

Between the burning and throbbing sensations, the muscle spasms
and the little shocks in my pee hole it did not take long for me
to discover the soothing effect of a finger running along the
slit of my vagina. I was aware of these pleasurable sensations
from little explorations at bath time and also sometimes when the
shower jet was placed just so. Once the tape had been removed I
found my vagina was oozing thick clear goo, which made the
sensation of stroking myself down there all the more pleasurable.
My tingly pee hole and the little nub above it responded
particularly well to the attention, so much so that I was soon
vibrating my finger vigorously all over that area and writhing
under an almighty orgasm. My newly shaved vagina started to spasm
sending electricity through my whole body. I thrashed and moaned,
squirted my slimy stuff, drove fingers deep inside me, dribbled
and quivered in a massive release of tension and anxiety. As I
came back to reality, I was slightly panicked by what had
happened. Although I had been massaging myself between the legs
since I could remember I had never climaxed and had never
produced slimy stuff in such quantities. I managed to clean up
the mess between my legs and on the sheets and resolved to ensure
I had a towel or washcloth handy for the next time. I was
determined there would be a next time!

And so it was that I found a wonderful release from the pain and
discomfort of my spankings at Pastor Michael's. That first
spanking he gave me at age eight was not repeated any time soon,
but within a couple of months I was back, having already shaved
and applied the modesty patch. The terrible beating was taken as
stoically as I could manage. I walked home briskly with no
panties on, but this time not for fear of meeting people but
driven by an overwhelming eagerness to massage my vagina and have
waves of blissful pleasure wash over every nerve. And so it
continued up until the present and at twelve years I am still in
the choir and still occasionally hand a note to Pastor Michael.
Due in some measure to my age and also due to some lapses and
very bad behavior, he introduced a long cane when I was about ten
which he has used on me on special occasions, usually to
complement and already blistering dose of the paddle. More
recently I have been getting to know a horrible swishy riding
whip which he says is more suited for a twelve year old of my
temperament.

Even as the severity of the punishments increased to match my age
and more serious transgressions, the punishment ritual remained
very much the same. I still reported in my Choir uniform. I was
still required to shave my vagina and wear the modesty patch. The
leather chair still provided the support for my punished body,
and I still was made to ask before each stroke for my bare bottom
to be spanked, caned or whipped, depending on Pastor Michael's
choice of implement. My little sessions of contemplation after
each thrashing also continued. This had been enhanced by my
obtaining a wonderful vibrator that probed deep into my vagina
and had a thinner probe to tease my anus also. One of the older
choir girls had loaned it to me after we had talked about
"diddling" after some boys had tried to embarass us with pictures
of naked people making love to each other. My initial shock was
soon replaced with curiosity and a million questions which lead
to the girl lending me her plaything, basically to shut me up I
think. The deep pleasures of masturbation were never strong
enough to make me "want" to be punished, the pain was way beyond
the pleasure, but having had to be punished it certainly allowed
me to console myself and release my anxieties and tensions in
blissful moments of passion in the aftermath.

Things could have gone on that way, but there was the one time
that changed everything in our little town forever. Pastor
Michael had given us a Saturday off from Choir so that we could
go and watch the local School football team. I had of course
discovered boys by this time, although we were very closely
watched. Apart from a few sticky fumblings at the movies, I was
totally inexperienced. I was (apparently) regarded by the boys in
the team as "Hot". The wanted me to join the Cheerleaders, but my
Grandparents and Pastor Michael did not approve, and anyway I was
too young and would have had to give up the choir. I however held
a torch for one of the boys in the team and would never pass up
an opportunity to be where he was, although he was older than me
by four years, and probably already had a girl.

Unfortunately, the week before the match, I slipped-up badly. It
had been at least two months since I had been spread over the
leather chair. I was doing well. The introduction of the riding
whip certainly made me think twice about stepping out of line.
However one evening I had gone round to a friend's party. I had
lied to Grandma and told her we would be cramming for our exams.
There was beer, cigarettes and loud music. A window was broken.
The neighbors called the Police. I was not in for any trouble
with the police, but the incident was the talk of the town.
"Twelve year olds involved in drinking spree" was the way it came
out. Grandma wrote the letter to Pastor Michael. "You will have
to call in and see if he can attend to you after the football
game as you won't be going to Choir." I went to Pastor Michael's
after school the next day. He agreed on the condition that I came
by the house as soon as the football game was over.

