A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN

Chapter 1

Families at the turn of the 20th Century looked at discipline differently than they do today.  Claire and I know, because we were the recipients of many a punishment at the hands of our respective fathers. As it developed, there were significant differences in the reasons for and methods of punishment.  But the old axiom, “Spare the rod and spoil the child” was the rule in many households, and ours were no exception. 

Claire was the youngest of three sisters.  Any punishment was always meted out by the father, and seldom did a week go by that at least one and, sometimes all three girls, received a spanking.  Spankings were the accepted form of punishment, and in her household, it was always with full nudity.  Usually their mother was present, but she was, otherwise, not involved. All three girls were expected to attend any spanking sessions.

After removal of all clothes, the guilty daughter was pulled over her father’s lap, often with constant adjustments, which consisted of pulling the girl’s upper body closer or further away from his body, or moving her legs closer or further away.  It took Claire until she was a teen to realize that these adjustments were always more intimate whenever her mother wasn’t present. 

At the sessions where her mother happened to be absent for some reason, her father would often reach between the daughter’s arm and torso, so that his hand would close over her chest, or in later years, breast, and lower adjustments included putting his hand between the legs, usually at the top, right up against the labia, in order to push or pull the body in or away from him.

Eventually, the three girls compared notes on the spankings and the touching and feeling.  They all agreed they hated the spankings, which were usually given in doses of 100, by hand.  If there were two or more girls to be spanked in one session, a wooden spoon was used to “save poor father’s hands”, so they were always glad, when there was just one being spanked, because the pain from the spoon always lasted longer.

Discussions concerning the pseudo-sexual aspects of the punishments indicated that they were all three aware of the difference, but were afraid to mention it to their mother, for fear there would be reprisals.  So the touching continued and became more abusive and invasive as the girls got older. Though she still hated the spankings, unlike her sister’s, Claire looked forward to the feeling and touching her father would administer, when her mother wasn’t present.  She found such touching caused a tingling between her legs, and she would often follow a spanking session with a half hour of rubbing that tingle away with her fingers, lying on her bed. 

These spankings continued until after the two older sisters moved out of the house.  The oldest sister left to get married at the age of 20.  Her younger sibling moved into a rooming house when she was 21, unwilling to take any more abuse from her father, who administered her last spanking the night before she left.  Claire’s spankings continued until she moved out to marry me, when she was 20.

There was nothing sexual about the punishment’s meted out by my father.  Our family was German, and father felt the cane was necessary to straighten out problems caused by the kinder.  The method was always the same.  We were to lower any clothing below the waist, and in the case of the girls, tuck their skirts into the top of their dresses, so that the entire lower part of the torso was bare.  We were then to grab onto the back of a chair and bend over, so that the buttocks were prominently on display.  The caning would then commence, usually in the amount of “six of the best”, but sometimes more.  A half hour in the corner of the room with the bottom still prominently exhibited usually followed.

As I said, the punishments were not of a sexual nature, but as a young pubescent male, I found myself fascinated, nevertheless.  I had an older sister and a younger one, and even before the age of 10, I found myself looking forward to seeing the little slits between their legs, whenever it was their time to be punished.  I was not otherwise privy to seeing my sister’s bare pussies on display, as we had separate bedrooms, and always bathed at different times.

So the pseudo-sexual aspect of the beatings became more and more a factor for me, and, though I tried to be matter-of-fact about my voyeurism, I took every opportunity to peek at those marvelously plump nether lips, whenever the opportunity availed itself.  The desire to see my sister’s breastworks didn’t occur to me until puberty.  I attempted to find either of my sister in flagrante delicto, so to speak, but the closest I ever got was to come upon my older sister with her door open, when she was about to don her chemise.  She had the item in her hands, and, as soon as she saw me, she gasped, turned her back to me and quickly placed the chemise over her breasts.  In the meantime, however, I had ample opportunity to see my first pair of for-sure tits, somewhat large, bouncy, and pink with nice dark nipples.  Wow!

Punishments in our household ceased when we reached 16.  I don’t know whether my father decided we deserved more privacy at that age or, unlikely, that our transgressions were less deserving of correction.  By the time my sisters were no longer being exhibited before caning, however, I had the chance to see the minimal growths of pubic hair trying, unsuccessfully, to hide their prominent slits. 

I missed the chance to see such exhibits, because, when I was growing up, about the most exciting pictures of near-nude females one could find were in the lingerie section of the Sears and Roebuck catalogue.  Occasionally a friend got hold of a “French postcard”, which often showed an unattractive prostitute feeling herself up, or, if we were lucky, performing fellatio on some near-naked man, who stood before her, still wearing garters, socks and shoes.

Chapter 2

I met Claire at a frat-house party in 1923.  Illicit booze, thanks to prohibition, was in evidence everywhere, and such parties were free and easy.  We were dancing the Black Bottom, and Dixieland jazz was the rage, and the girls were pretty loose, even then.  Necking and petting were generally allowed on the second or third date, and the frat rooms were generally dark and occupied with pairs of moaning couples in various stages of undress.

