My dear sister,
Sister, I have felt rage from Papa before, when I broke the fine china dish that was his mother's wedding present to him; when I did stand knee deep in the river and search for fish, my skirts held up in a shameful and wanton fashion (so Papa said) and I felt then the terrible force of his rage and the terrible sting of the strap.
But stay, let me not think of the strap for a brief moment, though the whistle of its falling echoes loud within my head. Perhaps that is why I write this letter to you, to purge such thoughts and also in the hope that one day I will be free to send it to you and you will know what became of your sister Clarisse after I ran away.
Papa told me to clean the brass in the church. I went with a bad heart for I do so hate the brass in our church... It is too carved and intricate...and Papa likes to have every corner gleaming! So I was in the church polishing away when Peter James came in from the farm.
And Papa came. He came with Verger Pearson, a hard man with no mercy in his eyes... There was Peter James' master Farmer Gray, the blacksmith, with Joseph Olberon from the Plough Inn, and with cold Mister Tilling from the village.
The elders gathered in one place. Papa locked the door behind them and they stood, cold and hard and yet smiling. How the elders do love a punishment, most especially when it be a fresh young woman to receive the strap...
Joseph Oberon produced ropes from a pocket. Farmer Gray took a bench from the back of the church and stood it in the centre and Papa took my arms and dragged me to the bench and pushed me down so I laid along it. Mr Olberon took my wrists and ankles and tied them to the legs of the bench so there was no way I could escape. My face was pressed against the cold scratchy wood and I was much afeared then, sister, I can assure you!
"What think you, gentlemen?" Papa sounded so satisfied, and they had not even begun!
"I think we should beat the Devil out of her." That was Mister Tilling.
And even as I lay uncomfortable flat on the bench, my face pressed down, my body waiting for what would surely come, I felt a move to laugh aloud, for surely they knew afore they came that they would beat me...
And I knew too that it was said to put fear in my mind and trembling in my body. And it did.
"You be the oldest here, may I suggest you start?" Papa, how kind you were to delay your own pleasure for so long! My skirts were ripped away by a firm hand I could not see. My pantaloons were down and I laid, bare and waiting and much ashamed, before the gathered eyes of the elders. I am sure my cheeks were much flushed, for sure my face was.
Old Mister Tilling may be an old man, but be sure he has a firm arm, especially when that arm ends with a strap well worn by Papa on our backsides over the years. Ten times old Mister Tilling lashed me with that strap and ten times I cried out.
But oh that was nothing to Mister Olberon who is much strengthened with the lifting of barrels of ale and pulling of the pints in the Plough every night! Twice as hard and half across my thighs did Mister Olberon strap me and I knew for sure I would not easily forget this!
And Adam Smith, hands well strengthened with all the work of the forge, strapped me even harder, were that possible. But of course I grew sorer as each blow landed and went across those already there. For all that I was already hurting and afire with the awful strap I knew he was stronger even than Mister Olberon.
Awash with tears, sister, I awaited the Farmer for he too had a strong arm, and I was not mistaken, how I screamed as the strap hit me another ten times.
And Verger Pearson, he looks like a weak man, perhaps that was why he came near to last when I was red sore and weeping heartily and crying out for mercy even though I knew there was none there, these men were the elders and I had offended against their church, and Verger Pearson laid on his ten with a firm hand that near broke me.
And then it was Papa's turn and he put into it all he had in him, all his anger and he lashed me so hard I thought the strap would break on me!
...
So Sophie dear, I crept away with a bundle of clothes and [went to] the railway station... And sister, I pray that you never have to suffer at the hands of the elders as I did, for the bruises took a month to go.
Because -- a small confession comes here that is for my eyes alone, on a page I will never send -- I dream of that thrashing and I am aflame with desire.
I am walking along the road, an address in my mind, aware of being on time to visit a mistress.
