Prologue

I enjoy writing fictional stories that are based on characters created by others.  For example I am currently working on a BDSM Library serial based on the AMC TV series “Mad Men”.  In the past I have written stories like "Candy Among the Christians" revisiting Voltaire’s novel “Candide” and the opera by the same name by Bernstein.  "Constanza's Submission" was inspired by the “Abduction from the Seralio” by Mozart.  At another site I have written stories based on Lupus Pictures' "Headmaster" videos. 

 

Steve Pervy has written a great BDSM novel “It/s All In The Mind” which is available on this site as number 4061 (http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=4061).  I enjoyed this novel so much that I have done a riff based on Steve’s characters and ideas.  You can figure out my story on its own.  But I guarantee it will be more enjoyable of you read a bit of the real Steve Pervy first.

It should be remembered that the Rev. E. E. Norcod inhabits a far darker universe than Steve Pervy.  Steve’s characters ultimately come to enjoy the unleashing of what may be their more base instincts.  Norcod’s characters are forced to accommodate their darkest fears and end up turning to the dark side of their natures.  Those seeking lighthearted fun may not enjoy the following story.

Lastly, Steve is, as he describes it, a “stiff assed” Brit.  The universe he describes is in the United Kingdom.  E.E. Norcod is a fundamentalist Evangelical Preacher from the ‘Deep South’ of the United States.  Despite Norcod’s best efforts, his spelling, grammar and mind set are American.  He would like to be Margaret Thatcher but he will unfortunately always be George W Bush.  Steve Pervy should not be blamed for this.

I hope that those who enjoy the darker side of life will be entertained by this tale.

Monday Night Madness

Steve’s cell phone rang.  When he opened it up the voice on the other end was both familiar and excited to a degree that made Steve realize that something very interesting was about to unfold.  “Steve, I know that it is late at night and you probably have something planned with Helen or Sandra, but something has come up and I was wondering if you could come down to the surgery right away”.

Steve had a hunch about what might require his immediate presence on a Monday night but he quickly realized that it was not something that could be discussed over the phone.  “Alright”, he replied, “I will be there as soon as I can get out the door”.  He looked about the garage at the scene unfolding before him as Sally and his buxom next door neighbor Donna were disrobing under the bright fluorescent lights.  Tops were coming off and tight jeans were coming down.  Soon enough bras would be removed and panties slipped out of.  It was Monday night and they were anxious to be rid of the guilt built up by the pleasures of the weekend.  Shagging and blow jobs, cunt licking and butt fucking in front of a capacity crowd at Bob’s.  They loved the show they put on, and to be honest they loved getting their butts beaten in punishment for the fun they had.  In a minute or two the women would be bent over the pair of wooden trestles in the garage and the girl’s would be securing the ladies wrists, ankles and waists with short lengths of rope.  Then the girls would strip and get to work with the canes, raising welts on behinds that had no choice but to submit to the beating.  And who knows, maybe Edward and Hannah would come by later and have some fun with their step-mom and neighbor lady. 

Steve would have to miss the fun.  But he had seen it all before.  He instructed Helen and Sandra as they tied the women to the furniture of their chastisement.  “Girls, just because I have to leave doesn’t mean that you can run wild.  No more than a dozen strokes each, I don’t want them wearing diapers tomorrow.  And no pussy shots, either.  Helen, the beating you gave your mother two weeks ago rendered her unfit for anything but oral sex for most of the next five days.”  Sandra whined “Oh Steve, oh please let us do a good job.  They have been so bad lately.  They were absolute sluts last weekend”.  Over the last year Sandra had developed into a real sadist.  She took so much pleasure in stuffing her mother’s panties into Sally’s mouth to muffle the cries that inevitably began to issue after half a dozen strokes of the rattan applied with adolescent enthusiasm.  Helen on the other hand acted more out of a sense of duty rather than seeking excitement and arousal.  Oftentimes this made her all the deadlier.  Steve, on the other hand mostly enjoyed programming the women and girls to unleash their basest instincts.  The execution was fun, of course, but it was always the challenge of the new that drew him on.  And he wondered what the good doctor had up his sleeve.  Steve Waters sternly advised “I will be back very late, I don’t know what has come up at the surgery but it sounds like some sort of an emergency.  Remember, you girls have school tomorrow and your mom has to work tomorrow so I don’t want this place looking like a crime scene when I finally get home.”  The girls grinned at each other and Steve figured that they would do their worst.  By the time he was headed out the door, they had stripped to their underwear and were swishing their canes through the air.  Steve had a hunch the women would have trouble walking tomorrow morning.