It was a strange feeling on Saturday morning. Instead of my Choir
uniform I dressed to please. On all my previous punishment
sessions I had been in my uniform and had had the Choir practice
for an hour and a half during which the stomach knots would start
and the tingling in my pee tube would build slowly. How was I
going to have a good time with all my friends that morning when I
knew all the while that I was going for a whipping on the way
home? I was excited about the game, and about getting noticed by
the boys. I selected a tiny denim mini skirt, and a pink bandeau
top. I wore nothing underneath except a pink satin micro thong,
which I had bought on a shopping trip with the girl who lent me
the vibrator. I remembered at the last minute to shave my vagina,
(although it was still hardly necessary) ready for the modesty
patch to be applied later. I wore my hair up, and applied liberal
amounts of makeup. A pickup arrived outside with a couple of
friends, I said goodbye to Grandma, and I was away, fighting the
thoughts of whipping and welcoming the admiration of the male
members ofthe crowd.

It was a great morning. We cheered and laughed and the team even
won. It was all over too soon. I found myself leaning against the
pickup in the arms of a strong and handsome linebacker. We kissed
unashamedly. He was making improper suggestions about how we
should spend the afternoon. His frisky hands had already
attempted several forays up my thighs, which I had blocked at the
last possible second before his fingers could connect with the
pink satin covering the object of his desire. He went off to
change and I made my excuses and left. It would take me half an
hour to walk to Pastor Michael's. My friends in the Pickup would
not be leaving for a while, and I needed time to contemplate my
fate. My feelings were all mixed up. My heart was pounding. The
knot forming in my tummy slowly replaced the thrill of being so
close to that handsome boy. The thought of that swishy whip and
being up-ended over the chair got my pee tube tingling as the
anxiety built up inside me. As I walked briskly along the road I
began to realize what a mistake it was to have combined a
punishment session with a morning of fun and frolics. I began to
feel very vulnerable in my skimpy clothes. I had only ever
presented myself to Pastor Michael in my uniform, with straight
hair and no makeup. Somehow it did not feel right to be going
there dressed as I was. I became conscious of my long bare legs,
bare midriff and my makeup. I thought about going home first to
change, but there would not be time. Pastor Michael had warned me
not to be late as the consequences would be dire. Anyway, here I
was walking up to his door as I had done many times before. On
this occasion I was as afraid as I had ever been of what was in
store for me.

The screen door opened and he just stood and stared at me. "Oh my
dear girl, what on earth do you think you are doing walking
around dressed like that? Does your Grandmother know you are out
looking like some cheap tart?" I did not know what to say, he
ushered me in and closed the door. "Into the room now, I don't
want anyone to see you here looking like that." His voice was
angry, I cried bitterly. He picked up the long shiny black riding
whip and pointed to the chair. The paddle was there too lying on
the table. In order to pull my panties down I lifted the tight
little mini skirt up around my waist. He shouted at me, "Good god
girl, what are you wearing under that skirt?" He had only seen me
in white cotton briefs before and was staring wide eyed at the
little lace trimmed pink satin triangle that only barely covered
my vaginal mound. He saw the back of me and tut tutted at the
thin band of lycra that stretched from the waistband and
disappeared between my buttocks. "Are you trying to insult me
with this disgraceful display?" I sobbed and tried to protest but
he was livid. I stood there weeping with hot tears streaming. The
knot in my stomach was unbearable and my pee tube was burning. It
was at this point that I became aware of the fact that my tiny
pink thong was saturated and that there was a very obvious blob
of slimy stuff soaking through the material. "Get that disgusting
garment off, clean yourself up and apply your modesty patch young
lady this instant". I quickly shimmied out of the thong and went
through my purse. I took a wad of paper tissue and wiped myself.
Then I realized I could not find the modesty patch I had prepared
that morning… "I can't find it Pastor, I'm sorry, I thought I had
it but I can't…"

"You are an animal! This is a premeditated attempt to insult and
embarrass me! But it won't work! I will put paid to your
perverted little game here and now… get yourself up on that
chair!" I was shocked at his anger and wanted to pee in fright. I
contained the urge and got myself in position very conscious of
my wet slit gaping open and showing everything we would have
rather kept hidden. "Just you wait there while I compose myself."
He left the room. I tried to control my breathing and wished I
were at home in my room.

