Feature Writer: Punky Girl AKA Shannon

Feature Title: SUBURBAN GIRL 5

Published: 09.11.2007

Story Codes: Fetish, Young, Snuff, Zoo, Domination, Sin

Synopsis: In the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio a young girl discovers that masturbation is a sin. But when she breaks a promise to God to stop her immoral actions she begins to see the Bible’s list of sexual restrictions as her most basic and carnal desires. Because for this 13-year-old suburban girl, sin and her wanton sexual needs go hand in hand as she struggles to endure a body built for sex, abuse, and constant orgasm. Inspired by the classic UseNet story “Farm Girl” by Dark Dreamer.

 

Suburban Girl 5

As it turns out I only ended up being my master’s slave for about three weeks.

They were a hectic, life altering three weeks, though. Every hour of every day was so packed full of new duties and responsibilities that I had absolutely no time for myself anymore. I mean, before having a master I’d had my chores, my church, and my studying. Those obligations alone had taken up a ton of my time. But with the additional burden of having to please a warped and demanding master my life had essentially become nothing but obligations from the moment I awoke to the moment I went to sleep. I never had time to do anything I wanted. The only time I really had for myself anymore were the few minutes I laid in bed every night before falling asleep. Often I would spend the time masturbating, though there were times I fell asleep before achieving orgasm. Not that it mattered much. I was getting more than my fair share of orgasms everyday over at my master’s house.

It only took a few days for my ass to return to normal but even back then I knew that there was no way my life ever would. By all outward appearances I was still an awkward, innocent, fresh faced girl but I was no longer a virgin and never would be again. I was on the pill now and it didn’t seem likely that would ever stop. And then there were things I was doing, things my master demanded of me, that further chipped away at the 13-year-old child I’d so recently been. My entire psyche was being carved into something new and there was no way I could stop it, even if I had wanted to. My master constantly referred to this as my “training”– but what was I being trained for? That I didn’t know. All I knew was that I wanted it to continue. Occasionally I would long for the Becky of Old but deep down I enjoyed what was happening to me. All of it was so exciting to my warped pubescent brain. I mean, even the punishments excited me. To be honest, they often excited me even more than the rewards did, even though they were always painful and humiliating to endure.

It wasn’t enough for my master that I was over at his house every day, fucking him and sucking him however he desired. He wanted more. He wanted to control all of me. In order to accomplish this he was constantly giving me new rules and homework assignments. One new rule was that he’d decided I could no longer wear a bra around my house. Never mind the fact that this meant my brothers and father were constantly exposed to my jiggling, teeny-bopper boobs, and that I always felt completely awkward in my own home as a result. My master liked the idea of me being a sex object in my house so I had to obey. My master promised that if my father ever garnered up the courage to tell me my attire was inappropriate I’d be able to go back to support undergarments in the house but my father never said a word.

“I’m sure he enjoys, ahh, watching your little titties jiggle,” my master had said, adding, “God I can’t wait for them to get, ahh, bigger.” He mentioned my chest sized all the time. I guess for him my barely b-cup boobies weren’t big enough for him, yet. But I was a growing girl, he would always say, and any day know I would hit another growth spurt.

Another new rule was that I had to spend at least thirty minutes every day stretching. At first I just thought he just liked watching me touch my ear to my knee while I was naked, or whatever, but eventually he decided that my stretching was taking up too much of his time with me. I had to do it at home, on my own time after that. Apparently he simply wanted me limber and flexible. He even bought me a book about it. “You’ll be able to, ahh, do the splits any day now,” I remember him telling me when he gave me the illustrated stretching manual intended for ballet dancers.

He also gave me another book, one that he made himself and had put an uncharacteristic amount of time and effort into completing. It was only about a hundred pages long but he’d had it bound professionally at some sort of publishing store. When he gave the prettily wrapped gift to me during our second week together I was a little surprised. I’d been able to tell that it was a book from its heft and feel, but I’d expected something perverted. Like, some kind of book full of nasty erotic stories or something. But when I unwrapped it what I saw instead was a paperback sized, hardcover book with a large white cross embossed against a gold cover. It resembled the kind of prayer book I might have received at school or at my church.

I remember him breathing heavily at the look of confusion on my face. “Open it,” he said.

When I did all my confusion left me. Because on the cover page, in beautiful flowing script, was the title. It read: “A Complete List of All Sexual Sins in the Catholic Holy Bible”. The subtitle read, “A Checklist for Becky S. from Her Master”.

The book was actually more than just a checklist, it was also sort of a journal. And my master had sure done his research. At the top of each page of heavy-stock white paper a different sexual sin was listed, along with a Bible verse or two to support that what was described really was a sin according to the Bible. For instance, on one page I randomly flipped to the sin listed at the top was “Viewing Pornography”. There were two supporting Bible verses: Matthew 5:28 (“But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”) and 1 Thessalonians 4:3-4 (“It is God’s will that… you should avoid sexual immorality; that each of you should learn to control his own body in a way that is holy and honorable”). And below those two quotes were blank lines where I could list the dates I committed the sin. For that particular one, “Viewing Pornography”, he’d given me two additional pages full of blank lines.

Other sins listed in the Book of Sins (as he liked to call it) included “Sex Before Marriage”; “Exhibitionism”; “Masochism”; and even “Oral Sex”. All the regular ones were there, too: “Incest”, “Prostitution”, “Lesbianism”, and the “Use of Contraceptives”. All in all he’d managed to list, and find Bible passages to support, 69 sexual sins. Whether or not that number was intentional on his part I’ll never know. What I do know is that some of the sins listed really scared me since he was also calling the book a checklist.

Checklists are things people make with the intention, or at least the desire, of completing. So when I saw the sin “Making Pornography” listed in the book, along with, “Sexually Abusing a Child”, I did get a little worried. But my stupid little brain was able to explain it away. He was just trying to be thorough, I thought. He didn’t expect me to actually make pornography anymore than he intended me to abuse another child. There was no way he was that twisted, I told myself.

After giving me the book my homework assignment was to read it and fill in every date of every sin I’d already committed. And I did so as accurately as I could. Thankfully he’d told me that I could use ranges of dates when necessary rather than having to list each one separately. Otherwise, even though he’d given me three pages of blank lines to fill out for the sin of “Masturbation”, I would have definitely run out of room.

His obsession with my Catholic upbringing was obvious from the start of our short-lived relationship. I learned this the day after he’d made me walk to the coffee shop wearing that slutty black fishnet shirt. That day had been a Sunday. My dad was taking my brothers to a Browns game while I went to mass, so I was going to have a ton of time to spend with my master after church. When I got to his house, though, the sight of me in my very conservative, pure white Sunday dress had elicited a response I never would have expected.

I mean, I was in my Church clothes! I could see why my Catholic School uniform was sexy because it involved a pleated skirt, a tight fitting top, and those knee high socks that really accentuated my youthful legs. But my Sunday church clothes? My dress that day had been all white and fell down way below my knobby knees. The outfit revealed no cleavage whatsoever and even its sleeves were long, silky, and stretched down to my wrists. In addition, my hair was tastefully pinned back and I was wearing white gloves. Very little skin showed. What could possibly be sexy about that?

But my master got so excited by the sight of me that he bent me over almost immediately, and fucked me from behind without removing a stitch of clothing from my 13-year-old body. He didn’t need to, after all. I wasn’t wearing panties. Heck, this outfit had been the first dress I’d worn since receiving that rule that hadn’t worried me at all. The dress was so long there was no way anyone could ever know I wasn’t wearing underwear. But he knew. And when he bent me over and fucked my eager, amateur cunt, the idea that I was being screwed in one of my Sunday dresses got me so hot that I came several times.

After that he wanted to know everything about my church. And I told him. I told him about how I was the only member of my family expected to go to mass each Sunday, since supposedly it had been my mother’s dying wish that I be raised a “proper Catholic”. I told him all about Father DeGrazia, the man who had been my priest since the moment I was born. He had baptized me, I explained, and had given me my first communion. When I absentmindedly mentioned the fact that Fr. DeGrazia was the only man besides him who knew I’d ever masturbated, my master grew even more intrigued.