At the Surgery

As he pulled up a few minutes later, he noticed Mrs Smithers, the afternoon-evening nurse standing in the door.  It was five minutes past nine and she obviously wanted to be going home.  “Dr Ritchie is in the examination office with the patient right now.  He said it was alright for me to go home.  Is there anything you will need?”  Steve shook his head indicating he needed nothing and that she could go.   After all, as a clinical psychologist practicing Alternative Medicine he needed none of the equipment that his physician collaborator required.  Not even a stethoscope and headlamp.  Mrs Smithers then whispered into Steve’s ear “Its Dr. O’Brien, the headmistress at St. Margaret’s, anxiety attack.”  Steve nodded in acknowledgement and opened the door for her, expediting her departure. 

After a fashion, things were beginning to make sense to Steve.  Ever since he had moved the girls from the Council school to a Christian girl’s school, David Ritchie had been needling him.  Dave talked about establishing a mind control regime over the school in the same way that Steve had done with Sally’s family and the neighbors. Steve had pointed out that the logistics of such an undertaking were impossible.  It would involve hypnotizing a couple of hundred girls, their mothers and God knows how many other family members several times a week plus all the other teachers and staff.  And it would place unbearable strain upon Steve’s pecker.  But Dave retorted that if they gained control over the headmistress, and one or two critical teachers, there might just be some possibilities.  Well, Steve always contended, enough of fantasy, we need to get down to business.

He went over to office and exam room Dave was in and knocked on the door before entering.  As he opened the door a middle-aged woman in a clinic gown squawked and virtually exploding out of her seat.  Anxiety attack, my ass, Steve thought, this woman’s daft. “Ah, Steven, just in time.  You can’t tell how glad I am to see you.” said David, rising and extending his hand.  But Steve’s attention was gripped by the extremely agitated, slightly overweight woman with her arms wrapped around herself pacing back and forth before him.  David gently placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to her chair, “There you go, Dr. O’Brien, I am sure that Steve can quickly help you, perhaps even now this evening.”  Steve pulled up a chair and sat next to the full figured woman with short red hair.  But not too close.  He still wasn’t sure he wanted to get into this.  “Perhaps, David, you and I should talk privately before we get too far along?” he began.  Dave spoke authoritatively, “Steven, I think that you should begin hypnotherapy, immediately.”  Dr. O’Brien vigorously nodded her head in agreement, “The valium he gave me has done absolutely no good.  In the past it has always helped.  This is absolutely the worst anxiety attack I have ever had.  I am completely non-functional.  There is no way I can manage the school tomorrow in this state.  It was all I could do just to get through today.  The last appointment of today was the quickest he could set up an appointment.”  It was obvious that she was barely hanging in there.  “Although I have never held truck with this Alternative Medicine truck, I do understand the role of hypnotherapy in Psychiatry.  It was a major technique of Freud’s after all.  You know that my Doctorate involved a great deal of Psychology, don’t you.”  Steve could see that Dave had thoroughly prepared the lady.  Well, he thought, what do we have to lose.  Then he thought about what he could actually lose if they were caught and a sweat broke out on his head.  This was the first time he would be attempting to unleash the demons in someone outside of his tiny circle.  But David had put him in a situation where he had no out. 

