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.

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 the 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.