“Well… uhm, like I said in that notebook… I mean, in my homework assignment?” I struggled to explain. I was still wearing that white Sunday dress but his cum was now dribbling out from between my pubescent legs and he was holding me tightly against him. I continued, “Uhm, when I learned that m-masturbating was… a sin? I confessed it. But I… I haven’t confessed it since that one time. I mean, I can’t tell him about this stuff… sex stuff. It’d be, I mean, too embarrassing.”

This information seemed to please my master. A few days later is when he gave me the Book of Sins.

We had two more Sundays together as master and slave after that. During the first his only command was that I finger myself whilst confessing whatever hum-drum sin I decided to admit to my priest. That wasn’t so bad. At least I got to choose the sin I wanted to confess. Of course, I had to be careful not to rustle my dress too much while I fingered my cunt, or make any other potentially embarrassing sounds. But I chose one of my less flamboyant Sunday dresses for just that purpose. It was a light yellow dress that draped down around my knees, and when I went to kneel in the confessional booth it had been easy to silently pull it up behind me so that I’d have access to my cunt. And while I fingered myself from behind I focused on where I was: St. Joseph’s, the church I’d always attended, the church I had been baptized at. Keeping my mind on such thoughts kept my pussy more or less dry, and prevented me from getting too worked up.

I should mention, though, that while Fr. DeGrazia droned on in his Italian accent about how I had to say ten “Our Father’s” as penance for breaking the fourth commandment, my mind did wander a bit. And I found out that fingering myself in the confessional booth was such a nasty thrill that I nearly lost control despite my best efforts.

The last Sunday I had to endure as my master’s slave was a lot worse. Because on that Sunday I was completely the biggest punishment my master had ever doled out.

It all began on a chilly November afternoon. It was a Thursday, and Thursdays were one of the days I still had to prepare dinner for my family. On days like that my master would often send me a text message while I was at school letting me know whether he wanted me to go over to his place before dinner, after dinner, or both. On this particular Thursday he told me to come on over after.

When I got the message during fifth hour I was relieved. I had a ton of homework to do and this would give me the opportunity to finish it before preparing supper for my dad and brothers. Fact was I was starting to fall behind in several classes because of all the time I spent with my master. Any opportunity to play catch up was a good thing.

But it turned out I wouldn’t have any opportunity to study that day. Because, to my surprise, my dad was already home when I got there.

It turned out that the factory he worked at as a skilled trade electrician had been shut down halfway through his shift because a delivery of steel never arrived. When I walked into the house, though, he didn’t explain that to me. What he did do was glare at me menacingly and from the look in his eyes I knew I was in trouble.

He was on his cell phone. Cupping the mouthpiece with one hand he pointed at me angrily and said, “Up to your room. Right now!”

I scampered away in a total freight, running up the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me. I hadn’t seen my dad so angry in a very long time, but I had no idea what he was angry about. Had he found out about my master? That I was on the pill? Had I done something stupid like leave a porn magazine in my room? I had no idea. What I did know was that I was in trouble, and that the moment he finished his conversation he’d be coming up to see me.

I paced around inside my bedroom completely terrified. There were so many things I could get punished for, I just didn’t know which one he’d found out about! And then it occurred to me: punishment! He was going to punish me. I was certain of it. And with my dad that could only mean one thing.

Suddenly I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairway and I knew I didn’t have much time. I ran over to my dresser and pulled open the top drawer to retrieve the first pair of panties I could find. Since I was never wearing them anymore the drawer was packed full of clean, folded underwear. I grabbed a pair of pink cotton panties and, without taking my shoes off or anything, started to pull them on. It was a peculiar feeling to have underwear on again. It’d been two weeks since I’d last worn a pair and the fabric felt strange on my bald cunt. I didn’t have time to reflect on that too much, though, since I had just finished putting them on and readjusting my skirt when my dad threw open my bedroom door.

I gulped at the sight of him. Then my wide, terror filled eyes locked onto what he was carrying in his big right hand. It was a coffee can. My scared teenage mind didn’t have time to figure out its significance but I knew in my gut it meant something bad. Then the screaming began.

“You mind explaining this to me?” he said, his voice simmering with fury. He thrust the can out to me. I was frozen with fear and couldn’t think of anything to say. I just stood there, paralyzed, my knees beginning to shake.

“I know what you’ve been up to in the kennel!” he roared. “You think I wouldn’t find out? Huh?”

My face flushed red. For one brief moment I thought he might actually know what I’d been up to in the kennel, or at least what I’d been up to there a few weeks before with the dogs. That thought was so horrifying I literally felt myself getting sick.

But then he took the lid off the coffee can and stuck it in my face. The smell of cigarette butts engulfed my nostrils.

“I found this behind my worktable,” he yelled. “You’ve been smoking, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me!”

His accusation was actually a relief. Of course I should have realized what I was getting in trouble for at the first sight of the coffee can but I’d been too scared to remember right away. See, back when I’d been visiting the dogs almost every night I’d hidden the can behind his worktable to use as an ashtray. I’d realized early on that I had to have a place to put out the cigarettes I loved to smoke before and after getting fucked by the dogs, and a coffee can seemed perfect. I’d always meant to empty it on a regular basis just in case, but I never had. And after I’d quit smoking because of my master I’d forgotten all about it.

“D-d-daddy, I… ,” I finally choked. “I, uhm, I…”

Suddenly he smacked me extremely hard across my cute, terrified face. The blow hurt so bad that I literally spun from its impact and fell on my butt. I began to cry as my dad pointed a trembling finger down at me. “Tell me the truth!” he roared. “Or God help me there’ll be more where that came from!”

“I’m sorry, D-daddy, I’m s-sorry!” I sobbed. Then it came pouring out of me, a lie mixed in with pieces of truth that once again proved I was good at thinking on my feet. “A g-girl gave me some cig-cigarettes, and then, and then, she s-sold me more! I th-thought I liked it, and I, I did sm-smoke for a while! But I quit, Daddy, I swear, I quit! Af-after Fr. DeGrazia t-told me it was a s-sin to… you know, to p-pollute my body like th-that, I quit right away! I haven’t smoked in w-weeks!”

I was rocking back and forth on the ground, my knees pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. I sobbed uncontrollably as I waited for my dad to say something. When he didn’t right away I peaked one blurry eye up and saw him at my desk, going through my purse. Then, to my horror, I saw him pawing around inside my backpack. He tossed out a couple of books, including the Book of Sins, but didn’t inspect them. And thankfully he didn’t touch the folders I hid my porn magazines in. He was only looking for cigarettes.

Finally he walked back over and glared at me suspiciously. “You be honest right now, Becky. Are you tellin’ me the truth? You really quit?”

“Y-yes!” I blubbered. “I knew it was dumb, Daddy, I knew it was wrong! B-but when I f-found out it was s-sinful, too, I just quit! I had to!”

Thankfully I was telling the truth. I really had quit. If he had sensed any trace of deceit in my voice I know he would have really lost it. It was also a good thing that my dad, who believed so much that his little girl cherished her church and was obedient to her god in all ways, accepted my explanation for why I’d done so. It fit nicely with his view of me as a timid, obedient, church-going daughter.

“Well, then,” he said. “You’re just lucky you quit right away. I tell ya, girl, cigarettes are one of the most addictive things in the world. It took me five years and your mother’s constant intervention, God rest her soul, before I was able to kick the damned things. It’s a nasty, terrible thing to get hooked on. You hear me?”

“Y-yes,” I choked out. I was beginning to feel relieved. He was calming down and had completely bought my fictitious story about how I’d gotten into smoking.

He wasn’t done with me yet, though. “Come on,” he said, sitting down on my bed. “We best get your punishment over so we can both move on.”

My eyes widened and stared at him as my heart sunk. “D-daddy, please!” I begged. “I’m thirteen!”

The anger returned to his voice. “You really wanna argue with me right now?” he growled. “Thirteen or thirty, it don’t make no difference to me! Whenever you misbehave your father will always punish you! Now come on, let’s get this over with!”