And so Steve began. “Dr. O’Brien, can I call you Agnes?”  He hoped that it would make things seem to be friendly rather than insultingly informal.  She nodded.  He led her over to the examining table and assisted her up, raising the back to about a 30o angle.  She nervously arranged her pink hospital gown around her.  As with all medical garb, it was designed with medical convenience rather than fashion in mind.  It was made of such a thin material that one could easily see Agnes’ rather large breasts though it.  It was obvious that her nipples were large and tense beneath the fabric which she had tied tightly in the back in an attempt to minimize the amount of visible flesh.  The thin gown made all too apparent that her bra and panties had been removed.  And the gown was so short that a strip of very pale flesh was visible between its hem and the tops of her black stockings.  To place her more at ease, Steve opened a drawer in the adjacent cabinet, removed a blanket, and covered her.  She clutched the uppermost portion of the blanket under her chin and shivered slightly.  He began talking quietly, reassuring her that she would be fine.  After several minutes, she began to visibly relax and Steve began the formal hypnotic process of putting her under.  All of a sudden, as her body started becoming limp, Steve whispered to her, “the word for you to key on is ‘Dreamtime Agnes’” and with that she fell into what appeared to be a deep sleep.  David lowered the head of the table and he and Dave arranged her seemingly asleep body under the blanket.  An immense sigh of relief issued forth from Steve. 

“Well, my friend, shall we go outside and talk.”  Dave started to object but Steve took him by the elbow and gently but firmly walked him out of the exam office.  “Dave, I cannot be absolutely certain that she is completely out and I cannot risk her hearing anything that I am about to say.  Do you realize how serious what we are about to do is.  This is not just screwing around with Sally and the kids or seducing the neighbor’s wife with the compliance of her husband.  This is about subverting a professional with considerable authority in her job.  Under the pretext of medical care.  And my God, man, she is an ex-nun.  If anything goes balls up, it’s our jobs, our careers.  It’s prison, probably for the rest of our lives.”

“Steve, you are out of control.  Think about all those first formers.  Think about their mothers and their sisters.  You don’t know about all the aspects of this that I do.  There are angles you haven’t even conceived of.  And besides, everybody knows how fucked up ex-nuns are.  I know this lady, she has a Psych file a foot thick.  By releasing what she has inside her we can probably make her life satisfying for the first time ever.  Trust me!”  Steve shook his head throughout all this speech but in the end nodded his assent and they reentered the room.

Getting Into the Mind of Sister Agnes

No sooner had Steve brought her back to a higher plane of consciousness and begun programming the controls into her, than Agnes O’Brien began to babble.  “Genital Mutilation, Genital Mutilation.  I lied, I lied.  I was working so hard to convince everyone of the need to stamp out Genital Mutilation.  What I was uncovering was how much we need more Female Circumcision.  God desires it.  It will turn modern women away from Satan and back to God.  I have been so wrong.  I have been so evil.  I have misled so many.  But they wanted to be misled.  They want to eliminate Female Circumcision for the devil’s own purpose.  They want girls to be continually wanking.  They want to see women jerking off.  I see them at school, those filthy school girls.  I know about their stained, smelly  knickers.  I see their mothers.  Women in short skirts and panty hose.  I know what they are doing.  They are getting their pussies eaten.  They love getting their genitals licked.  All of those single-parent, female-heads-of-household families.  Mothers passing their evil down to their daughters.  We need to bring back spanking.  We need to bring back the strap.  We need to bring back the tawse.  We need to bring back the birch.  We need to bring back the cane.  And the whip.  We need to bring back whipping and scourging.  Whip all the evil women.  Cane their daughters.  Whip their backsides.  Whip their tits.  Whip their pussies.  Strip them naked and put them to the mortification of the flesh.  And mutilate their genitals.  Cut their clits, sear their lips.  They suckle not their children.  They use their nipples only for pleasure.  Extirpate them all.  Brand their flesh with hot irons.  Genital Mutilation.  Dr. Brown was right.  Only infibulation will work.  Female circumcision is the only salvation possible for Godly Christian Women.” 