It was at such a party that Claire and I ended up sitting on the swing on the front porch of the frat-house.  We were both a little soused.  I found out she was living at home, but had a job as a cashier at Woolworth’s five and dime.  I explained I was studying to be an architect.  Before the evening was over we had gotten to the stage of swapping tongues, but my attempts to go further, feeling her breasts outside her clothing, met with immediate “hands off”.  The boy who had brought her to the party was passed out in the living room, so I had the opportunity to walk her home.  We made arrangements for a date the following Friday, and resumed our French-kissing until she finally pulled away and went inside.

I was smitten, as was she, apparently, because we were married as soon as I graduated in 1924.  During our dating, we discussed many things, punishment and such being one favorite subject.  We related our situations, delightedly including her tinglings and my voyeuristic episodes, and after more delving and conversation, we both arrived at the conclusion that we would like to be on the giving end of such corrections, and that the sexual aspects of such chastisements was a major part of our fascination.  We were, in actuality, both sexual sadists at heart.  This aspect of our psyches didn’t emerge until we had been married.  It was only by chance that I happened on the opportunity for Claire and me to utilize our proclivities.

I had gotten, at that time, a fairly lucrative job with an architect firm at $75 per week, and Claire and I were happily ensconced in a rental three bedroom bungalow.  Our sex life was exciting, but we still felt it lacked that one element we had discussed, and since we were both sadistically oriented, we had no outlet. 

Well, it happened that one of the guys I worked with was a frat buddy of mine, who apparently had some inclinations similar to Claire’s and mine.  He told me he had heard of a place where one could “contract” to hire a maid/servant, and he had during the previous month made arrangements to have such a girl come, as a live-in servant to him.  The girl was, seemingly, very docile, and he was training her to be his obedient “slave”.

With great interest I asked him where he had procured such a girl.  He explained that The Sisters of Mercy Orphanage for Wayward Girls had a policy of keeping girls until they were 17 years of age, and then requiring them to find jobs wherever they could.  I had heard of this Sisterhood and none of what I had heard was pleasant.  The girls were, apparently, very badly treated, and tales of them being whipped and otherwise mistreated were rife.  I had even heard of girls reaching the age of 17, who couldn’t find jobs, being turned into the streets to fend for themselves.  I had never thought of such a place being the answer to our dilemma, but when I broached the subject to Claire, she was ready to stop by that evening.

I dissuaded her but called the Sisterhood the next day and made arrangements for us to come by on the upcoming Saturday.  The excitement was overwhelming as we awaited the fateful day.  On Saturday we arrived early and were shepherded into the Abbess’ office.  She was just as one would expect of a woman in her position: very straight-laced, prim and fussy.  We explained we were looking for a maid-servant, but would especially appreciate a demure, quiet, obedient girl.  I believe she understood what we were saying, for she immediately shepherded in three young girls to stand modestly in front of us.  All wore plain threadbare hand-me-down dresses with scuffed shoes and no socks.  They stood before us with heads bowed and hands gripped behind their backs.

I was quickly taken with a pretty red-headed green-eyed freckle-faced girl, somewhat shorter than the other two, only about 5’ 2”. Her name, it turned out, was Susan Shannon, the daughter of an Irish couple, who had both died of during the terrible flu epidemic of 1918.  The plainness of the dresses made it difficult to tell if there was any kind of figure under them, but I thought I could see a fair-sized bust and a rounded rear-end on Susan.  The girls were told to leave and I found, upon their departure, that Claire was equally taken with my choice.  The Abbess declared our choice a wise one, as she felt they had, over five years time, modified Susan’s behavior from that of a rowdy know-it-all to a submissive “young lady”.

We then proceeded to go over the “contract”.  We were to pay the Sisterhood $200 over the following year.  Susan would come to live with us and be paid $10 a month, plus room and board.  In return she was to be our “ward” until she reached the age of 21, at which point she could continue to work for us, if she chose, and, if not, she was free to leave of her own accord.  If we were displeased with her work, we could return her to the Sisterhood within six months, but the girls were always told, woe be it to them if that was ever the case.

We made arrangements for me to pick Susan up the following day and left, both of us greatly exhilarated on the entire trip home.  We had some of the best sex that night that we’d had in our entire marriage.

Chapter 3

When I arrived the next day, Susan was standing at the front door waiting for me.  She was wearing the same worn-out dress, the same shoes and had a half-filled paper bag, containing all of her worldly possessions.  When we walked outside I could tell she was very impressed with my Stutz roadster.  Little was said as we returned to the house.  I felt that our initial talk should be with Claire, and I also felt that silence would help intimidate our new acquisition.

Claire was waiting in the living room when we arrived.  In no time at all, she had spelled out what we expected of Susan.  “You are expected to do all of the housework.  This includes washing clothes on Mondays, ironing on Tuesdays, sweeping and dusting the entire house on Wednesdays, washing all windows inside and out on Thursdays, cutting the grass and weeding on Fridays, and whatever we feel needs doing on Saturdays.  Sunday is your day off, but don’t plan on leaving the house, because we will have other activities for you then.  You will also make the beds each day, cook all the meals, and wash and dry all dishes.”  Susan sat listening to Claire’s chore list and a look of dejection crossed her face.  At this point, Claire threw in the coup de grace.

“You will do everything we tell you willingly and without hesitation.  I will not abide indolence, thievery, disagreement or attitude on your part.  Such actions by you will result in severe punishment.  I know you received discipline at the orphanage, but, believe me, what you had there is nothing compared to what you’ll get here.  Do you understand me?”