A few minutes later he came back in. "Susan, I'm sorry I lost my
temper. I do not approve of what you have done and the
consequences are going to be very serious. However you are here
to be punished for last week's misdeeds. We will get that over
with today and I will see you and your Grandmother later to
discuss what needs to be done in future." I was at once relieved
but also apprehensive. His tone was back to the calm matter of
fact manner I was used to but the implications of what he had
said were worrying. You will be getting the usual two dozen swats
with the paddle to warm up your backside and thighs, and then I
will give you two dozen hard purple stripes with the horsewhip".
This was as I had feared, the horsewhip was a terrible thin
leather clad crop about 3 feet long with a leather tassel on its
end. When used on the thigh it bent round and left it's
blistering welts on the tender inner thigh, welts that took weeks
to fade. When used on my buttocks he whipped each buttock
individually, six strokes each from alternate sides so that the
tassel would flick between the buttocks scalding my anus and
occasionally snapping down onto the modesty patch. The tassel did
not hurt in comparison to the rigid whippy end cutting deep into
the skin, but it was very uncomfortable and irritating. l He
picked up the well seasoned paddle and waited for his cue.

"Please spank Susan's bare bottom hard for staying out late at
parties."

And off he went with great vigor. As I was being mercilessly
spanked with the paddle I could not help but notice how different
I felt without the modesty patch. Each swat of the paddle sent a
gust of air over my gaping vaginal lips. I felt myself opening
and closing with the urgent muscular spasms induced by the
terrible pain of each impact. By the time I was asking for my
bare bottom to be whipped very hard with the riding whip I was
also aware that I was dripping slimy stuff and squirting little
jets of pee over the seat of the chair as I squealed at the top
of my lungs from the deep scorching cuts. My voice was almost
gone I was shaking and totally exhausted as the last gunshot
crack faded in the silence of the quiet afternoon, my wheezing
sobs and frantic gasps the only audible sign that such a frantic
whipping had taken place. His voice broke through the mayhem of
pain and distress that buzzed in my brain. "You have had a very
hard whipping Susan. In fact I have never whipped anyone as hard
as that and you have taken it well. You are bleeding in a few
places, but I'm sure you will agree that you deserved something
special for being so disobedient." I tried to lift my shoulders
up to turn and face him but as I did I felt his hand pressing me
gently but firmly back into position. "However I think we need to
take this just a little further today, you were very careless in
forgetting your modesty patch. As a result I have been obliged to
witness the disgusting and debased display offered by your
uncovered and gaping genitals throughout the whole process. Also,
due to the patch being absent, your total lack of control has
resulted in a good deal of urine and vaginal fluid being
deposited on my favorite leather chair. So, six more on each
buttock Susan, but I will be applying the strokes vertically so
that they cross the stripes you already have at right angles. To
do this you will need to adopt a different position so you can
now get down from the chair".

I carefully dismounted and stood before him, my skirt still up
around my waist. I stood with my legs parted and crossed my hands
in front of my bare mound and looking at the floor aware that my
tears were still streaming down and dripping on to my small
breasts. The brief Bandeau that constrained them was wet with
tears and sweat, I couldn't help noticing how obviously my
nipples stood out under the thin lycra. Pastor Michael pointed to
the seat of the chair with the quivering end of the whip. "You
see this Susan?" The drips and squirts from my vagina had made an
obvious stain on the seat. I nodded. "This looks to me like a big
problem that we need to address. We have always had the modesty
patch which would have prevented this mess, but I am concerned
that you came here today wearing very revealing clothes and
underwear obviously designed for sexual excitement. I would be
very upset to learn that you were coming here in a state of
sexual excitement Susan. It is highly inappropriate for a girl of
your age and upbringing to be displaying sexual urges. We will
talk about this more later, but I want you to know that I will be
talking to your Grandparents about this and if I find that you
are regularly pleasuring yourself and producing Girl-mess like
this then we will have to take very strict action. For today
however I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume this
mess is as a result of the painful whipping and involuntary
spasms it has caused." This was the first time I had heard the
term girl-mess and I found it very embarrassing and humiliating,
especially as my vagina was still pulsating in spasms and oozing
more goo that started to run down my thighs. I was told to go to
the bathroom to get a cloth to wipe the seat clean. Walking was
very difficult, I was still shaking uncontrollably and my muscles
in my backside and thighs had tightened up, the blazing pain
throbbed relentlessly. The bathroom had a mirror, I gasped at the
sight of my crimson skin decorated with ugly black tramlines from
the whip. Small lacerations oozed blood in several places, I ran
my fingers along the hard welts and wondered if they would ever
fade completely. I was also very aware that the neat slot in my
shaven mound was gaping and the dark pink labia were hanging down
glistening wet, even worse, the little hood over my clitoris had
withdrawn and my nub was poking out like a little pink pearl. My
heart pounded anew as I contemplated yet more strokes of the
whip, stomach knotting up and the tingle coming back like
electricity darting up and down my pee tube. I was called back
into the room.