And as she ranted on, the blanket slid away and Steve and Dave could see her right hand slip under the hem of her gown.  The somnolent Agnes was beginning to finger her slit.  Her left hand began massaging her right nipple.  The two men looked at each other in amazement and disbelief.  Steve whispered to David, “But I haven’t started programming any of this into her yet”.  David looked at him and replied “You don’t have to.  It’s been there all along.  I sort of suspected.  This is going to be easier than I thought.  And far more interesting.”  They watched and listened as the red headed woman mumbled to herself “Agnes, you have been bad.  Agnes you are rotten and evil.  You lust so much.  You need to be punished.  You need cock all the time.  You must be chastised because you worship the phallus, it is your God.  You need to be beaten for your lust.  Your concupiscence cannot be controlled.  You need to have your genitals battered, burnt and crushed.  There is no salvation for you.”  The two men watched as the woman began to tremble and brought herself to a climax.

Back Home

Sally was not happy and neither was Donna.  Although Steve’s hypnotic programming had released the masochist within each of them, there was a limited degree to which masochistic excitement and submissive head space endorphins could cope with pain.  And both of them were approaching that limit.  Rapidly approaching that limit.  Steve had left only barely half an hour ago, instructing the girls on what they could do and what not to do.  And since Helen and Sandra were normal adolescents, they intended to do exactly what they had been forbidden to do.  It quickly became obvious that the girls intended to take the women well beyond a mild to moderate caning.  This punishment was not going to be six of the best or even a dozen.  The ladies had been secured all too thoroughly to the horses.  Their wrists were bound all too well to the trestle’s legs, not with a loose bit of rope but wrapping the line three times around wrist or leg and then frapping it snug twice. Not enough to cut off the circulation but sufficient such that no amount of twisting was going to release the bondage.  And as further restraint, their elbows had been secured to the legs of the carpenter’s horse.  Similarly their ankles had been bound together as well as their knees.  Their lower legs were tied to the lower crosspiece of the horse.  Finally their waists had been secured to the upper crosspiece of the saw horse by three bits of a u-shaped wrapping.  This was then cruelly tightened with a triple frapping.  Since at the waist, there was no need to worry about cutting off circulation, the girls took sadistic pleasure in cutting the rope deep into the flesh.  This meant that the mature buttocks of the women were held tightly in place, virtually incapable of any movement.  Helen and Sandra had obviously obtained some advanced information on bondage from Hannah.  They had studied it attentively in preparation for a chance to put it into practice.  And Steve had now given them exactly that chance.

At first Sally was excited.  Despite all the arousing and thrilling humiliations that she had been subjected to, Steve had limited the amount of pain the ladies were actually given.  He always insured that they should end up with no more than bruises that faded in a day or so.  He never employed more than light restraint.  He ordered at most a dozen firm, but not cutting, strokes of the cane.  But Sally knew from surfing the internet, that in this modern world, BDSM went a lot further than that.  ‘Girl’s Boarding School’ was about as rough as it got in Great Britain.  But in Eastern Europe and the U.S. there were a lot of sites where women ended up bleeding.  She had seen stills from the videos that they made in Hungary and the Czech Republic.  They showed women with buttocks and thighs where blood oozed from lacerated skin.  She loved the artistry of Lupus.  The cold brutality of Hard Caning, Mood and Elite Pain revolted her and made her skin crawl.  But paradoxically the brutality excited her, made her pulse race and brought moisture to her pussy. 

Hard core BDSM was also breaking boundaries in America.  Somewhere on the West Coast, there existed a master called Alebeard. He ruled an empire of ‘Paintoys’ who delighted in being whipped and bruised in the most intimate places.  And on the American East Coast there was a professed sadist called the Brutal Master. He had a website called ‘Torture Cage’ that depicted things being done to women that terrified her.  Not just spankings and canings but beating breasts until they were swollen and black and blue.  And pussy whippings that caused the bruised clitoris to swell to at least four times bigger than anything Sally had ever seen. She was turned off and then on again by beatings which left the labia bleeding.  She knew that Donna must know about the same material as well.  This was because Sally had learned about those internet sites from Donna’s college-aged daughter Hannah, who admitted an avowed interest in BDSM.  So Sally was ready to take her degradation and humiliation forward to the limits.