Sniffling back more tears I slowly got to my feet. My heart thumped in my chest as I slowly pulled up my skirt, ready to assume the position and thankful beyond measure that I’d had the presence of mind to pull on a pair of panties before he’d gotten to my room.

I was on automatic pilot as I draped my body across his lap. This had been my punishment for as long as I could remember whenever I did something really bad, but it was the first time I’d been spanked since my body had really started to develop. The last time had occurred months before after I’d called Jason a faggot. I think there was a part of me that had hoped I was too old for spankings now, and a part of me that was glad that I wasn’t. Because like it or not I was actually getting excited. When I felt him pull my pleated skirt back the rest of the way, and realized he was getting a good look at my rounder, more womanly ass for the first time ever, I nearly choked with sexual arousal.

Unlike the last time he’d spanked me he didn’t curse me or insult me as he began to beat my ass. He didn’t say anything, in fact. He let his hand do all the talking. After each blow to my delectable behind, though, I couldn’t help but scream. Part of me was just trying to cover up the gasps of pleasure that kept threatening to escape my lips but no small part of it was from the actual, very real pain from his blows. He certainly wasn’t holding anything back. In fact, with each new blow he seemed to be hitting me even harder. I writhed around on his lap as he punished me, kicking my legs back and screaming with pain each time one landed. And then I felt it.

Just like the last time he’d punished me like this I felt his erection growing beneath my belly button about halfway through. This time I was certain what it was, and it felt massive. It was creeping up against his skin, restrained by his underwear and jeans so that it couldn’t stick upward, but the outline of it felt absolutely huge. He was easily bigger than my master, I realized, and as my tiny body slid this way and that across his thing it didn’t stop growing! My screaming intensified as his dick hardened beneath me. If I didn’t scream my throat raw, I knew, I’d only end up revealing the pleasure I felt from this treatment.

Finally he was done spanking my ass but unlike the previous times he’d done this to me he didn’t immediately lift me off his lap and throw me onto my bed. Instead he seemed to be catching his breath while I blubbered and sobbed across his lap. All I could see was the ground, of course, but I felt in my bones that he was staring at my butt still. His erection, meanwhile, seemed to be throbbing beneath my tummy. I kept myself completely still, afraid that if I made any voluntary motion over his erection he’d realize that I knew what it was. I didn’t want him to know that I could feel it, and knew what it was, for about a billion reasons. But knowing that only a few millimeters of clothing separated my daddy’s cock from my smooth, flat tummy was making it more and more difficult for me to stay motionless.

He kept me draped over his lap for a good long while. Then he slowly pulled my skirt back over my butt and gently grabbed me around my waist. With no effort whatsoever he tossed me off his lap, onto my bed, and he quickly stood up and walked away. Without turning around I heard him say, “Alright, then, you best remember that the next time you want to go and do something stupid like smoke cigarettes.”

He slammed my door shut and I was left alone, breathless and trembling all over.

After a few minutes I crawled off of my bed and retrieved my cell phone from my purse. My fingers were still shaking as I typed a text message to my master.

I was asking him for permission to have an orgasm. That had become one of his rules early on in our relationship. If I wanted to have an orgasm I had to get his permission first. And right now my dazed, confused young mind was desperate to have one.

While I waited for his reply I examined my butt in the mirror. I kicked off my panties first, knowing that I wouldn’t be putting them back on again but still extremely glad I’d chosen to put them on before my dad had gotten to me. What if he’d lifted my skirt and seen that I wasn’t wearing any underwear? There was no way I’d have been able to explain that.

My ass was bright red and would definitely turn angry shades of black and purple before it recovered, I knew. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the time my master had used the ping pong paddle and cat o’ nine tails on it a couple weeks before, but it was bad. After rubbing it tenderly and wincing at my touch I paced around my bedroom, anxiously waiting for my master to text me back. When he finally did I was relieved beyond measure that he’d decided I could cum without him. About half the time he would deny my request but thankfully this wasn’t one of those times. Though it shamed me beyond measure I was about as sexually aroused at that moment as any other time in my life before it. If my master had denied me my cum, well… I honestly don’t know if I would have been able to obey.

I piled up some pillows on my bed and bent over them so that my ass was high in the air behind me. I began to finger myself from behind and had to bury my face into my mattress in order to choke back the sounds and screams of pleasure I was tempted to belt out. It wasn’t long before I came. I didn’t even need to rub my clitty. Penetrating my soaking wet cunt with my trembling fingers was more than enough to do the job.

After that I tried to get some homework done but I just couldn’t concentrate. My mind kept drifting back to the feeling of dad’s erection. Was it normal for a father to get excited while spanking a daughter? Or was my dad just a sick old pervert to become aroused from spanking his little girl? Of course, I had no room to talk. I’d gotten sexually aroused, too. What did that say about me?

Eventually I gave up on homework and took a shower instead. Afterwards I dressed in a modest red blouse and a pair of black slacks. Of course I wasn’t wearing any underwear, neither bra nor panties, but my tits didn’t strain against this particular top. The last thing I wanted right now was for my dad to get a good look at the outline of my breasts, even if he had been seeing that quite a bit lately. I just didn’t want to up the ante at all, not right now, not after what I’d just been through. When I was finished dressing I brushed and blow dried my hair, pulled on a pair of shoes, and went downstairs to prepare dinner.

The meal was extremely awkward for me. I had a hard time looking at anyone, most of all my dad. My brothers basically ignored me as always but normally my dad would ask me at least a couple of questions, about my day and whatnot. But he didn’t. I don’t think he looked at me once during dinner. Maybe he knew that I’d been able to feel his hard-on during the spanking and was embarrassed. Or maybe he was simply mad at me, still, for smoking. I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait to leave after doing the dishes.

When I got over to my master’s house at around six that evening I was anxious to get fucked. I wanted to feel a man’s cock so bad– any man’s cock, so long as it wasn’t my dad’s. Doing so, I felt, would erase the memory of how excited I’d gotten during the spanking. Unfortunately my master didn’t make it that easy for me.

“What do you mean you put on, ahh, panties?” he demanded.

His tone of voice made me shudder. He sounded pissed off– really pissed off. I was in the middle of telling him about what had happened that afternoon. He’d been able to tell from the expression on my face that something had occurred, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t tell him the truth. Not that I ever lied to my master anyway, but maybe I would have if I’d known how mad he was about to get.

“I… I had to,” I insisted quietly, surprised that he didn’t understand. “I mean, uhm… I knew he was going to spank me, Sir. How would I have explained wuh-why I didn’t have underwear on?”

Suddenly he smacked me. Hard. And coincidentally his blow landed on the same side of my face my dad had hit earlier.

“You stupid cunt!” he roared. “I don’t care about explanations! You could have just said you were a, ahh, fucking slut for all I care! What I do care about is that you, ahh, broke one of my rules!”

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry!” I blubbered. I really hadn’t expected his reaction to be so violent. In fact, it had never occurred to me that he’d be mad at all. I’d actually thought he’d be proud of me for thinking on my feet like that. I knew he didn’t want my relationship with him exposed anymore than I did, and the way I saw it I’d been protecting our secret arrangement by pulling those pink panties on. Apparently I’d been wrong.

“You stupid fucking slut,” he admonished me. He was pacing back and forth in front of me while I sat in the center of his big leather couch, cowering now in the presence of his wrath. “I ought to, ahh, bend you over right now and let the cat o’ nine tails really, ahh, punish you.”

“N-no, please, puh-please!” I begged. Tears were streaming down my face. The thought of my poor ass enduring any more torture right now was beyond imagining.

He glared at me for a long moment as if considering his options. Then he said, “Take your fucking, ahh, clothes off. I’m sick of looking at you in that ugly fucking shirt. In fact, ahh, from now on you only wear tight shirts and, ahh, dresses. You dress your age, got it? No more of these fucking soccer mom bullshit blouses.”