Tears began to form in Susan’s eyes, as she gulped a bit and then whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”

“What other clothes do you have to wear, beside that hideous dress you have on now?”

“Well, the only other things I have are a pair of shorts and a blouse and my nightgown, ma’am.” 

“Put the blouse and shorts on right now, then.  I can’t stand that awful dress.”

“Shall I dress in the bathroom or my bedroom, ma’am?”

“Neither!  Take off the dress right here and put on the blouse and shorts, stupid girl.”

“But he…he… he’s here.”

“And that’s what I’m talking about, arguing with me before you’ve been in the house five minutes.  Do you think my husband has never seen a half-naked girl?  Do you think he wants to see your ugly body?  Get those clothes off now!”

Susan rose slowly and, reaching into her paper bag, she pulled out a pair of equally threadbare shorts and a faded blouse, which appeared to be several sizes too small.

She shucked the dress over her head, leaving her attired in a dirty chemise and torn panties.  She began to don the blouse, when Claire stopped her. 

“Do you have another chemise?  That one’s filthy!  And so are the panties.”

Tears were flowing rapidly down the poor girl’s face as she whispered, “No, ma’am.”

“Well you’ll just have to go without underclothes until we can get those washed, then.  Take them both off and place them over here by me so we can get them washed.”

“Pleease, ma’am, don’t make me take everything off in front of him.  I’ll wash them out tonight.”

“Him is MASTER to you, slut, and I have had it with you arguing with me about everything.  Take those underthings off and come over here now!”

Claire’s tone of voice and volume increase convinced Susan she had no choice.  As her face turned beet red, she quickly removed her chemise.  Her bust was everything I had thought it might be, and more.  As she hurried to remove the chemise, her breasts shuddered and shook in their fullness, and, when she stood topless for a moment, I could see a most delightful pair of puffy brown nipples that stood out from her breasts like beacons, each one with a smaller darker brown protuberance on the end of that.  My mouth began watering.

A moment later, Susan was pushing down her ragged panties, bringing into view a pair of fat cuntal lips, covered only sparsely by a small growth of red hair.  She quickly put one hand in front of her breasts and attempted to cover her pussy with her other hand after grabbing her offending clothing.  As she crossed over to Claire, I was able to see Susan’s behind, firm and fat, perfect for spanking.

When she got to Claire, she attempted to hand her the clothes she’d removed, but Claire threw them down, grabbed Susan by the arm and pulled her over her lap. She began spanking her bottom immediately, her hand reaching well up into the air before each hard slap.

“I will not have you arguing with me, young lady.” Slap! Splat! Smack!  I almost laughed as I watched my 21 year-old wife spanking this 17 year-old girl and calling her young lady.  The ass slaps continued in a flurry, as Susan’s behind began to turn pink and then dark red.  Susan was trying to pull away, but Claire had a death grip on her waist and it was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere until Claire wanted her to.

Susan began to moan, but as the smacks continued, her moans became cries for pity and finally sobbing hiccups.

“Please don’t ma’am.  Pleeeease stop.  I’ll be gooood.  I’ll do whatever you say.  I won’t arrrrgue with you anymore.  Pleeease!.  It hurts so much.  Oh, godddd!”

Claire finally stopped after over 100 strikes and Susan’s backside was ablaze.  She began to rub her behind, when Clair stopped her.

“I didn’t tell you you could rub those cheeks, girl.  Get your hands behind your head and stand there until I tell you to move.”

Claire glanced over at me with a smirk, as Susan followed her orders and clasped her hands behind her red hair.  I just grinned back and looked at the now prominently exposed tits, wondering how long it was going to take me to get to suck on those beauties.  Susan stood, still sobbing, head lowered with her legs tightly pressed together.

“Get those legs spread, girl.  I want to see your feet planted at shoulder width.  This is the position you will take whenever you have been spanked or beaten, is that understood?”

Susan’s hiccups continued, as she sadly replied, “Yes, hic, ma’am.”

Chapter 4

“All right, put on that blouse and your shorts and go make us some dinner.”

“Well,…. I’ve… never cooked before ma’am.”

“Good God.  You are totally useless, aren’t you?  Okay, there are a few chops in the Frigidaire and some rice in the cupboard.  See what you can do.”

Susan quickly grabbed her blouse and shorts and put them on.  The blouse, like all her other clothes, was threadbare, making her outstanding breasts look even more outstanding.  The dark areolas of her nipples were clearly visible, and the thrust of her two puffy nipples were fully in evidence.  The shorts were not really short, as they came down almost to her knees, but they were so tight she had to struggle to pull them on.  An obvious camel’s toe thrust against the cloth at her crotch.

She proceeded into the kitchen, and Claire and I exchanged big smiles.  We quietly discussed the situation and decided this girl was going to be the “cat’s meow”.  We continued to talk in low tones until we both smelled smoke emanating from the kitchen and raced in to find the chops burning on the stove.  Claire raced over, took the pan off the stove and placed it in the sink.  Susan stood dumbfounded, at a total loss as to what to do.  After yelling numerous swear words at Susan, Claire managed to scrape the burnt spots off of the chops, enough so that we could eat part of them.