But Sally soon became disillusioned as to her limits.  Her daughters went at it with a will.  They put a force behind each blow that was never used when Steve was around.  Helen delivered the very first blow smoothly and directly across the fullest portion of Sally’s buttocks.  The pain literally exploded into Sally’s consciousness in a way that she had never experienced before.  If she hadn’t been secured so thoroughly to the trestle, there was no doubt that she would have pulled herself free.  And then Sally waited for the second blow.  And waited, and waited.  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, it came.  And it was even worse than the first.  Then once again, after a prolonged wait, the third arrived.  By the time she had taken half a dozen blows Sally’s mind was in tatters.  Sally was screaming herself hoarse but since her mouth was stuffed with her panties, it was to little effect.  The door of the garage was closed and her closest neighbor, Donna, was draped across the horse next to her.  If Donna’s stepchildren, Edward and Hannah, were home, they would have come running.  Not to rescue the ladies but to join in the fun.  Sally bucked and strained at her bondage but the girls had done too good a job.  So all she could do was to tense her body and wait for the next blow.  Her body trembled and she had broken out in a profuse sweat.  And Helen’s count had only reached 24.

Then the blows stopped.  Sally could not get a clear picture of what was going on.  Sandra, who up until now, had been caning Donna, came over and began to stroke her mother’s hair which was damp with sweat.  “Is Mommy having a good time?” she inquired.  “You should see your backside.  You wouldn’t believe it.  You don’t just have welts, you have bruises that are swelling to the bursting point.  They aren’t red, they are purple and some are even turning almost black.  Too bad you can’t see them now.  Or Donna’s, which are almost as pretty.  But don’t worry, we are getting everything down with the camcorder.  Later you can watch the whole thing.”  What Sally could see was that her two daughters had stripped off their undergarments.  They had started going at it on the floor in the classic ‘69’ position, stimulated beyond all endurance by having two fully adult women totally at their mercy.

After the girls climaxed and lay spent on the cold floor for a few minutes, they resumed their entertainments.  But this time Sandra picked up her cane and approached her mother while Helen went over to Donna, their next door neighbor.  Sandra whispered in Sally’s ear.  “Mommy, two dozen really good ones has left you with a black and blue behind.  But you have been caned and walked away with bruises before.  Maybe not this bad.  But then these things are but a matter of degree.  I am going to give you another two dozen and that is going to do something to you that you have never experienced before.  You are going to be damaged.  Your skin is going to be torn and you will bleed.  It will be many days before your cuts heal.  It will take weeks for the bruises to fade.  Next weekend, when you perform at Bob’s, your backside will still be revolting.  Are you ready mommy, this is really going to hurt.”  And all Sally could do was to attempt to scream.   Through a mouth stuffed with wet white cotton panties.

The Liberation of Agnes O’Brien

“Dreamtime Agnes” said Steve as he put her totally back under.  “Agnes, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your mind.  You have a strong prohibition, deep down in your psyche, against talking about or doing something about many of the things that are most important to you.  I don’t know where this prohibition comes from or why it originated.  Over time we may learn about it.  And it is so deeply seated that I will not try and remove it totally and universally.  To do that would be too hard and would administer too much of a shock to your system.  So I am going to instruct you to keep all of your inhibitions up, with one tiny exception.  Because David and I are your professional colleagues and because we are taking care of you, you can relax your inhibitions about talking about your secret desires and fantasies with us.  When you are conscious, you can say whatever you wish to us.  The first things that come into your mind should be free to pass your lips when we are around.  To you it should be as if we are not there.  All the other deep prohibitions can hold if you want them to.  You are right to never share them with anyone else.  People would abuse you and do everything they could to ruin you.  Never mention to anyone the things we talk about, plan and do.  Be at rest with that part of you.  Now Agnes, count to twenty and then come back to wakefulness.”

Shortly thereafter, the stout red-headed lady in the hospital gown shook her head and sat up.  She looked around her and breathed deeply several times.  She looked at the two men and smiled.  She blinked her eyes and said.  “I need to be punished.  I have not been punished since I left the convent almost 20 years ago and my body is aching for chastisement.  Then I need to be fucked.  Yes, I can say that word.  My body is aching for release.  I need to fuck until my ears bleed.  I love you both for you have freed me from what I could not control.  Bottling this up inside me has been tearing me apart.  Then we will talk about what needs to be done with the school.  We have an opportunity to really do something with St. Margaret’s, but only if we act decisively.  We have evil mommies and naughty girls that need to be punished.  What do you think.” 