“Y-y-yes,” I stammered. It hurt to hear him speak so meanly to me, especially since I didn’t think there was anything in my entire wardrobe that remotely resembled “soccer mom” apparel. Even this modest red blouse was cute in its own way, but I wasn’t about to argue. I was determined to show him how compliant I was. To that end I wasted no time unbuttoning the blouse. If I could demonstrate for him that I was still his obedient slave, I thought frantically, he’d be proud of me again in no time.

“What to do? Ahh, what to do,” he muttered to himself. He was still pacing in front of me, and wringing his hands behind his back as he did. “You deserve a, ahh, major punishment for this. And to think you, ahh, had the nerve to ask for an orgasm after defying me like that? And that I gave you permission, too. You just had to, ahh, cum after your daddy spanked you, is that it?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” I admitted. My shirt was off now and I was pulling off my pants.

“Did he get excited, too?” he asked. “Like, ahh, last time? You wrote that he got hard the last time he, ahh, spanked you. Did it happen again?”

“Yes,” I whispered, embarrassed by the memory. Remembering that I wanted to demonstrate my obedience, though, I shook away that embarrassment and said more forcefully, “Yes, Sir, uhm… he d-definitely did.”

After I was naked he made me lie down on my back while he went to a closet to get something. My body trembled as I stared up at the ceiling, wondering what would happen next. At least I was on my back, I figured. Though it was painful for my poor little butt it at least meant he didn’t intend to punish it further. That, at least, was a good sign. But then I realized there were worse things than spankings. Because when he returned he was carrying four big, thick white candles.

I knew instantly what they were for. He’d never done it to me but had mentioned it in passing once or twice as a possible punishment should I refuse to do something or fail at a task. I gulped as he set them up on the ground perpendicular to the couch and then lit them each in turn. I watched him do this out of the corner of my eye with growing fear and apprehension. Then he picked up the first one and stood over my trembling body.

He was grinning down at me with a look of pure evil on his face. “This will be, ahh, only the start of your punishment, whore,” he said. “Do not doubt me for a, ahh, moment when I promise I’ll think of a more appropriate punishment later. Trust me, I will. Right now I’m just too angry to get very, ahh, creative. Right now I, ahh, just want to see you hurt.”

I started sobbing again, terrified by the pain that was about to come. I gripped my hands into the leather sofa and shook from head to toe. I’d had friends before who had played around with hot wax, lighting birthday candles or whatever and dripping the melted wax onto their fingers. Nothing major. But I’d always been too afraid of the pain to join them. The screams they made after one or two little drips of wax hit their fingers or hand had always been so intense that I refused to follow suit. My master, of course, wasn’t going to limit the wax to just my hands.

He continued leering down at me with that evil grin on his face, obviously enjoying my fear and begs for mercy. My mouth was on automatic pilot, sobbing that I’d do anything, that I’d suck him off or fuck him or wear the fishnet shirt again, without the black tape over my nipples even, anywhere he wanted. He remained silent, listening to my breathless pleas but just grinning in response. And then, slowly, he he tilted the first candle and suddenly my begs turned into screams.

The first drops landed directly on my left tit, and as he continued to pour the wax onto my delicate skin some landed on my nipple, too. The pain was excruciating. I felt like my skin was on fire. The wax cooled and hardened quickly on my nubile flesh but even that process hurt beyond measure. He picked up another candle after the first was spent and continued my punishment without missing a beat. The hot wax dripped onto my other tit, then between them, leaving a trail of pain down my body. I bucked up my body and squirmed and screamed, but I didn’t try to escape. Obedience was too ingrained in me by now for that. My only hope was that he’d show me mercy if he realized what agony I was in, so I screamed louder, at the top of my lungs, shrieks that could break glass. It didn’t matter, though. Mercy wasn’t a part of his vocabulary.

Whenever he ran out of wax from one candle he’d set it back on the floor and pick up the next one. I soon realized that he wasn’t going to stop until he’d covered every inch of my 13-year-old body with the horrifyingly painful wax. As it turned out, though, he avoided areas of my body that clothes wouldn’t cover up. Unfortunately this did not include my bald, sensitive cunt.

He saved that area for last. I nearly passed out when the first drop of melted wax dropped there, right between my legs. I wish I had passed out, actually, but even if I had there was no way I would have been able to remain unconscious. The pain was just too incredible. He dribbled the wax onto the sensitive skin of my labia first, sort of tracing the outline of my pubescent pussy. Then he let the wax fall onto my actual slit. It hit my clitty and as I shrieked he dribbled some more down to the entrance of my vagina. Even though I bucked and squirmed my body as I screamed in agony, he wouldn’t relent. I had never experienced anything so painful but he just continued to drip the melted wax onto my most private area. I felt like I was going to die.

Finally he was done. Most of my body was covered in the now cool and hardened wax, from my upper thighs to my tits and everything between. I writhed around sobbing on the couch, whimpering pathetically as he blew the candles out. Then he got on his knees and ran his hands over my wax covered body.

“That, ahh, is what happens when you break my rules,” he hissed in my ear.

He began to peel the wax off soon after. All I could do was choke and grunt. It wasn’t as bad as applying it had been, but peeling off the hardened wax was definitely an agony I’d never known before. Especially when he peeled it off my cunt and nipples: those were the most sensitive areas of my body and it felt as though my flesh was being ripped off as he pulled away the wax.

He grabbed me by my hair, then, and led my exhausted, reddened body over to the bed at the opposite end of his finished basement. My skin was red everywhere the wax had hit, I could see, and it made sense. Red is the color of fire and those areas felt like they were still ablaze. I continued to sob as he undressed himself. My body ached all over, but suddenly it was only a dull ache compared to earlier. When he laid down on his back, though, my blubbering intensified again. When he laid down his fat, naked body on his back it meant he wanted me to ride him. After what I’d just gone through the last thing I wanted was to be on top. Even though he had me practice the position all the time I still hadn’t gotten used to impaling myself on his cock. It was my least favorite position, the one I was the most awkward with, but apparently he wanted to be able to look at my face while we fucked.

“I want to watch you, ahh, sob like a little girl,” he explained evilly. “Today I want to see you cry, not cum.”

There was no chance that wouldn’t happen. I hadn’t even stopped crying from the torture I’d just endured, after all, and my poor little pussy was aching so bad I knew that fucking him was going to be even more painful that usual. It was going to be horrible. Absolutely horrendos. Obediently, though, I crawled up onto him even as tears trickled down my face. In a traumatic daze I positioned my sore cunt over his cock and tried to gather up the will to push my lower half down onto it.

As always he wouldn’t let me take my time, though. In fact, he really seemed to enjoy making me hurt this time.

Whenever I was on top I would naturally hesitate, and he would have to “encourage” me to continue. But normally he kind of let me set the pace, especially at the beginning. But on this day, when I needed more than ever to go slowly, he would have none of it. He gripped me by my bony hips and pulled my body down forcefully onto his prick without a word. Tears continued to roll down my cheeks and my sobbing intensified again as his cock tore into me. For the first time ever I wasn’t wet, either, as it grated its way inside me. There’s no way he didn’t realize this but apparently it didn’t bother him. He kept pulling me down on his cock, causing it to scrape its way painfully up into my tight, dry hole. I blubbered and whimpered and sobbed as his penetration of my nubile body intensified the stinging pain from his wax torture, but he just kept pulling me down. And once he was all the way up inside me he started to squeeze my reddened titties, too.

He had absolutely no interest in me enjoying this today, not that there was any chance I would. It was simply too painful. My cunt did end up getting a little wet, thankfully, but it was from instinct. Not pleasure, not arousal, but sheer instinct. My body juiced itself up just enough to alleviate my pain as much as it could. Once it did, though, I dutifully bobbed my body up and down on him, cringing each time I lowered myself on his stick and continuing to cry all the while but determined to be the slut he wanted me to be anyway. As always, whenever I slowed down he squeezed my tits to speed me up. On this day that encouragement was even more painful than usual since my tits were red from the applied, then removed, hot wax.

Fucking him while crying pathetically must have really gotten him worked up. He came quicker than he ever had before, much to my relief. The pain was so horrible that I’d been hoping from the onset it would end quickly, and it did. I was only on top of him for about five minutes before he started to groan. But when I felt his cock pulse and unleash his streams of semen inside me, something strange happened.