Then Claire looked at the pot of rice.  Susan had obviously cooked the whole box of rice, as the two-quart pot was filled to the brim.  Claire spooned some out for the two of us and we went into the dining room and proceeded to eat.  Susan stood worriedly in the doorway to the kitchen, watching as we ate, listening to Claire mumble about dumb girls, who ought to be shut up in an insane asylum.   When we finished eating, Claire handed our plates to Susan, and we followed her into the kitchen.  After Susan had rinsed off the plates, Claire mentioned the fact that Susan hadn’t eaten yet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Susan.  You need to eat something.  Oh, look, we have almost a full pot of rice left over.  Guess what you’re going to have.  Lots of rice.  You’re going to finish every last grain in that pot.  Sit down and eat!”

With this she poured a full plate of rice and handed Susan a fork.

“I’m really not very hungry, ma’am.”

“You’ll finish that rice or you’ll get a lot worse spanking than you just had.  Now EAT!”

Susan began to force herself to chew on forkful after forkful of the unseasoned, unbuttered rice until she got the plate almost emptied, at which point she started retching, and with eyes wide and hand over her mouth she raced over to the sink and vomited every bit of what she’d just eaten.  With eyes watering and, white as a sheet, she turned to Claire.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.  I just can’t eat any more.”

“You’ll sit down and eat until I tell you to stop, you little faker.  Now get over here and eat!”

Susan moved back to her chair, sat, and picked up her fork.  She dawdled for a few moments, and took a few slow bites of rice.  This obviously outraged Claire, because she grabbed up a tablespoon, dipped it in the rice and brought it to Susan’s mouth.  When she didn’t open her mouth, Claire reached for Susan’s blouse and grabbed ahold of her breast tip and twisted.  Susan’s mouth shot open, as she cried out, and Claire stuffed the spoon in her mouth.  Still holding fiercely to that puffy nipple, Claire began shoveling more rice in.  It was everything Susan could do to chew the rice before another spoonful arrived.  She was choking and mewling, trying to swallow, when she again got that horrified look on her face, her throat began convulsing, and Claire was wise enough to let go, so that the retching Susan could hurry back to the sink.

This time she vomited for some time, and, when she turned back to us, it was obvious she had gotten vomit on her blouse.  Claie feigned anger and told her to take off her blouse, that we now had one more thing to go in the wash.  Susan hesitated for just a moment, then, as the tears began to form, she unbuttoned the blouse and slipped it off.  I noticed right away that Claire’s nipple pinch had left a large red splotch surrounding the large protuberance.  Claire gestured for Susan to return to her seat.

“Oh, please, ma’am, no more.  I’m sorry I wasted all the rice.  I didn’t know.  I’ll never do it again.  Please, let me eat the rest tomorrow morning.  I promise I’ll try.”

“All right, but you’ll finish every bite tomorrow.  Now, go wash up, brush your teeth and come back to the living room for a good-night kiss.”

Susan looked at her as though she was crazy, but knew better than to question at this point.  She disappeared and Claire took my hand and we walked into the living room.  I thought that the fact that it was only 7:30 in the evening was awfully early to send our toy to bed, but I didn’t say anything.

A few minutes later Susan returned, clad in her paper-thin tight nightgown, which she had obviously been wearing for years.  It only enhanced the loveliness of her body.  Not only were her breasts on full display, but even her little red muff was evident when she stood before us.

She leaned over at a gesture from Claire, and they kissed, a simple goodnight kiss.  When she leaned over to give me a similar kiss, I grabbed her arms, pulled her face to me, planted my lips on hers and thrust my tongue into her mouth.  Her green eyes flew open, and, as I continued swirling my tongue around in her mouth, she attempted to pull back.  I held on fiercely, however, and gave her a thorough tongue swabbing.  When she pulled away, she still had this startled look on her face.

“From now on, Susan, when you kiss me goodnight, we will continue to kiss that way.  However, in the future you will return the favor and use your tongue in my mouth at the same time.  If you don’t, you will be punished.  Do you understand?”

“Yyyes sir.  I think so.”

“It’s ‘yes, master,’ Susan.  I told you that once already.  Next time you fail to call him that I will punish you, too,” exclaimed Claire.

“Yes, ma’am.  Yes, Master.  Goodnight, Master. Goodnight, ma’am.”  With this she turned and went to her room, shutting her door behind her.

No sooner than her door was closed, Claire was on top of me, right on the couch.  We never made it to the bedroom.  We tore each other’s clothes off and made love for what seemed like hours.  I thought the previous night’s lovemaking was great, but this was the best ever.  Having a maid certainly made life more interesting and a lot more fun!

Chapter 5

When I walked in the door from work the next day, I could tell from the look of contrition on Claire’s face that something was wrong.  I surmised, immediately, that it probably had to do with Susan.

“Where’s Susan, baby?”

“Uh, she’s in her bedroom.”

“A little early for bedtime, isn’t it?,” I said as I moved to Susan’s room.

There, lying on her bed in a semi-fetal position, moaning miserably, was Susan.  I don’t think there was an inch of her body from her ankles to her neck that wasn’t blazing red or purple.  Individual streaks of dark red, obviously from a belt, were evident all over her body.  I could tell her butt had received much of the damage.  It was covered with purple splotches and ugly welts.  I paled, and began hoping the damage could be remedied without having to take Susan to the hospital.

