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From: mrspraycan@aol.com (Mrspraycan)
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Subject: {ASSM} Remembering Lorraine:2/MrSpraycan
Date: Mon,  8 May 2000 21:10:35 -0400
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REMEMBERING LORRAINE: 2
by MrSpraycan


I'll confess right away: I spent half that night masturbating, thinking of the
glorious sight of Lorraine naked, being thrashed and scrubbed by her mother. In
fact, I must have made some noise, because around dawn, one of her elder
sisters pushed open the door and peevishly asked me: "Can't you stop that bed
creaking, you little wanker?"
	To say that I'd found my playmate's ordeal exciting would be to understate my
reaction. I blushed with pleasure when she reappeared at breakfast the next
morning, walking rather stiffly and perching on the edge of her chair with a
pained expression on her face. Seeing my reaction, she hissed crossly: "Don't
be so smug, Roger. You're going to get it tonight, and then we'll see who's
smiling!"
	And indeed, she was right. Her mother Peggy had promised me a punishment bath
for that evening, and dropped hints about it several times during the day.
Serving up the delicious lunchtime treat of Spam fritters and crinkle cut
chips, she made a point of telling me: "I'm finding it difficult not to write a
note to your mother and father about the latest incident, Roger. But, I'm going
to try not to. Understand me? I find self-abuse rather offensive, and I've
always punished the girls properly for it. So I don't want them being corrupted
by some nasty little boy who comes here and plays with himself like a monkey at
the zoo!"
	"Yes, Mrs. Wentworth," I replied glumly. "I'm sorry I offended you."
"Well, you will be, by bedtime," she assured me.


	There was nothing worth watching on TV, so I curled up in my room with a book.
Soon, Lorraine stopped by.
	"Trying to take your mind off it, are you?" she asked.
	"Off what?"
	"What Ma is going to do to you, of course," she retorted.
	"No, not really," I countered.
	She leaned closer. "Do you want to see my bum? See what a mess she made of
me?"
	"No," I replied, quite properly. But in fact, I did wish to see those parts of
her that had been visited by her mother's vengeance.
	"Liar," she teased, lifting the hem of her skirt and playing with it.
I looked away, but she wasn't about to give up. She lifted it higher, showing
the edge of her panties. "Want me to take them off?"
	"Lorraine," I explained politely, "I don't want to get in any more trouble."
	Pushing the door shut, she breathed the word 'coward.' She began to peel the
panties off, saying: "See how sore this is?" She was pointing to her scrubbed
pubis, her pale pink lips. Yes, it looked sore, with scratches on her thighs
and belly around the tangle of blonde fur.
	"Look," she insisted. "You're the one who wanted to see my hole, and stuff.
Who got all upset when I wouldn't? Well, look."
	"Lorraine," I said with exasperation.
	"Didn't you? So look, then," she taunted. "Cos we're going to see everything
you've got tonight."
	I shook my head confidently. "Uh uh." But I did take my time to stare at her
vulva, which she was crudely spreading for me, inches from my nose. She seemed
determined to see how far she could stretch her labia. I found myself
mesmerized by the coral pink colors, the moisture, the wrinkled oddity that I
supposed must be her clitoris. And still mystified about the lack of any
obvious 'hole' of schoolboy myth.
	"A lot of good that spanking did you," I observed tartly, extending my hand
toward her.
	She pulled back sharply, exclaiming: "No touching!" But next began stroking
herself provocatively. "I wonder if Pa will do you, or Ma?" She stroked some
more and asked: "Do you like the smell? What do you think of all this hair?
It's not too ugly is it?"
	"It's, uh, nice..." I replied weakly, feeling my penis bulging.
	"I think it'll be Ma," she continues.
	"Lorraine!" Her mother's voice echoed from the downstairs hallway. "Come down
here and help me with peeling the potatoes!"
	"Oh, bother!" she said, pulling up her panties. "Well, I'll be seeing yours
tonight."
	"No, you won't!" I replied, alarmed.
	"You think not?" she snorted. "I'd bet money that Peggy asks all three of us
girls up to watch."
	She swept from the room before I could cross-examine her on this topic.