Here, this is the house, with neat railings and manicured garden, with beautifully cared for wooden door and glittering brass knockers and letter box. This is it. My nemesis my pain my dues.
My fluttering nerves can surely be heard a hundred yards away! The dryness of my mouth, the dampness of my palms, oh why am I walking here, what am I doing here, what is the matter with me? Walking toward pain.
The door opens as if by magic... She is there, my mistress.
"Come" and I follow. A dungeon. A playroom, she calls it, a room with padded benches and horses to bend over straps for suffering and a mirror to see. And racks of implements of pain and pleasure awaiting my skin my skin my skin.
Over her knees, her cool skin on mine, for I am stripped to nothing to be sure she misses no part of me she wishes to hurt. Over her knees feeling childish and waiting for the sting of whatever she chooses, never her hands, her white hands with the glittering red nails are not allowed to touch someone, she prefers to use something hard and inflexible usually. Now, a paddle.
Flat and hard, it covers a wide area, it smacks on this cheek and that and I gasp and writhe and she orders me to be still and I am.
Over a padded bench, hands secured to the legs, ankles secured to each other, helpless, cannot balance, must lean forward, must throw body weight into the bench as she has designed it to do. Helpless. Bottom red and stinging, helpless I await the tawse, her favourite, a three tailed heavy one that is well used, flexible, well able to deliver a violent and nasty sting, as it does now. Twelve from one side, twelve from the other.
I know the drill, she has done it before. Twelve times standing to my right, the thickness of the leather and delight of the leather wrapping itself around me covering both cheeks at once, covering the stinging redness of the paddle, covering my skin, I cry out for release and yet delight in the pain, for the pain goes deep and touches every erotic feeling I have. Thrills and spills thrill of anticipation and apprehension of fear and longing and she knows it.
She stands, I get twelve strokes from her standing to my left, the leather wrapping itself over the weals already inflicted, I am crying out and protesting and getting nowhere for the twelve will come whether I want it or not, and I do want it, of course I do, it is my desire, my feeling, my own decision to be there.
I am allowed to rest and wait to stand and to rub and to ease the pain a little before the cane, oh twelve hard nasty cuts with a fine whippy cane are enough and then and then and then...
S: So, did you enjoy the party? Did you really get a birthday spanking?
J: Yes, I got lots of them from my friends!
S: So people really do this? You stand there and they come up to you and spank you?
J: Right. I mean, they don't come running up to you from across the room or anything and POW. They just get behind you and do it.
S: So you got twenty-seven spanks?
J: Yes, from each friend. Can't you see the pillow taped to my bum?
S: Well, if you're into that sort of thing.
"A couple of weeks after the calendar came out and we were all feeling very satisfied with ourselves, the boys proposed a pool party for the four of us who were really good friends, and had led the way on this project. Selma had a back yard swimming pool and the husbands suggested a barbeque to celebrate. I mean we were getting noticed all over town and the calendar was selling out. At the pool party the husbands all insisted that we wear those brief bikinis and we all agreed. We were all so proud of our figures.
"Things started out ok and we all ate and drank and were having a good time. We were displaying our charms in those bikinis and the booze was sort of flowing so we were dancing around, having a good time. Then, rather abruptly, somebody turned off the music and we found four very sober looking husbands arrayed in a line between us and the house. Mary Beth’s husband was a pastor and he started out. He said he spoke for all of them and they were very disappointed in our behavior. He said it was scandalous that we had posed in the very swimsuits we were wearing, that it was sinful and immodest. Then the others chimed in. Selma’s husband reminded her that he had forbidden her to buy one of those suits; Hank said the same thing and reminded me what he had promised. Then Fran’s husband Jim asked her if she remembered what he said would happen if he caught her wearing a bikini. When I saw her put her hands on her seat in a protective gesture, I got a sense of what was coming.