"OK Susan, I want you to kneel down on the floor in front of me,
good girl, now cross your ankles behind you, that's it, and now
on all fours, OK. Now, I want you to go down onto your elbows and
rest your head and chest on the floor in front." I did exactly as
I was told and ended up prostrate on the floor with my bottom in
the air. "Now Susan you must spread your knees as far apart as
you can, good and keep your bottom and vagina pointing as high as
possible, arch your back, good!" In this position I was spread
much more widely than on the chair. Not only was my slit open but
I could feel my deep vaginal tunnel gaping too! I cried bitterly,
wishing so hard that I had the little pink patch to cover myself
with. "Susan, I want you to know that there are those who would
recommend that a girl in your state with vaginal swelling and
girl-mess in evidence be soundly spanked directly on her vaginal
opening". I sobbed, took a breath and started to plead. "No, No,
please please don't' whip me there, I'm sorry I forgot the patch,
I can't help the mess, please anything but that.." He let my sobs
fade. "It's OK Susan I'm not going to, but you should know that
it may be something we will have to consider in future unless you
mend your ways." I sighed and started shaking again, my vagina
started to pulse and my pelvic muscles flexed trying to suppress
the anxiety still itching in my pee tube. He moved around
swishing the whip, looking at me from all angles, I new I was
continuing to pump girl-mess out of my twitching slit, which now
dripped onto the floor between my wide spread knees, my anus too
was out of control as the panic started to build in anticipation
of a dozen more lashes with that vicious whip. He placed his feet
on either side of my head. "I am going to hold your head steady
between my legs Susan and you can hold on to my ankles for
support." I shuffled in to place and he gripped my neck firmly
between his calves.

He tapped my blistered rump gently with the whip end. I shuddered
and let out a long terrified moan. "Hmmm, Susan, your bottom is
so badly scarred by the whip that I think I will revise your
additional punishment. Instead of giving you six vertical stripes
on each of your already whipped buttocks, I will concentrate the
strokes on areas where we have not yet marked. I want you to let
go of my ankles and reach around to pull your buttocks wide apart
for me Susan. I sobbed as I repositioned my arms. "Please don't
whip my 'gina, please Pastor Michael, not my 'gina."

I pulled my already spread buttocks as wide as I could with my
hands planted firmly on the blistered stripes which stung and
ached at the same time. "No Susan your Vagina and anus will be
spared on this occasion, I will give you six strokes on each side
between here, and here." He laid the whip along the crease that
marked the limit of my thigh and the start of my pubic mound and
then again along a line where the marks I already wore stopped.
This was a very tender area and the thought of having it whipped
immediately sent my pee tube into spasm squirting a little jet
out onto the floor. "I am going to give these places a very hard
whipping, Susan you must be prepared and hold your position and
hold yourself open for the whole twelve strokes. If you move or
let go you will risk getting it on your vagina because the area
to be whipped is very close to it. I know you don't want the whip
to hurt your vagina so it will be up to you to keep still. I
locked my leg muscles and arched my spine to get the whipping
target as high and as unobstructed as possible. I felt another
little squirt squeezing out of my pee tube. "Now Susan, before we
start it is very important that you know why you are being
whipped and acknowledge your acceptance of the punishment by
asking politely and in a clear voice for each stroke of the whip.
So, when you are ready I want you to give me the instruction as
follows: Please whip me between the legs for making girl-mess on
your chair." I would have rather died than say such a thing in
ordinary circumstances, but my mind and body were in turmoil and
I just wanted it to be over. In some strange way, caught in this
situation, it had a weird logic to it as if legitimizing what was
about to happen to me. A deep breath, as I started to speak my
anus began twitching open and closed. In a trembling faltering
voice I asked for my punishment to start. "Please whip me between
the legs for making girl-mess on your chair."