I mean, I’d felt him cum inside me on many occasions over the last couple of weeks. From many positions. And I thought I knew by now what it was like to have a cock erupt inside my young pussy. But this was different. You see, usually when he came in me (or when the dogs had before him) I’d already experienced at least one or two orgasms of my own. My pussy was always extremely juicy at that point. This time, however, my cunt was basically dry. Sure, my pussy had dampened a bit to help his cock slide in and out of my vagina. But it wasn’t even close to being soaking wet the way it usually was. So when his cock erupted I could literally feel his hot, thick goo spurting up inside me, a physical sensation I’d never truly appreciated before. It filled my vaginal tube. It squirted up into my womb. I felt all of this: the hotness of his cum, the thickness of its construction. Each squirt of semen from his dick roiled me and surprised me in ways I would never have been able to imagine before. In the end, despite all the pain and all my tears, I nearly had an orgasm. I probably would have, actually, if his own orgasm could have gone on just a few seconds longer.

It didn’t, though. After shooting his load up inside me he was done. He basically pushed me off his fat body and let me curl up into a ball of shame and confusion and pain. He laughed at me and left me alone, returning to the couch and putting on a porn movie.

The intense pain between my legs and all over my wax-burned skin slowly dampened as I was left alone to recover. Eventually I was all cried-out. I must have laid there for about a half an hour, all told. It surprised me how quickly my skin seemed to recover from the pain. What I had been certain would last for an eternity had become nothing but a dull throb in less than half an hour.

When my master ordered me to return to him I felt more or less normal. Certainly I was still shaken up but my mind had more or less recovered. And I knew beyond all doubt that I had learned my lesson. I would do anything to avoid ever experiencing that level of pain again, even if it meant showing my dad my naked ass and pussy the next time he spanked me. If he ever discovered I wasn’t wearing underwear I’d simply tell him that it made me feel good to let my pussy breathe. I would use those exact words. If that response got me grounded or ended up exposing my relationship with my master, so be it. Anything would be better than undergoing the torment I’d just experienced again.

My master wanted a blow job when I got back to him and I dutifully complied. I’d gotten a lot better at giving head but still couldn’t deep-throat, though my master sure liked to try. He never forced me too much for fear that I’d really gag and end up throwing up, but sometimes he gripped my head and held it down over his cock until I couldn’t breathe, telling me to relax my throat and allow it to slide down. It never did without me gagging, though, and this day was no exception. Eventually he let me return to my normal routine and it wasn’t long before he came despite the fact he wasn’t able to get his shaft all the way down my throat.

You need to keep in mind that despite all the sex and abuse I had been experiencing since becoming a slave, I was still just a 13-year-old girl. I wanted to be good at it, of course, but I was still only a child. Riding my master or trying to deep-throat him were still extremely difficult for me. I simply didn’t have the experience to do either effectively. To put it another way, I’m sure I was in the 99th percentile for girls my age giving head or getting fucked. But that didn’t mean I was ready for the big leagues. Little leaguers aren’t expected to pitch against the stars of Major League Baseball for a reason. But my master always seemed disappointed whenever I threw an air-ball. This day was no exception. He derided me afterwards for failing, once again, to accept his cock “properly”. And that made me feel more ashamed than ever.

After the blow-job he lectured me for nearly ten minutes about why my performance hadn’t been good enough. He insulted me and ridiculed me, and I almost started crying again because he made me feel so bad about myself. It made me feel horrible to be such a disappointment. But finally he said, “At least you, ahh, got me off” and wiped away a tear from my eye. That compliment, at least, made me feel a little bit better.

He wanted me on his lap after that. And as we watched porn together he tickled my pussy and got me to cum just from his touch. After I did he reminded me that my punishment wasn’t over, though.

“I’ll think of something good,” he promised. “Something, ahh, appropriate for the severity of your disobedience today.”

What he ended up coming up with involved my next, and last, Sunday as his slave.

Normally on Sunday mornings I would make breakfast for my family and then walk over to Mrs. Tubly’s house down the street.

Mrs. Tubly was a longtime neighbor with two little girls of her own. A single mother raising two cute but intollerably defiant little girls, Angelina Tubly was probably the least intelligent adult I knew. Her ex-husband was a multi-millionaire stock broker on Wall Street but she was content to receive incredibly modest child support payments from him. What she got for raising their children helped, but even at the age of 13 I knew she was struggling, and that deserved a lot more. But I never said a word of this: gossip was, after all, only gossip. And she was kind enough to drive me to church every Sunday so if anything, I was in her debt. And she appreciated my help containing her bossy 9-and-10 year old girls at St. Joseph’s and I saw it as a small price to pay to have a reliable ride to church every Sunday.

My master had ordered me to come over to his house before church on this particular Sunday. He had told me the night before that he had something special for me to do and that it would complete my punishment for breaking his “no panties” rule on Thursday. When I said that I’d miss my ride to St. Joseph’s if I went over to his house first, he promised that I’d get there on time.

When I got to his house I was nervous to say the least. I had no idea what he had in mind and had worried about it the night before, making it difficult to sleep. He was obviously planning to humiliate me in some way, but how? Surely he wouldn’t make me wear the fishnet top to church. Or would he? Just the previous night he’d made me walk around the mall in that humiliating top, and it’d only been through the grace of God that I hadn’t run into anyone I knew there.

I didn’t have to wait long for him to explain his plan. When I entered his house that morning he brought me straight downstairs, as always. My heart pounded in my chest when I saw that he’d set up a folding table and two chairs. And on the table were five shot glasses full of some kind of liquid.

“Sit, sit,” he said with a smile, gesturing to one of the two chairs. “You look, ahh, very lovely today, Becky.”

“Th-thank you, Sir,” I said. I was wearing one of my newer Church dresses, a lavender colored knee length one-piece without sleeves. It had a sloping neckline trimmed in a darker shade of lavender and though it didn’t reveal any cleveage I thought it looked really pretty on me. It was getting pretty chilly now that November had truly taken hold but I hadn’t worn a jacket, something I’d regretted the instant I’d stepped out of my house. My skin was covered in goosebumps and no doubt my face looked rosy from the cold walk over. I wasn’t worried about any of that right now, though. Right now my eyes were locked on the five shot glasses full of clear liquid laid out in front of me.

As if reading my mind my master said, “You look a bit, ahh, cold. Have a drink, it’ll warm you up.”

Gingerly I picked up the first shot glass, sniffed it, and then took a small sip. The taste was instantly recognizable: I would never forget the taste of rum, not after I’d nearly downed an entire pint about six weeks earlier. I hadn’t drank any alcohol since, and didn’t much want to, but if going to church drunk was my master’s punishment for me then I had no trouble complying. In fact, I counted myself lucky. I had expected something much worse.

“No, no, no,” he scolded me. “I thought you said in your, ahh, first homework assignment that you drank a pint once? If you, ahh, really did you should know the proper way to drink.”

“Th-this… is pretty much how I drank it, S-sir,” I said, truthfully.

He shook his head in disgust. “You’re not sipping, ahh, orange juice, girl. These are shot glasses! Throw ’em back and swallow the whole thing in one, ahh, go!”

I nodded obediently and then readied myself. I knew how strong the taste of this stuff was but throwing back an entire shot nearly made me choke anyway. But I kept the whole drink down and my master clapped for me.

“Good job, good job,” he chuckled. “Now the, ahh, next one. Hurry up, we don’t have all day, little one.”

I drank shot after shot as quickly as I could, throwing each back and gasping every time. The liquid burned my throat but did seem to have a warming effect as it hit my tummy. After I downed the fifth and final glassful of rum I realized I was already feeling a bit numb in the head, too. I even grinned at him afterwards, proud of my acheivement and ready to move on to church.

“Excellent, excellent,” he said. “Now it’s time to explain your punishment.”

I wrinkled my brow in confusion. I thought I’d just completed my punishment! But already he was reaching into a box on the floor next to his chair. He pulled out what appeared to be a pair of panties.