“Have you put anything on to relieve her pain?”

“No, I didn’t know what to put on it, and besides I wanted her to suffer.”

“Well, I think she’ll suffer anyway, but get me that large tube of Ungentine from the medicine cabinet.  I know it’s for sunburns, but it should soothe her a bit.”

Claire returned with the tube and I sat on the edge of the bed and told Susan to turn over on her stomach.  When she saw the tube and realized I was planning to help, she painfully did so, moaning with each move.  I began at her feet and oiled her body all the way up to her neck, spending considerably more time on her buttocks, gently rubbing every inch of her delightfully round, scarlet mounds, and managing to slide my hand between her legs at times, enjoying the feel of her split peach mons.

I then instructed her to turn over on her back, and, again, after much painful maneuvering, she managed.  I started at her feet and moved up her legs, spending, I admit more time at her crotch than necessary.  At my order she spread her legs somewhat, and I was able to rub the salve on her inner thighs, which really hadn’t received many of the lashes, and the lips of her vagina, which hadn’t received any.

Next I moved up her stomach, then her shoulders, saving her luscious breasts for last.  They had indeed had a goodly share of the beating and were raw-looking, with lash marks across her prominent nipples.  I actually covered her breast area with the goo three times, gently massaging the oil into her skin.  I’m sure both Claire and Susan were aware that I was giving the breasts far more attention than I had given to the rest of her body, but the feel of my hand sliding over her soft nipples was exquisite for me, and I noticed, even in her pain, Susan’s tit-tips began to harden somewhat.  Susan managed a whispered “thank you” as I put the cap on the tube.  I told her to get some sleep, if possible, and grabbed Claire’s arm and pulled her into the living room.

“My God, Honey, you could have killed her.  She’s going to need at least a week to recuperate from this.  What in God’s name did she do to get you so upset?”

“Well, in the first place, she tried to get out of eating the rice this morning, and then, when she did eat it, she threw up two more times, before I forced the last spoonful down.  Then, I decided to have some fun, and I told her to strip off her nightgown, and she looked at me for a long time before she finally shucked it off.  Then I told her to stand there and masturbate for me, and she tried to get out of that, so I just blew.  I grabbed one of your belts and just stared flaying her body however I could.”

“Okay, promise me you won’t ever beat her again unless I’m here.  You can spank her all over if you want, but no beating.  I’m not real happy with the fact she’ll be out of action for a week or so, either. That wasn’t in the plans.”

“I know, Sweetie, and I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

With this, she slid to her knees, unbuckling my belt, unbuttoning my fly, and pulling my pants and boxers down as she went.  For the next 20 minutes, she gave me one of the best blow-jobs I’d ever had.  Her wonderful tongue found sensitive spots I didn’t know I had, and when she finally engulfed my hard-on with her mouth, she went out of her way to push it as far to the back of her mouth as she could, constantly gagging and choking, as the head of my penis hit the back of her throat.  And when I finally blew my wad, she, for the first time, swallowed it all.  When she finished she pulled off, looked up at me and smiled.

“Ummmm!”

Chapter 6

The following Saturday morning, we were sleeping late, and other things, when the phone rang.  It was the Police Department to inform us that they had a young lady there at the station-house, who said she had run away.  They had picked her up trying to bum some money off of one of the citizens, supposedly to buy a bus ticket out of town.  I informed the desk sergeant that I’d be right down to pick her up.

When I arrived, she was sitting next to the sergeant’s desk, crying softly. Dressed as she was in her thin blouse, without a chemise and the skin-tight shorts, she could have been taken for a street-walker.  I’m sure the officer must have had such thoughts, considering why she had been brought in.  The policeman asked what had happened, that he’d been told that she had been beaten.  I explained that we had acquired her from the Sisterhood as a ward for four years to help us with the housework, but that she had stolen some money and my wife had beaten her, as a result.  She looked at me as if I’d just shot her, but I continued the sob story that we were just trying to give her a home and companionship until she could go out on her own when she was 21..

The Desk Sergeant then gave Susan a talking-to, about how she should be so thankful that someone cared enough to house and feed her, and that she was an ingrate and should be ashamed of herself.  By the time we left, she was sobbing loudly and her head was bowed, as we approached the roadster.

We were silent all the way home, the only sound being Susan’s constant sniffling.  When we entered the house, Claire rushed over to Susan with daggers in her eyes.

“How dare you leave the house without our permission, you little gutter-snipe.  Are you aware that you are contractually obligated to stay with us until you’re 21 years old.  We could have you thrown in jail for vagrancy and a number of other charges we could come up with.  Try that again and we’ll return you to the Sisterhood.  You think you’ve had it bad here, think again.  I hear that if you’re returned to the Abbey, they’ll flay you alive.  Which is not to say you’re not in for it here and now.  Get those disgusting clothes off, right now.”

By the time Susan had discarded her two pieces of clothing, I grabbed her and pulled her over to my lap.  The redness from her beating the previous Monday was pretty much gone.  There were a few bruises all over her body, and her buttocks were still bearing a few purple splotches.   I pulled her forward on my lap, using her left breast as the hauling tool, much to Susan’s chagrin, as she yowled in pain from my effort.