"Pastor Mike put his hands on his hips and told us that such sin should not go unpunished, that we wives had disobeyed our husbands and must be prepared to accept the consequences. He sat down in a chair that had been dragged out and told his wife, ‘Mary Beth Simons, come here.’ I guessed that this had happened before because she obeyed and slowly came forward. When she got close we could hear her pleading, ‘No, no, please, not in front of everyone.’ But before our startled eyes, Pastor Mike grabbed her wrist and flipped Mary Beth over his knee. She struggled a bit and looked around frantically, hoping that the cavalry would ride in, I guess. She had a cute little rear end and it was jutting up provocatively over her husband’s lap awaiting his displeasure. Then he raised his palm and brought it down on Mary Beth’s bottom with a loud smack! She squealed loudly. A flurry of hard spanks followed, crisp smacks that rang out in the stillness of that suburban back yard. Mary Beth’s bottom was bouncing over Mike’s knee and his hand kept delivering smack after smack. We were gaping at this spectacle and failed to notice our own husbands approaching.
“Hank is a big man. He put an arm around my waist and lifted me up. He carried me over to a chair and sat down. The next thing I know I’m face down over his knee. And then honey, I got the first spanking of my adult life. I was squalling and kicking but he held me down and smacked my little hiney good and hard for several minutes. It was then I found out what the “sound” in sound spanking meant. I looked around and all us wives were in the same situation. Fran was bucking around trying to escape Jim who had her held down over his knee was spanking the daylights out of her behind. Selma’s husband had propped up a knee on the diving board and Selma was bent over it, arms and legs flailing while be belabored her shapely bottom. The husbands had plotted, and at Pastor Mike’s urging I’m sure, had decided on a group spanking right on the seats of our skimpy bikini bottoms. After a few minutes of hard and fast smacking of our tender fannies, they stood us back on our feet. We all hobbled around sputtering and rubbing our inflamed behinds. It was a sight.
“Well, that was it for the party. Hank hustled me out of there. I was so mad I didn’t say a word to Hank all the way home. When he got me home he told me to go get ready for bed. Now when he’d given me that awful spanking, I’d felt something underneath me growing, if you know what I mean. Well, I wasn’t about to get all lovey-dovey with Hank after that. In fact I told myself I was going home to mother, and I went up and threw a suitcase on the bed and started packing. Hank came in a few minutes later and asked me what did I think I was doing? And I told him. And he said ‘no, you’re not.’ I just lost it and said ‘try and stop me’.
"Then, I made a big mistake. I was so mad I picked up an ashtray and threw it right at him. It hit him in the head and his forehead started bleeding. All of a sudden I was sorry. Had I hurt him? But Hank just stood there calmly and wiped the blood with a tissue while I watched. Then he turned toward me with a look I had never seen before. There was pure angry determination on his face and he said, ‘come here, Helen.’ I was feeling very vulnerable now. I just had on a robe, because I hadn’t dressed yet. I started backing up, but Hank took a couple of quick steps and grabbed me. He tore the robe off. I was stark naked underneath.
"Hank sat down on the bed, and for the second time that night he put me over his knee. ‘Helen,’ he said, ‘this is long overdue’. Then he started to spank me again. This time though, it was on my bare fanny which was already sore from before. It really stung now and I shrieked like a banshee. He let loose with a barrage of smacks while I struggled and kicked, but he held me firmly. Then he’d ask, ‘are you going to disobey me again?’ Well the first time I said ‘go to hell’, and that earned me about twenty spanks hard and fast. Then he asked me again and I mumbled something. It wasn’t to his satisfaction because I got another hard flurry of spanks. By now my behind was really blazing, and I was finally feeling very sorry for myself. So the third time I think I apologized for flinging the ashtray. I really did feel bad about that---it was a heavy glass ashtray and it could have injured him. He said, ‘good, now we’re getting somewhere. This is for the swimsuit.’ And he laid on another dozen or so hard slow smacks, asking me in between each spank if I was ever going to disobey him again on something like that.
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