	Dinner that night was boiled cod, with mashed potatoes. We ate in silence,
with no new transgressions to be reported. But all through the meal, I was on
the receiving end of amused glances from Lorraine and both her sisters.
Suzanne, about 15, and Diane, about 18, took more after Pa's side of the
family. They were taller and broader than Lorraine or her mother, with their
cherub-like looks and stature, and looked older with their heavy make-up. They
spoke in a private argot that none of the rest of the family could follow, for
more than a phrase or two.
	As Peggy cleared away the plates, she told me: "Roger? I think you should go
upstairs now. You can have your trifle with lunch tomorrow, if you're good."
Sulkily, I left the room, lusting after trifle. The three girls laughed loudly
at some sotto voce comment from Peggy as I began to climb the stairs.
Miserably, I began to run some water into the deep white bathtub. Throughout
the day, I'd kept my fears in check by reflecting on the fun I'd had seeing
Lorraine's naked body, and her struggles to resist her mother. Now, I realized,
I was to be the victim. My legs quivered, and I felt almost glad I hadn't been
allowed to eat the trifle. My stomach was churning. And, for no reason I could
discern, my penis was stiffening up.
	I'd filled the bath over half-full when a door slammed downstairs, and
footsteps approached. Not just one set though. I turned to see Peggy appear,
followed by her three daughters, grins on every face.
	"So, why are you still dressed?" Peggy asks abruptly, striding into the tiny
room.
	I shook my head numbly. Yes, usually I'd be taking care of bathing myself, and
would have undressed by now.
	"I was waiting," I replied, nervously.
	"Ha!" she replied, and turned to Diane. "Fetch my things from the bedroom,
please."
	I waited, visibly shivering, until the young woman returned, reverently
carrying the thick leather paddle that had pounded Lorraine's backside
yesterday. Under her arm was tucked the bamboo cane and a thick wooden ruler,
and a big wooden hairbrush was tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Over her
arm was looped a pair of leather belts, one long and thin, the other wide and
heavy.
	"Good girl, you remembered everything," Peggy beamed.
	"There are extra canes downstairs if you need them, Mummy," Suzanne
volunteered. "I mean, if you break this one."
	Peggy grinned. "Let's hope not, for his sake." But turning to me, she warned:
"You don't get off as easily as Lorraine, young man. I only suspect her of
being dirty. I caught you, in the act, sticky fingered."
	I lowered my head, avoiding her angry gaze and the fascinated stares of the
three sisters. "Hold your hands out, Roger. Palms up," I heard her command.
Hesitantly, I obeyed. At primary school, teachers had occasionally lashed out
like this at persistently left-handed writers, or children whose penmanship
failed to meet their approval. Taking the ruler, she brought it down sharply
across each palm, half-a-dozen times.
	"Turn them over," she ordered.
	I already had tears forming in the corner of my eyes. She'd hit me hard, and
it was a combination of the pain and the embarrassment that was making me cry.
Before I had a chance to brace myself, the ruler cracked across my knuckles. 
As she struck them, she slowly recited, one word to a blow: "Little boys must
not play with their willies. It's dirty behavior. If you do it, you'll go
blind. Do you understand me?"
	"Yes," I sniffled, as she stopped.
	"Palms again," she told me, "I want them to sting for a very long time, so
you'll think twice about wanking." And I endured another vigorous pounding with
the ruler, my tears running down my face. It seemed almost hallucinatory. I
couldn't believe she was being so cruel to me. And all the while, Lorraine and
her two sisters grinned meanly, whispering teasing words like 'sissy,' and
'mummy's boy.'
	"Very well, Roger. I trust you are able to undress yourself? If not, Diane
will be happy to assist you."
	"Peggy? I mean, Mrs. Wentworth," I said, wiping tears away, "they're not going
to watch, are they?"
	"Oh, you bet they are, young man!" she hooted. "Diane and Suzanne are old
enough to know a little bit about boys, and not be embarrassed. And Lorraine
will be watching to pay you back for your spying on her yesterday, you dirty
creature! Now, get those clothes off, right away."
	My aching knuckles and stinging palms conspired to make this more difficult
that I'd thought, and I fumbled. Soon I found Diane and Peggy contributing