Steve looked quizzically at David and David laughed.  “We would like to accommodate you, but we are here in a medical office, a surgery rather than a disciplinary chamber” David chortled “and we have neither tawse nor cane nor whip at hand”.  Steve immediately realized that David was stalling for time in order to assess what Dr. O’Brien’s state of mind actually was.  Both of them were quite capable of turning the woman over their knee and administering a hand spanking or bending her over the exam table and flogging her naked backside with their belts.  Agnes immediately retorted.  “You boys have so little imagination.  Look around you and you will see that the world is full of implements for chastisement.  See that computer over there.  Unhook the power cable and double it over.  There you have a beautiful scourge that will raise welts.  And in particular the loop at the end is capable of real damage.  I was staring at it earlier today for almost half an hour.  I was imagining what, if properly used, it could do to my buttocks and thighs.  Come, get on with it.”  With that she sprang off the examining table and bent forward over its foot.  Reaching behind her, with her trembling hands she undid the bows that held the two sides of the back of the hospital gown together.  Undone, they fell away.  She was essentially naked, bent over the table with the gown bunched under her.  The target was obvious.

Both David and Steven began to glimpse the psychodynamics at work in the lady, although it would take some time to elucidate the details.  But they knew what had to be done and went at it with a will.  As the more experienced sadist, Steve unplugged the power cord to the computer and detached it from the tower.  Doubling it over, he grasped the plugs in his hand and gave it a tentative swing through the air.  It yielded a satisfying swish.  The threat was implicit.  Agnes looked over at him and smiled.  She took her hands and gripped the far side of the examining table’s leather pad.  Steve wound up the power cord and brought it down across the center of her buttocks with a resounding splat.  Agnes sucked in her breath, gave a little yelp and then a big sigh.  “How many?” Steven inquired.  “20, no 30, and I will count” she replied. “One”.  Steve decided to test her limits.  He hauled his right arm even further back and brought the cord down it all his force right at the junction between her buttocks and her thighs.  She grunted and said “Two” with hardly a flinch. So he eyed her upper buttocks.  With a cane this was usually a place to avoid.  The subcutaneous tissue is scant over the pelvic bone and with the cane there is a real danger of cutting the skin in a thin person.  Well this wasn’t a cane and Agnes was closer to plump than thin.  So Steve brought his improvised whip down right just below her waist.  “Three, that was gooooood!” she hissed.  Having established an approach to this problem Steve went after the solution in systematic fashion, each stroke coming a bit lower than the previous.  By the time Agnes had exclaimed “Four”, “Five”, “Six”, “Seven”, “Eight” and “Nine”, he had covered the flesh from just below the waist to the crease separating butt from thighs with blows of the looped cord.  The developing welts were particularly prominent on her right side where the loop had struck.  Impressed by this Steve crossed over to her right side and indicated that she should rotate over to her left.  This would enable him to back hand the cord striking to his left.  The next half a dozen blows insured that the loop was raising wheals on her left side to equal the ones on her right.  By the time she said “Nineteen” Agnes was starting to breathe hard and sweat was beginning to glisten on her brow and her upper lip. 

At this point Steve realized that he had barely dispensed half of the desired punishment and already Agnes’ backside was a solid welt that was beginning to show purple bruise wherever the lines overlapped.  He eyed the pale flesh between the tops of her black stockings and her crimson butt and decided to extend the range of his ministrations.  He returned to her left side and this time struck her across the upper thighs.  “Twenty” she said with evident delight and began to struggle to spread her legs.  Taking the hint, Steve aimed the loop for the space in between her legs, just above the stocking tops and was rewarded when the end curled around striking the inner aspect of her thigh.  “Twenty-one” she said beatifically and spread her legs even wider in open invitation.  Steve knew what she wanted but was not going to give it to her too quickly.  He gave her left thigh one more stroke, just a bit higher than the last.  Then for 23 he moved back around to her right so that he could begin to work the inner aspect of her right thigh.  Agnes was virtually singing “Twenty-four”, “Twenty-five” and “Twenty-six” as he worked his way up to sacred ground.  She recognized where he was going and she was giving every indication that he would get there as soon as possible.  She had spread her legs as far apart as she could and still keep her feet on the ground and had thrust her ass backwards.  She had moved about so that she was no longer bent over the end of the examining table but was now rather astride it.  David, standing a ways back was impressed by the view he had of her pudendum.  And he was amazed that enough viscous fluid had issued from her genitals that the tops of her stocking were becoming wet.