“On Thursday you, ahh, broke one of the first rules I ever gave you,” he explained. “The panties rule. You thought you were, ahh, doing something good, something to protect yourself from being embarrassed in front of your dear daddy. But all you proved was that you were more afraid of him than of, ahh, me. And that won’t stand. I am your master, Becky. He may be your, ahh, father, but you are my property. And even though I’m pretty damned, ahh, sure you’ll never forget that again, based on the intensity of your, ahh, screaming during the candle-wax treatment, I’m determined to drill it into that brainless head of yours even more. So, ahh, here. Put these on.”

He pushed the rumpled pair of black underwear in my direction. I reached across the table in confusion. My mind was beginning to fog up from the alcohol and his little speech hadn’t made a ton of sense to me. I gripped the black panties and pulled them toward me and was instantly surprised by its weight. I held them up to examine and nearly gasped at the sight of what appeared to be a black rubber penis sticking out of the front of them.

My master laughed at the look of surprise on my face. “They’re inside out,” he said. “Turn them the right way then pull them on. That little rubber, ahh, cock goes inside you.”

I blushed as I finally understood. This special pair of underwear was some kind of sex toy! And he wanted me to wear it in church. My pulse quickened at the thought. I mean, the rubber-penis shaped object attached to the inside of the panties wasn’t very big, but still, my cunt would be stuffed all throughout service. I gulped nervously and stood up.

As I pulled the underwear up my slender teenage legs I realized they were too big for me. I figured it wouldn’t matter, though, since the rubber dildo thing would keep them from falling down. With a sigh I widened my stance and sort of squatted as I pushed the object against my cunt. My master, meanwhile, got out of his chair and on one knee in front of me to watch as I pressed the object into me. I groaned as the thing slid into my cunt. The first inch wasn’t bad, and neither was the second, or third. But the fourth and final inch made me groan again and I felt my pussy grow damp.

“Let me see, let me see,” my master muttered. I held my lavender dress up so he could examine his little toy plugged up inside my body. He seemed to approve of that, but was concerned with the loose fitting pair of panties it was attached to. “I was, ahh, afraid of this. I bought the smallest pair I could, ahh, find, but they don’t have a ‘tween’ section at the adult book store I shop at. Okay, ahh, one second.”

I stood there as he went back over to his box, sort of swaying in place as I held my dress up over my waist. The feeling of the object inside me was definitely noticeable but in truth it wasn’t all that bad. I could probably ignore it once my tight cunt really adjusted for its size. I wasn’t going to tell my master that, though. He obviously liked the idea of using this special “panties dildo” sex toy on me and probably figured it would be a huge, embarrassing distraction during church services. It dawned on me that it probably would have been a month earlier, too. But I’d been through too much by now for it to really be that big a deal. Once again I was relieved that my punishment wasn’t worse.

He returned a moment later with a roll of duct tape in his hand. As he tore off a long strip of tape I realized that the panties had already slid down past my hips. They really were much too large for my small pubescent body. Worse yet, the little rubber cock was beginning to slide out of my cunt, and I realized that the purpose of the panties– to hold the cock in place– was lost since they were too large for me. My master had obviously already thought of a way to remedy this, though.

He pulled the panties back up as high as he could, causing the little dildo thing to dig its way back up into my cunt. I sighed at the sensation and then giggled drunkenly as he applied the tape. He wrapped it around my ticklish tummy, being careful to keep the tape on enough of the cheap fabric and my skin to hold both together. Next he tore off one long strip and slapped it right over my belly button. He pushed the strip of tape down my body until it was between my legs and then he slid one arm behind me and pulled the tape back up on the opposite side, right over my butt crack. When he was done both the panties and the object it was supposed to hold inside me were definitely secure.

“That should do it. How does it, ahh, feel?” he said.

“A little, uhm, drunk,” I said. Then I giggled when I realized he’d asked how the toy felt. “I mean, uhm, good. I feel like… pleasantly stuffed!”

He grinned. “Good. Now we’d, ahh, better get going. Don’t want to be late for church.”

I followed him up the stairway and into his garage and soon we were both sitting in his big white van. It was a strange sensation to be walking with that object stuffed up inside me. Each step made it move ever so slightly, a constant reminder of its presence. But even as my brain continued to grow foggy from the five shots of rum I’d just had I became certain of one thing: if my master had really wanted me to feel uncomfortable in church he would have made sure the rubber dildo thing was at least as big as his dick. That would have really made me feel stuffed. Better yet he could have found something as big as my dad’s cock, which I was certain was bigger than my master’s even though I hadn’t seen it. Something that size would have been impossible to ignore. The little thing inside me right now, on the other hand, was going to be easy to forget about once I got used to it.

When we reached the church parking lot he said to me, “Mass starts at, ahh, 10:30, right?”

“Mmm… uhm, I mean, yes, Sir!” I said. That’s when I noticed he wasn’t slowing down to make the turn. I looked over at him with a puzzled expression on my face. He just grinned.

After a minute he said, “We have 35-minutes before, ahh, mass starts. There’s a little park down here you can walk to church from. And meet me at after. I don’t want people to, ahh, see us enter your, ahh, church together.”

I was really confused now. “You’re, uhm… what do you mean, together? Sh- uhmm, I mean, Sir?”

He gave me an evil little grin just as he turned down the dirt road that led to the park he’d mentioned. I knew it well: Benya’s Community Recreational Park. It was a barely kept-up quasi-park and wasn’t even paved, but it had a swing-set, a slide, lots of trees, and a few picnic tables overlooking a little creek. When I was really little my dad used to tell me to walk to it after church and “play” until he got there to pick me up. Sometimes I ended up staying there for hours, alone, waiting for him to arrive. I had always hated that place. When Mrs. Tubly had offered to give me a ride home one day after spotting me walking toward it, she’d instantly become my favorite neighbor ever. Benya’s Park had become a symbol of my dad’s lack of affection toward me. In the years since I had not once set foot there. But my master had chosen this place to drop me off at.

“I’ll be attending, ahh, mass with you today,” my master explained. “But we shouldn’t show up together. People would, ahh, wonder who I was. So you’ll walk from here and I’ll drive. And I’ll drive back over here after mass and, ahh, meet you. Understand?”

Slowly I began to nod. But it still didn’t make sense to my drunken little brain. Why did he want to attend church with me?

“It, ahh, seems we have plenty of time before service begins,” he said, still grinning. He’d just parked his van in the small, deserted parking area and killed the engine. “I think I need a, ahh, blowjob. I’ve never been to church before and I feel a little tense.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and waited for me to do the same. I did. And then I followed him into the back of his van. In the large space of the conversion van there were a few cardboard boxes, but most of the area was filled by an old, stained mattress lying on the floor. I’d noticed it before and he’d mentioned it to me the first time he’d fucked me, but I’d never actually been on it. My intoxicated state didn’t make it any easier for me to walk over it, but I managed to do so without falling. And when he reached the end of the mattress he stood off of it, onto the steel floor of the van, and began to unzip his slacks.

I obediently dropped to my knees at the edge of the creaking mattress. His back was practically pressed against the back-doors of his van as he grinned down at me. My cute lavender dress scrunched up around my knees as I knelt for him, but my expression was one of drunken delight as he fished out his cock from his pants. It felt so sexy to have this little dildo thing shoved up inside my cunt while I wore my Sunday best and knelt in front of my master, ready to receive his cock. When I pulled it out from his pants I sighed happily. Then I smiled up at him, past his gut, and gave him a stupid, immature expression I probably thought was sexy.

My mouth widened and accepted his member right away. I slurped around its head, trying to remember all the little techniques my master had taught me over the last couple of weeks. I licked the underside of his shaft and stroked its length with one tiny hand; I licked his hairy ball sack; I took as much of it as I could into my mouth until I was nearly gagging. All this seemed to please my master. He was sighing above me. And then suddenly something strange happened.

The rubber cock inside my cunt began to vibrate. It was barely descernable at first but quickly gained intensity. The inside of my pussy was suddenly rumbling from the vibrating object and the sensation was so delicious I felt myself building toward an orgasm. The surprised expression quickly left my face as I drunkenly groaned around the cock in my mouth. I could hear my master chuckling above me as I proceeded to blow him, lapping at his cock with all my might while my pussy shook and trembled and I neared an orgasm of my own.