The whip screeched down from behind Pastor Michael's shoulder and
buried its stinging tip deep in the tender crease beside my bald,
wet and gaping peach. My mind fizzed and my body convulsed, the
horrible sound of my own scream broke into my consciousness from
somewhere outside. I panted gasped, gave little squeals as I
fought to control my breathing in order to request the next
searing lash. God only knows what pain would have been inflicted
if he had been whippint the soft labia and clitoris, now so
exposed. Eleven sharp cuts later I was maddened by pain and was
making animal noises as my neck was released from between pastor
Michaels Legs. I rolled onto my side and kept one leg propped up
to allow the air to cool the molten flesh at the very tops of my
inner thighs. Six precision-spaced tramlines blistering purple
and cherry red now framed on either side my pubic area. The dark
hole of my gaping vagina still pumping spasmodically with strands
of mucus draped from the engorged labia. I had done more than
squirt during the horrible ordeal, there was a considerable
puddle on the floor as my tingling urethra had finally given in
and allowed my bladder to empty while asking for the seventh
stroke.

Pastor Michael stood over me still holding the hot sweat soaked
whip. "That was a severe lesson Susan, and a warning to you of
what could happen if you give in to lustful urges. When you are
ready you can clean up your mess, have a wash and go straight
home." I was only able to blubber a reply and crawled into the
bathroom. I mopped up the pee and blobs of girl-mess. I stood up
very very carefully. The pain intensified as I closed my thighs,
walking was going to be sheer agony. I pulled down the denim
skirt. It only just covered my buns and left my blazing striped
thighs completely uncovered. I looked around for my panties.
"I'll keep these if you don't mind Susan, I need to talk to your
Grand parents about this." I did not argue, I just wanted to go
home. "Go along now Susan most people will still be at lunch so
if you run, nobody will see that you have had your legs whipped."

I could not run, I hobbled, fighting back the tears and gasping
with each tortured step. In the ten minutes it took me to get
home three cars had passed, no one I knew I hoped, and as they
passed I turned toward them so that the stripes on the backs of
my thighs would not be so obvious. At home Grandma held me in her
arms while I sobbed bitterly. I lifted my skirt and leaned over
to show her the marks. "Well I know he will have had his reasons"
She said. "I must say you did not do yourself any favors dressing
like that in front of a conservative churchman". I was sent
upstairs with her assurances that she would ring the Pastor and
find out all about the reasons for the extra hard whipping
between my legs. As I shuffled upstairs I heard her dialing on
the phone. I got to my room and stripped off my skirt and
bandeau. I stood in front of my mirror. My nipples were hard and
rigid. My vagina still engorged, lips and nub protruding. I
pinched my nipples, dug my nails into the pink flesh. The strange
sensation of pain in each nipple seemed to trigger the itch in my
pee tube again. I needed a shower badly as I could smell my own
must. I turned around and examined my scars. I got down on the
floor and positioned myself exactly as I had been for the last
part of my whipping. It was indeed a very unseemly and degrading
sight that was reflected back at me. I lay on the bed, on my side
with legs wide open. The throbbing pain was too terrible to
endure, soon my fingers were circling in the sloppy wet crevice
below my clitoris, I smeared some of my goo onto my anus and
rubbed it and poked my way inside. I reached under the pillow and
found my vibrator. It buzzed softly but sent strong vibrations up
my arm as I held it. Gently slowly, beautifully it slid inside
me, I closed my eyes and massaged myself the deep throbbing pain
faded slightly as it was counteracted by the gently vibrating
tingle, a blissful release. As the thick corrugated torpedo sunk
deeper into my wet and grasping sheath, the thin anal probe began
its inexorable penetration into my bask passage. I moved the
switch to the second position and sighed as the little probe
began to tremble on it's way into me. I moved my hips back and
forth, gently thrusting against the hard vibrating probes. My
hand darted between my nipples and my bulging clitoris. As the
orgasm built inexorably deep within me I closed my eyes and let
the rapture wash away my burning pain. Gasping and thrusting
wildly my vagina and anus pulsed, gripping and releasing the dual
probes. I moaned and shuddered as the climax finally exploded
upon me. Panting and gasping, eyes still closed I let the
vibrating tool slide from me in an outpouring of girl-mess. I
opened my eyes and was stunned to find my Grandmother and Pastor
Michael standing in the doorway of my room. My brain went into
overdrive, but I was so weakened by events that all I could do
was to cry bitterly in shame sprawled on my bed with the tool
still buzzing lying on the sheet in the mess between my spread
legs.