Once I had her in position, I continued to hold her tit in my grasp, and I’m sure the squeezing added to the pain she was about to receive on her butt-cheeks.  My hand fell with a resounding slap on her right cheek, then on her left, with as much force as my arm could muster.

Slap! Splat!  She made no attempt to escape, resigned to her punishment, apparently, but her tears and pleas began immediately.

“Oh, please, Sir, not so hard.  Oh, it hurts!  Aggghh!  Ouuu! Pleeease!”

My arm continued to fall on her cheeks as the color turned from pink to red to scarlet.  Susan once again reached the stage of hiccupping and drooling spittle from her mouth.  I gave her a good 75 smacks before I finally pushed her off onto the floor.  As Susan lay there moaning and hiccupping, Claire threw herself down, so that her mouth was right up against Susan’s ear and shouted, “It’s ‘Master’ to you, slut, not ‘Sir’.”

With that she began spanking Susan’s already ruby red bottom, giving her another 15 or so smacks.  Susan’s crying increased as the beating went on.  When she stopped slapping her bottom, she stayed where she was and began speaking softly in Susan’s ear.

“Now it’s time for you to learn to worship your new god.  Every man has one, but your Master’s is special, and you’re going to learn to pay homage to your new god a lot.”

Lifting Susan’s arm, she pulled her over between my legs, then pulled her up to a sitting position.  Still almost whispering into Susan’s ear, Claire began instructing her how to get to her new god, as Susan’s crying slowed down a bit.  At this point, with her limited sex education, I wasn’t even sure Susan suspected what Claire was talking about.  As soon as she whispered for Susan to loosen my belt and undo my pants, Susan got this shocked expression on her face, looking back and forth between Claire and up at me.

“Do it now, young lady, or I’ll give you twice as many swats to that naughty bottom as you’ve already gotten today!”

Sniffling, Susan did as she was told but hesitated when Claire ordered her to pull my pants and shorts down.  Claire grabbed her prominent right nipple in her hand, and Susan screeched at the top of her lungs, but as soon as Claire loosened her grip she hurried to do as ordered.

When she had my clothes lowered, she was immediately faced with my totally stiff penis, not eight inches from her nose.  It was obviously her first, because her mouth dropped open and her eyes looked like saucers.

“Now, little girl, I want you to begin worshipping your new god by licking him all over.  Get that tongue out and lick all up and down.”

Claire was speaking so slowly and softly she was almost mesmerizing.  Susan still hesitated, until Claire grabbed a clump of her red tresses and pushed her head up against my prong.  The hair-pulling must have had the right effect, because I immediately felt Susan’s warm tongue running up and down the underside of my penis.  Because of her position, she really couldn’t reach much more than the underside.

“All right, now I want you to take the head of your god into your sweet little mouth and run your tongue all around it.”

Susan did as commanded, and Claire let her perform in that manner for a minute or two.  Susan had stopped her hiccups and was quietly doing as requested with tears running down her cheeks.

“Now I want you to suck on a little more of your Master’s god”

With this, she pushed Susan’s head forward, so she had no option but to move her mouth down on my prick.  She was sucking, but there was no movement of her head until Claire grabbed her hair again, and began pulling her off to the tip and pushing her back down, so that at most she had half on my boner in her mouth, at the deepest.  Claire continued this action for several minutes until Susan began to act voluntarily.  Claire kept her hand behind Susan’s head, and suddenly pushed her mouth down almost to my pubic hair.  Susan sputtered and tried to pull herself off.  Claire held her head in place for ten or fifteen seconds, as Susan began to struggle for air.

Eventually, Claire let her up for air, but only long enough to gasp once or twice and then Susan’s head was once again down at the base of my prick.  Claire continued this maneuver for some time, and Susan was not enjoying herself. 

“Gawwp… unnngh… slurp…goop…gaaa…slurp…haagaah!” 

The sounds were music to my ears, but the feeling of her mouth engulfing my entire penis was out of this world.  In spite of the fact that Claire and I had orgasmed together a couple of hours earlier, it didn’t take five minutes to finish me off and I ler go with a stream of white cum, right down Susan’s throat.   Claire could see that I had finished shooting my wad, and pulled Susan’s head off shortly afterward.  Susan began to cough and big tears streamed down her face.

Claire murmured into Susan’s ear, “Now that’s how you worship your new god, sweetness, and I hope you enjoyed it, because you’ll have lots more chances to improve your technique, and, maybe, one of these days you’ll even learn to do it without all the choking and gagging.  Now go and wash your face and brush your teeth and come on back here.  Maybe we can find some more fun games to play!”

Chapter 7                          

When Susan returned from the bathroom, still naked, she looked considerably better, although she must have known that she was in for more of our tormenting, because her pretty little mouth was turned down, and she placed her hands behind her back.  With that action, she looked like a petulant little girl, and I knew where to go next.

“Susan, your action of running away was very childish.  You’re supposed to be a big girl now, but you keep acting like a bad little girl.  I think we need to make you aware of your childishness, so that you can make an attempt to grow up.  So, I think we’re going to cut off all that hair down by your pussy, and when you show signs of maturing more, we’ll let it grow back out.”