And then as quickly as it had started the vibrations stopped. I choked a little in disappointment but continued to drag my lips back and forth on my master’s cock anyway like I was enjoying a popsicle. My heart was beating fast and I was hoping for the vibrating to return, but it didn’t. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing my master pulled his cock out of my mouth and told me to open wide and say, “Ahh!”

After stroking his slick cock a few times his cum shot into my awaiting mouth. His aim was perfect that morning: the first spurt went directly to the back of my throat and the rest of his seed landed on my pink tongue. When he was finished ejaculating I swallowed down his seed then panted a little with a dazed expression on my cute face.

He zipped up his pants, then, while I remained kneeling. My drunk, confused brain was trying to figure out what had happened between my legs. Had it been real? Or had the alcohol, combined with the sexiness of giving my master a blowjob right before church, confused me into thinking the thing shoved up my cunt had vibrated? I got my answer a moment later because just then the vibrating returned.

It was definitely real. I stared up at my master with a look of confusion and desire in my eyes.

He grinned down at me. “You, ahh, like that, little one?” he chided me. He was holding what appeared to be a tiny remote control in his hand and was clicking a button on it. The more he clicked it the faster the vibrations between my legs got. I found myself unable to reply as the vibrating intensified: I unconciously began squeezing my tiny boobs together through my dress as I swayed forward and back in front of him, my eyes closed as I got lost in the pleasure I was experiencing.

Once again the vibrations abruptly stopped. I gasped in frustration and snapped open my eyes. I gave my master a pleading look but he just smiled and said, “That’s enough for, ahh, now, little one. We’ll save the rest for, ahh, church. Speaking of which it’s time I explained the final part of your punishment.

“When you go to confession I want you to tell your Father DeGrazia that you’ve been having, ahh, impure thoughts about one of your brothers. I don’t care which one,” he explained as he gently pet my hair, “but you’re going to, ahh, say that you caught him jacking off earlier in the week. Tell him that, ahh, you haven’t been able to get the memory out of you head. Tell him that you, ahh, keep fantasizing about his cock, and that whenever you’re around him now you feel yourself getting, ahh, aroused. If he asks, tell him that you haven’t, ahh, masturbated about it but that you, ahh, really want to. Understand?”

My sexually frustrated and drunken mind completely understood, but was also completely mortified. I made a small whimpering sound but obediently nodded my head. The vibrations inside my cunt returned just then, on a very low setting, while my master helped me to my feet.

“Meanwhile I’ll be watching you throughout the service and using this little, ahh, toy to keep you hot and bothered,” he explained. “If you end up losing control it would be a most, ahh, interesting scene. Either way I’m sure you’ll never look at a pair of panties the same way ever again. Stupid sluts like you need to be taught through association. You’re like, ahh, Pavlov’s dog, little one.”

With that he threw open one of the back doors of the van and gestured for me to leave. I gave him one last pleading look before clumsily crawling out of the van. Once I was out he shut the door again and I watched the van rock as he walked back toward the driver’s seat. A moment later he was gone, leaving me alone in the small park I hated so much, shivering from the cold and trembling between my legs.

The walk to the church was a short, cold, confusing trip. My mind kept obsessing over the confession I was supposed to make and the slight vibration of the rubber cock inside my pussy. God it was going to be horrifying. God it was going to be embarrassing. God I wanted to cum so bad I could scream!

As I walked along the road leading to St. Joseph’s I kept wanting to touch myself but there was no way I could. There was too much traffic. And besides, it was hard enough to walk normally in my drunken state without having the distraction of a hand between my legs to further complicate things. The last time I’d been intoxicated I’d been a lot more drunk, sure, but I’d also been in the safety of my house and away from prying eyes. This time I kept worrying that someone might be able to tell I was drunk from the way I walked. Even though the cars speeding by me probably never gave me a second glance I kept worrying that they were watching my every move.

When I approached the church my worries intensified. I was about to be surrounded by people I knew, and people who knew me. Would they notice that I was acting strangely? I didn’t see how they possibly wouldn’t. My best bet, I decided, was to avoid people at all costs and say as little as possible if I did have to speak.

Thankfully the services were just about to begin as I entered St. Joseph’s. There wasn’t any time to mingle. Already the stragglers were filing inside and I was the last to enter. It was a relief to be out of the cold but I was growing more anxious by the moment anyway. Somewhere in the rows of pews my master was watching me file inside the building, no doubt ready to amplify the vibrations between my legs the second he saw me arrive. I was trying not to act strange, though, so rather than looking for him I sought out Mrs. Tubler and her two disobedient daughters instead. I found them in their usual place about halfway up the nave. They were sitting near the aisle. When I got there my neighbor smiled at me and scooted over so that I could have a seat. I smiled back at her but said nothing.

“Hannah’s being really fussy today, do you mind if she sits next to you?” Mrs. Tubler said just as the congregation began settling down.

I smiled and nodded again. Mrs. Tubler stood up, then, and told her youngest daughter to scoot over next to me. The girl complied with a look of annoyance on her face just as the organs began to play.

The call to worship occurred a moment later, and as I stood for the first hymn the vibrations between my legs intensified. I bit my lower lip for a moment then urged Hannah to stand up with a quiet, trembling voice. The girl rolled her eyes but complied. I held out the hymnal so that she could follow along; I knew the words by heart and sang quietly as the clergy entered and made their way, slowly, to the altar. The vibrations between my legs were making it extremely difficult for me to follow along with the song but I did my best to at least appear as though I was singing.

The vibrations didn’t intensify again until I was kneeling during the prayers of intercession. I nearly gasped as when I felt myself growing wetter, and of course just then Hannah began to fuss again. She didn’t want to kneel and her mom was distracted with her other daughter. As Fr. DeGrazia began the prayer for the state of Christ’s church I leaned back and whispered in a shaky voice, “Hannah, puh-please, it’s only a f-few more minutes!” The girl just ignored me, though, and stubbornly crossed her arms across her flat chest in defiance. She would start crying if I bugged her much more so I decided to leave her alone. Normally I would have thought of a way to get her to kneel but I had larger concerns at the moment. Chief among them was the fact I could feel my nipples starting to harden as my skin flushed with sexual energy. I closed my eyes and squeezed my hands together and tried to concentrate on Fr. DeGrazia’s voice.

After the prayer was done the children were dismissed. Volunteers walked down the aisle to gather everyone younger than 12 and lead them to the Children’s Workshop Room located elsewhere in the church. It wasn’t so long ago that I would have been among them. I was glad today that I wasn’t, though, since I didn’t think I could put up with Hannah or Polly anymore, not in the state I was in. Mrs. Tubler’s girls grudgingly exited the pew and after all the kids were gone the service continued.

The invitation followed and then the general confession, after which we stood up for another hymn. After that one of the clergy began to read the first of the scriptures from the lecturn and Mrs. Tubler chose that moment to ask me if anything was wrong.

“N-no,” I whispered back. The truth was everything was wrong! My cunt was trembling and I was desperate for an orgasm and the moment was fast approaching that I would have to make a humiliating confession to my priest. I couldn’t tell her any of that, though, so instead I just quietly said, “I’m… a l-little under the weather. B-but I’m fine.”

She gave me a look of concern. “You do you look flushed,” she said softly. “I hope you don’t have a fever!”

I gave her a weak smile then returned my attention to the reading. I was trying my best not to squirm in my seat but it was incredibly difficult to remain still. The vibrations in my cunt had intensified a little more and my drunken mind kept drifting off to the most horribly dirty thoughts it could conjure up, as if doing so would give me the release I desperately needed. It was a constant struggle to remind myself where I was and focus on the service, especially during the Lord’s Prayer. Though it was the first prayer I’d ever memorized, and though normally I could recite it backwards and forwards, I stumbled through it stupidly and breathlessly. Mrs. Tubler seemed to notice.