their help by unbuttoning my shirt and unzipping my trousers.
"Hurry up," Peggy snapped. "Don't make such a production of it. Like a
striptease dancer, you are."
	I know I was blushing a crimson shade by the time I pulled my underpants down,
and bared myself to the four grinning females, to a renewed round of giggling.
	"And what's all this?" Peggy exclaimed, pinching my stiffly erect penis.
	"I'm sorry, I can't help it," I blubbered.
	"Can't help it, because you're thinking dirty thoughts, that's why."
	"Honestly, I'm not."
	She picked up a bar of soap. "Lies are punished around here, too. Open your
mouth, Roger." She took a flannel, and quickly soaped it, scrubbing vigorously.
	I stood there, mouth half-open, not believing she was going to go ahead with
this punishment.
	"Open wide," she commanded. Then, thrusting the flannel in my mouth, she wiped
my tongue with it, snapping, "Chew on it."
	I coughed and spluttered, and welcomed the opportunity to spit the foaming
mouthful into the toilet. 
	"That's better. Now, into the tub with you," she snapped.
	I quickly submerged myself, but didn't feel any more secure with them looming
over me in the tub.
	"We'll let you soak," Peggy said briskly. "Fifteen minutes. And then," she
smiled insincerely, "we'll take care of you." Turning to the three sisters, she
said: "I can trust you to watch him, can I? I'm going downstairs to have
another cup of tea."
	I remained in the tub, while the three girls arranged themselves around it, to
watch me.
	"Play with your cock, I dare you," Suzanne said, after a long silence.
	"I mustn't," I replied.
	"That was an order," Diane intervened. "When we tell boys to get their
choppers out and rub them, we expect them to do it, hear me?"
	"Of course, we're used to much bigger, hairier ones than that," Suzanne adds
scornfully.
	"Do you make them, you know, squirt?" Lorraine asks, fascinated, her eyes
fixed on my penis, inches below the clear surface of the water. My hands were
touching it, because I could see no way of refusing that wouldn't lead to me
being hurt, and because I wanted to.
	"Sometimes," Diane laughed.
	"And sometimes, not," Suzanne agreed. "It improves their loyalty."
	Diane picks up a squeeze bottle of soap, and squirts it in the water. "No
coming for you," she prohibits. Start washing yourself now, but keep that willy
hard."
	By the time Peggy climbed the stairs, my skin was an even pink color, and I
was very clean. The thin layer of foam on the water concealed my erection,
which was harder than before at the approach of their mother.
	"It's steamy in here," she remarked, seeing the mist on the mirror. "Open a
window, let's have a draft." Suzanne took care of boosting the window open,
letting in a cool evening breeze.
	"Up on your feet, Roger," Peggy ordered. "You look like you're going to sleep
there. Well, we'll wake you up." The warm bath had lulled me, and I noticed
that my fingertips were wrinkled, from my long immersion.
	I climbed to my feet, slipping on the smooth surface, and unsteady after so
long in one position. Peggy snorted: "Oh, and you still have the effrontery to
wave that thing at us?" She grabbed my penis in her fist, engulfing it, and
began to enumerate: "So, I'm going to give you fifty whacks on the bottom with
a paddle. Then, three dozen with the cane. Then, I'll let the girls chase you
round the house and give you a good strapping, all over, for being such an evil
influence on Lorraine. Does that sound right, girls?"
	"No, more!" Suzanne said gleefully. "Double it!"
	"No, it's not enough!" Lorraine pleaded.
	"Alright," Peggy said cautiously, looking me up and down. "He's a strong young
lad. Yes, he can take it."
	"And scrub his thing, like you did mine," Lorraine cried impulsively.
	"Oh, we'll take care of his thing, don't you worry," Peggy chuckled. "Now,
Roger, stand over here, and touch your toes. I don't want any crying or
struggling, or I'll have to have the girls hold you down. I'll even tie you, if
I have to," she warned.
	Her hands stroked my buttocks, fingernails lightly tickling. "Yes, he's
beautifully soft," she told her daughters. "A hundred hard ones? He'll be very
sore, black and blue, when I'm done with him. I think I'll let you all have a
go too, in case my arms get tired."


Copyright (c) 2000 by MrSpraycan. All Rights Reserved.


/spray
"Allow the bishop to explain the subtle differences between kneeling down and
bending over, my dear"

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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