She was visibly shaken by my statement, as her hands moved from behind her, and she placed them both directly over her mound.

“Oh no, please…uh… Master, don’t do that.  I don’t want to look like a little girl.  Pleeeease don’t!”

“Nonsense!  Come along now.  We need to get scissors and my shaving razor and Claire, you can take our little girl into her bathroom.”

When I arrived in Susan’s bathroom, Claire had already forced her spread-legged up onto the sink, so that her vagina was directly above the bowl.  As a result, her vulva was split wide open, and for the first time I looked into the heart of that, what I assumed was virgin, gorgeous pink pussy.  Susan was obviously not finding this an exciting event, as her little clitoris was still well hidden.  She was once again bawling her eyes out.  This little operation seemed to be more unpleasant for her than I had expected.

“Now, you must be very still while we cut and shave you, little girl.  Otherwise we might cut one of your pretty little lips, and that would hurt a lot.”

Snip! Snip! Snip!  It didn’t take long to excise the major growth of her soft red mop of hair with the scissors.  I then explained that, if we were really mean parents, we could shave her without shaving cream, but being munificent, we would use some.  I then reached into the Mole shaving cream jar and took a dollop of the cream and smeared it all over her outer lips and the upper portion above her vagina.  I then pulled her legs so that her butt lay on the outer edge of the sink.  Since I was using a straight razor I had to be very careful, for the angles were certainly different from what I was used to.

Throughout the shaving, Susan continued to sob quietly, putting on her best pout.

By the time I had finished and washed the area well, Susan’s pussy looked like that of any prepubescent child.  Before we finished, totally, I had to prove she was a virgin, so I stuck my index finger into her little hole and it stopped at about knuckle length.

“Ohhh!,” cried Susan, not having been prepared for my finger’s invasion.

Looking at Claire with a satisfied smile, I said, “Well, our little girl is still a virgin.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not a slut, though,” Claire chimed in.  “Let’s do something with the hair on her head.  I think pigtails would help make her look more like a little girl, don’t you, Dear?”

I concurred, and soon Claire had placed two rubber bands around two thatches of Susan’s hair, and she truly looked like a sulky little girl.  As she pulled Susan off of the sink, Claire said, “You’d better get rid of that sour look, missy, or I’ll give you something to look sour about.  You look just like a little girl now, except for these!”  She then grabbed Susan’s nipples in both hand and squeezed, much to her chagrin and discomfort.  “If I had my way, I’d cut these ugly things off too, but it appears Master Tom really likes them for some reason, so we’ll let you keep them, unless you keep frowning at me.”

With this, Susan tried to force a semi-smile on her face, although I could see she was suffering a lot of pain from Claire’s hard grasp on her nipples.  Claire led her back into the living room, walking backwards, as she held tight to Susan’s tit-tips.  It turned out she had kept some of the rubber bands, and soon had three each placed around the beginning of each nipple.  I could tell the rubber bands were cutting off the circulation to the ends of her tits, though this was not evident immediately.  The rubber bands didn’t seem to be causing a great deal of pain for Susan, but in the next fifteen minutes Susan’s nipples turned darker brown, and eventually the brown shade was supplanted by a deep purple.

“Now, baby girl, did they ever give you an enema at the Sisterhood?,” Claire asked.

“No ma’am…, but… a few of my friends got them, and …they said they really hhhhurt, “ Susan answered hesitantly.

“Well, enemas aren’t given for fun, except maybe for the ones giving them, but sometimes they’re necessary, Claire said, smiling at me.  “I noticed you haven’t had a bowel movement since you ate all that rice.  We need to clean you out before it causes a problem.”

“But …ma’am, I …threw up all that rice, …so I think I’ll be all right.”

“Damn it, there you go sassing me again.  If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. I can see more spanking is in order.  Little girl needs to keep her mouth closed, unless we give you something to put in it.  Now get yourself into our bathroom.  All of the paraphernalia is in there ready. Get!”

With head held low and eyes downcast, Susan forced herself to move into our bathroom.  The large hot-water-bottle hung on a hook above the medicine cabinet, and the accompanying red rubber tubing and black nozzle hung beside it.

“I want you to get down on your knees on the bath mat and lean forward on your arms and put your head on the floor.  What do you think, Tommy?  A quart and a half?”  Claire began filling the bottle with hot water, lots of soap and tossed in a little glycerin for good measure.

“Well, she’s not very big, let’s see what a quart and a half does.  We can always add more.”

Claire screwed the cap on, after she’d filled it to the brim and hung it back on the hook.  Taking the tubing down, she rubbed a little mineral oil on the nozzle, rubbed a little more on Susan’s prominent little puckered hole and rammed the nozzle in.

“Ohhh, please not so hard.”

Claire continued to push until the six inch nozzle had totally disappeared, as Susan grunted in discomfort.  When it was finally seated, Claire pushed up on the clasp, and the mixture began to flow into Susan’s bottom.  The grunts became more vocal as the liquid poured into her bowels.  Soon the grunts became moans, and Susan was rocking back and forth, as beads of sweat began to appear on her back.

“Oh, …pleeease… that’s’ enough… it hurts…  Oh, God, please, it hurts… Awwwhhh!”