"I think you had better give that disgusting device to me and
follow us downstairs young lady" My grandmothers voice trembling
with shame and disgust. I handed it over, switching it off as I
did so. They retreated into the hallway and I heard Pastor
Michael's deeper voice as they proceeded downstairs. "I'd had my
suspicions, but I'm afraid until today's session I was not sure….
I don't know what to tell you, but I believe we have to resort to
some form of punishment that will serve as aversion therapy for
the sinful girl…"

I eventually found enough strength in my trembling legs to carry
me to the top of the stairs. Naked and sobbing with tears
streaming down my face and on to my still hard nipples, I took
the first step. I could see my Grandparents sitting on the sofa
looking horrified as Pastor Michael stood before them with my
pink thong panties and the vibrator in his hands. "These are the
signs that she has gone into the abyss, our Church has strict
guidelines on how to deal with this. It is not talked about
because the rest of this sin-ridden society would never agree to
such severe punishments. If you want to saver you will have to be
bold and let the consequences of her actions be visited upon her
in full measure". As I got half way down I caught my breath,
there in front of them, coiled on the coffee table was a gleaming
leather whip. I could make out a stout handle of about a foot
long. From one end sprang a mass of knotted leather thongs. I
stared at it and they saw me enter the room. "Yes, Susan, It's a
Cat O' Nine tails, and you know what needs to be done with it
don't you?" I sobbed louder. My Grandparents looked very
uncomfortable but remained stoic. "It's a very special whip
Susan, coated in a very light oil that has natural antiseptic.
Pick it up Susan feel lhe nine leather tails, how slippery they
are. It's won't tear your skin like that horrible crop Susan.
It's designed to punish you in your lust filled vagina, and I
know you know you deserve it." It felt heavy between my slender
fingers, the tails were over two feet long and tapered to less
than a pencil thickness at the gnarled knotty ends. It was
heavily smeared in what smelled like tea tree oil. I put it down
again and shuddered.

"Now Susan, you know how you presented yourself this morning for
your extra whipping? Well, we will adopt that position again with
you spreading yourself in front of your Grandparents and your
head between my legs. This time however I will be giving you four
dozen full hard lashes on your openings, yes Susan you abused
both openings so both will be whipped severely." I couldn't
speak, he picked up the whip and moved around me so as to stand
facing my Grandparents with enough space in between for me to
kneel spread legged with my vagina and anus pointing right at
them with my head locked between his calves. I took a deep breath
and turned to face him, I felt shame beyond anything I had ever
felt. My stomach began to knot and the tingle in my pee tube came
back with a vengeance. My already throbbing thighs and backside
seemed to burn more intensely as I felt my Grandparents eyes
settling on them. I tried to speak. :Don't speak Susan, don't
plead, you will be told what to ask for and there is really
nothing else to be said having been caught in the act." I cried
some more bitter tears as I knelt before him. I locked my head
between his calves, his grip much tighter than before. I hollowed
my back to push my pelvis as high up as I could, then reluctantly
planted my hands on my tramlined buttocks and spread them as wide
as I could. Cool air passed over my twitching sphincter and my
stickily parting labia. I also knew from a different kind of
tingle that my clitoris was completely exposed, still engorged
from my masturbating it so vigorously.

"Good Susan, you remembered well. You will hold that position for
six lashes, I will then allow you a few minutes to compose your
self. You must then adopt the same position and ask for the next
six, and so on until you have received four dozen lashes to your
openings. The whip's tails must punish you inside your vagina
Susan so you must keep it open. If it closes or you move from
your position during a batch of six than we will start that six
again, understood?" I blubbed my answer as I struggled against
hyperventilation.

"Now we are ready for you to ask for the first batch, here's what
to say: I am only twelve and should not be masturbating."

My trembling voice faltered, and then my Grandmothers voice cut
in. "No, no, there has to be another way, Pastor Michael, I'm
sorry, I know this is the Churches good and righteous doctrine,
but we are not ready for this….." Pastor Michael lowered the
menacing cat, and looked up from my trembling girl-flesh. "So be
it, Ma'am, It must be with your consent and indeed it is a
fearful punishment to inflict on a young girl." I don't know what
happened but my brain started to explode, I heard my own voice as
if from afar. "But Grandma, Grandpa, I am so disgusting, I need
this, I will be a better girl, Please, Please let Pastor Michael
take me up to my room and give me what I deserve behind closed
doors if it offends you so!" I couldn't rationalize what I had
said but I felt resolute. My Grandparents stared open mouthed,
glances were exchanged, and soon I was leading Pastor Michael up
to my room where I quickly resumed the position. My soft wet pink
exposed petals and clitoris almost begging for the scourge...

Downstairs the late afternoon sun streaked through the parlor.
The two old folks sat hands cupped over their ears, the sharp
gunshot cracks punctuated the stillness and the muffled
blood-chilling squeals wrenched at their breaking hearts. Susan,
their perverted twelve-year-old granddaughter was reconciled with
the almighty.