After a couple more hymns and Father DeGrazia’s sermon it came time for the Holy Eucharist. I gulped as I stood up, nervous as hell about having to walk up to the altar. Mrs. Tubler kept giving me a look of concern and I did my best to smile reassuringly at her, but it was hard. When it came time to follow her as our row was invited to the altar I felt so weak I was afraid I might faint. Thankfully the vibrations between my legs seemed to lessen a bit just then. I managed to garner up the strength to walk all the way to the altar and kneel for communion without incident.

My hands trembled as I cupped them in front of me and waited for one of the clergymen to give me the bread. When he reached me he said, “The Body of Christ, the bread of heaven,” and placed the wafer in my hands. I manged to squeak out my “amen” before putting the wafer in my mouth. Then the cup was offered to me and the clergyman said, “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation,” and again I said “amen” but this time I nearly gasped the word. The rumbling between my legs had amplified again, more intensely than before. When I took my sip from the cup I almost spit out the blood of Christ as I supressed a gasp of pleasure.

Walking back to my seat was extremely difficult. I managed to do it somehow. For the rest of the service the vibrations remained on what I thought must be the rubber cock’s highest setting. It felt so incredibly good that if I had been alone I’m sure I would have came, but since I had to try and appear normal and certainly couldn’t touch myself or moan with desire I also had to fight against the temptation to cum.

Eventually Fr. DeGrazia performed the blessing and the congregation was dismissed. As the organs played and the church filled with the voices of the congregation, Mrs. Tubler put her hand on my forehead and said, “You feel warm, Becky! I’d better bring you home right away.”

“N-no,” I breathed. “Uhm, I’m f-fine. My d-dad is picking me up… uhm, to b-bring me to the doctor’s. He’s bring me to, uhm, the doctor’s. Uhm, and I n-need to make confession!”

She frowned at me but seemed to believe my lie. Then she thanked me for helping with Hannah, gave me a hug, and left.

I sat back down in my pew and waited for the church to empty. Not everyone made confession every Sunday, and Mrs. Tubler never did, but normally she would wait for me at the Children’s Workshop Room since she knew it was a requirement at my school that I make confession once a week. Thankfully I knew for a fact that my dad wouldn’t be home when she drove past my house on her way home. He was taking my brothers to another Brown’s game. Otherwise she would have seen his SUB parked in my driveway and realized I was lying about going to the doctor’s.

When the church was pretty much empty I finally spotted my master. He was seated in the back row on the other side of the aisle from me. The sight of him made me blush anew. It was a reminder of what I was about to do, a reminder that he was watching my every move and controlling the damnable toy inside my cunt. I turned away from him and tried to collect myself for a moment. Then I stood and walked towards the confessional booths and got in line.

Most of the people in front of me were other teen girls like myself who attended Catholic schools. Jody and Melissa were among them, and never before had I been so glad to be considered “off limits” socially. No one even looked at me as I stood there trembling all over and wringing my hands together anxiously. The line moved fairly quickly and when it was my turn to enter the booth I was nearly hyperventilating from both fear and sexual heat.

It was a relief to be off my feet when I knelt inside the confessional, but images of my master standing in front of me with his cock out earlier that morning flashed through my horny brain. It heightened my arousal. But I pushed those thoughts out of my head, especially when I heard the little window slide open. It was my cue to begin.

“F-forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I breathed. Trying desperately to control my quivering voice I continued, “It was… I uhm… mean, it’s buh-been… seven days since my l-last confession.”

Father DeGrazia had a slight Italian accent even though he’d lived in Ohio for over 20 years. When he promised me absolution if I made a full and honest confession I barely heard his voice, though. Because as he spoke I found out that I hadn’t yet expereinced the toy inside my cunt’s highest setting. Now I was, though, and the intense vibrations were almost more than I could take.

“I, I…” I squeaked. I swallowed hard, then, and tried to focus. I had to get my punishment over, no matter how humiliating it was. “I… f-father, I have been having… imp… impure thoughts… about my uhm… bro-brother, Jason.”

“And what have the nature of these impure thoughts been, my child?” Fr. DeGrazia responded somberly.

My cunt began to squeeze around the little cock stuffed inside it, and though I wanted to I could no longer control the way it behaved. With each squeeze I gave the vibrating thing a ripple of pleasure emananted from my eager cunt and my body could no longer resist how good it felt. Somehow I managed to continue speaking, though. “I, uhm… on M-monday, I caught him… uhm… in the b-bathroom… he was, uhm, m-masturbating, F-father… and uhm, ever since I… I can’t st-stop thinking about h-h-h…”

“Calm down, my child,” Fr. DeGrazia said evenly. “Do not be ashamed in front of the Lord. You may confess any sin to Him and still enjoy his love and absolution. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

I took his advice but it was more to keep myself from climaxing in front of the Lord than to help me confess my sins to Him. Finally I continued with my humiliating lie, “I can’t st-stop thinking about his… thing. His… p-penis. I keep… g-getting aroused, F-father… wh-whenever I see him, now. I f-fantasize about h-him every n-night…”

My face burned red with shame as I waited desperately for his response. He said, “Have you succumbed to temptation, child? Have you touched yourself impurely during these fantasies?”

“N-n-no!” I choked, almost too loudly. Each wave of pleasure coming from between my legs was growing more intense than the last and I suddenly realized I was going to have an orgasm whether I wanted it or not.

“Well, that is the Holy Mother giving you strength, my child,” Fr. DeGrazia assured me. “Impure thoughts like this, at your age, are quite normal. The fact that they are about your brother is the Devil’s attempt to fill you with such shame that…”

He continued talking but I could no longer hear him. My teeth were clenched together and I had tensed up every muscle in my body. I was about to experience a mind numbing orgasm and it was going to require every ounce of control my intoxicated brain could manifest to keep me from crying out when it happened.

Then it hit. And when I felt myself explode with pleasure I gasped despite my best efforts. Suddenly I turned that gasp into another one, a sobbing one, and I really did begin to cry. I was crying from embarrassment, crying from weakness, and crying most of all from the incredible orgasm I was experiencing inside the confessional booth.

“There, there, child,” Fr. DeGrazia said after letting me sob for a few seconds. “This needn’t upset you so much. The Lord is with you, and I absolve you in His name of your sin. From now on whenever the Devil tempts you into thinking such thoughts I want you to say five ‘Hail Mary’s’ and reflect on the Mother and the glory of the immaculate conception.”

“Th-thank you, f-father,” I managed to sniffle. I stood up, then, on weak legs. Then I exited the booth, not caring that my eyes were red and that tears were still rolling down my cheeks. I just wanted to get out of there quickly.

I was in a drunken post-orgasmic bliss as I walked back to the park. But I also felt numb all over, like a zombie, which prevented me from enjoying the release I’d just experienced and had needed so badly. I felt utterly embarrassed and didn’t want to think about what I’d just said to the man who had baptized me anymore than I wanted to think about the fact I’d just had an orgasm inside my lifelong church. When I got to the park I wobbled on unsteady legs toward my master’s van.

Once I got inside it my master chuckled at the sight of me. “You look like, ahh, Hell, Becky.”

I didn’t respond. Suddenly the vibrations between my legs stopped and I slumped back in my seat in relief.

When we got back to his house he wanted me to fuck him on top again. I felt like I had no energy for sex, especially in that particular position, but my master insisted that I needed more practice doing it. And I have to admit that once I was naked and straddling his fat, middle-aged body I did get my second wind. As I slid my cunt onto his shaft I knew right away that I was going to climax quickly, and somehow I found the energy to ride him like never before. I groaned in pain and pleasure as I fucked him for nearly twenty minutes. He played with my tits the entire time, and when all was said and done I managed to get off not once, but twice.

Afterwards he said to me, “You’re, ahh, almost ready, little one. By this time next week you should be far enough along in your, ahh, training that the real fun can begin.”

It was a foreboding statement but I was too exhausted to wonder what he meant by it. And as it turned out he was wrong, anyway. Because although neither of us knew it at the time he was only going to be my master for two more days.

In less than a week I would no longer be his slave.

THE END OF CHAPTER FIVE