At this point the bottle was only half empty, and Claire and I grinned smugly at each other.

“Pleeeeease… I neeeed to go… Let me up, pleeease!”

“No, little girl, we still have lots more to go.  Just be patient.” Claire murmured in her ear.

“I caaan’t stand any moooore!  Pleeease!  Oh, it hurts so bad…. I neeed to goooo!”

When the hot-water-bottle had emptied, Clair took it off the hook and filled it about halfway, and Susan began screeching and crying, knowing she still had more to take in.  Claire released the hook again, and Susan’s cries became more pitiful.

“Oh, God in Heaven, pleeeease stop.  I’ll do anythiiiing…I promise… I’ll suck you some mmmmore…Anythiiing! … Ohhhh, pleeease!”

Finally the bottle gurgled its last, and Claire snapped the hook closed.  Susan started to rise, but Claire pushed her back to the floor.

No, no, baby girl, we have to wait ten minutes, so the water has a chance to get all that stuff loose. But, I’ll tell you what.  Let’s get you standing up.  Maybe that will ease the pain.   She helped Susan to stand, and when we got her in a semi-standing position, the result was amazing.  Susan’s stomach was so distended that the entire area was shiny as if it had been oiled and she truly looked as if she were five or six months pregnant.

“Oh, look, Susan.  Now you can see what you’re going to look like before you have a baby.  Isn’t that exciting?”

Susan looked down at herself, but she didn’t find it exciting at all.  She just moaned and cried some more.  The tears were pouring down her face, as Claire continued holding onto her, preventing Susan from getting to the toilet.  When the ten minutes were up, Claire sidled her over to the john, and, as she was seating her, she pulled the plug out of Susan’s hole, the water began to gush out in a constant stream.  Susan even smiled as she felt the relief of having all that dirty water squirting out.  It took close to five minutes before Susan sighed and began to wipe herself.

“Now, doesn’t that feel better, little girl?”  Susan didn’t answer.

Chapter 8

“Oh,yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that Master Tom has other places besides your mouth that he likes to put your god.  Now that you’re all cleaned out, I guess this would be a good time for him to become acquainted with your little rose-petal.”

Susan looked up from the toilet, with her huge green eyes and just muttered, “Oh no!”

Claire then suggested we go into our bedroom.  Susan shook her head a dozen times in a definitely negative way, before Claire grabbed one of her nipples, which, at this point, was purple, because of the rubber bands, and yanked.  Susan screamed bloody murder but quickly gave up her seat and followed Claire into our bedroom.  I brought up the rear, so to speak, and a lovely rear she had.  

Claire suggested I lose my pants and shorts, which I did.  My penis was semi-hard, and Susan looked at it in total horror and fascination, trying to figure out how that big thing could possibly go in her behind.  Even though Claire still had a grip on her nipple, Susan again shook her head and began begging.

“Oh, please, Ma’am.  Don’t do this. Please.  He’ll kill me.  I’ll do anything.  Let me suck on him instead.”

I think that’s a lovely idea, dear, to get him hard.  But he still wants to use your little bottom hole.  It may hurt, but it won’t kill you.”

Susan wasn’t convinced and she began to try to pull away from Claire.  Silly girl.  Claire just twisted her nipple 180 degrees, until Susan fell to her knees.

“Now that you’re down there, crawl over and latch onto that nice lollipop and get it hard for your master!”

Apparently resigned, at least to the sucking, Susan crawled, sobbing, over to where I stood.  A moment later her soft lips had encircled the head of my prick and her wet mouth took almost no time to get me hard.  I pulled away then, because I wanted to enjoy as much time buried in Susan’s behind as possible.

“Get on the bed, Susan, just the way you were during the enema… NOW!”

Susan’s tears were now flowing in torrents, as she pulled herself up and plopped herself on the bed.  She pulled herself into position, and her sobs rent the air.  I placed a large gob of mineral oil around her cute little anus, daubed my entire staff with the stuff and moved on the bed behind her.

My first push against her hole was gentler than I intended but brought a screech from Susan.  That sound was nothing compared to the next one, as I started pushing against the wrinkled little hole.  The head of my prick eventually made some progress, as I felt it break through partially.  Then, when it began to sink in more and more, Susan screamed at the top of her lungs.  Soon I felt the whole head had made it in, and Susan was begging as never before.

“Awwwnnnggg… GOD!... pleeease take it out…You’re killing me… oh,God, it huuurts…. Noooo, please…. No moooore!....Take it ouuuut, please!”

Soon I had the whole thing inside, and for a moment I savored the pleasure of her tightness, but then I began an in and out motion, which obviously wasn’t to her liking, because she began wailing again.

As much as I wanted to stay, the excitement of the afternoon got to me, and shortly after I began pistoning back and forth into her entrails I lost it, and I could feel my sperm shooting into her bowels.  I left it in until it was totally soft again, and pulled out with a plop.  Susan was still moaning and gasping.

Claire gave me a sharp slap on the rear-end, saying what a disappointment I was.  What a wuss!

“Well, we’ll just have to do it again later, until you can sustain yourself a little better.”

“Yeah, no sense in wasting a good enema!”

Susan let out the most heart-rending cry I’d ever heard.  I think she realized at that point, she was in the hands of monsters.