With the 27th blow Steve finally struck where he suspected she wanted him to strike.  As the loop of the cord curled in and struck her labia her body began to shudder and shake and she screamed out “Twenty-seven, Son of a Bitch”.  Again he struck, “Twenty-eight, Bugger Me”, followed by “Twenty-nine, God Damn” and lastly “Thirty, Fuck Me, Fuck Me, Fuck Me” at the top volume of her voice.  At this point she stopped shuddering and essentially collapsed on the table.  Steve looked at David and they both nodded.  Agnes’ chastisement had brought her to a climax.  Even in their jaded experience they had never seen anything like this.

After about five minutes, she began to come around, stirring and moaning.  She sat back down on the exam table and lowering her arms let the hospital gown drop to the floor.  Agnes then said “Well that should show you that implements for punishing naughty girls can be found anywhere.  All you have to do is look.”  Glancing at their crotches she noted signs that each of the men were aroused.  “Well, aren’t you going to fuck me.  How many times does a lady have to ask.”

Regaining Control of the Situation

“Not so fast, Sister,” said Steve.  He recognized that Agnes was beginning to dictate the scene.  That might be alright later, but her programming was not yet that advanced.  He needed to be in control of events.  “I want you to get down on your knees and clasp your hands together behind the back of your head” said Steve as he unbuckled his belt and slid it out of his pant loops.  He nodded to David who did the same.  Dr. O’Brien grasped what he was getting at and knelt.  As she raised her arms and interlocked her fingers behind her head of short red hair, her breasts were marvelously lifted up and thrust forward.  Steve thought that for a woman in her forties her breasts had amazingly little sag.  This was going to be fun.

Steve continued, “Dr. O’Brien, you are going to get twenty lashes.  Ten from each of us.  You shall thank us and count each lash.   If you move your hands or rise from your knees we will start the count all over again from one.”  And with that he started to work.  Unlike David who was a little bit winded from giving her thirty strokes of the cord, Steve was fresh.  And he had lots of time while David was plying his makeshift whip to think about technique.  So he managed to land a harsh blow right across the tops of both breasts with his doubled over belt.  “Ooouph, Thank you” said Agnes, “One”.  As he waited Steve, saw David winding up and shook his head indicating that they would not alternate strikes.  He wanted to keep the pace real slow.   Steve raised his arm high and swung again striking the tops of both breasts.  “Thank you. Two” said Agnes obediently.  Steve again took his time before delivering a third blow and then a fourth.  Agnes maintained her composure and followed the punishment rubric, thanking her disciplinarian and following the count.  By the time the fifth blow had landed the tops of her breasts were uniformly red and welts were beginning to form.

At this point Steve nodded to David who understood that now it was his turn to beat her breasts from the opposite side.  This he did in slow methodical fashion.  David’s belt was considerably heavier than Steve’s and by the time Agnes had said, “Thank you. Ten” the top of her breasts were purpling and little blood spots were starting to appear.  Steve nodded and David understood that it was time to switch over.  Throughout all of this, Agnes, except for the periodic incantations was staring vacantly off into space, seemingly in her own world.  Steve now changed his approach.  Rather than raising his arm over his head, he swung it out to his right side and struck her breasts frontally hitting her squarely across the nipples.  This caused her to gasp and suck in her breath but she quickly regained her composure and said, “Thank you, eleven”.  By the time Steve got to fifteen Agnes was shifting her weight from knee to knee and she could be observed to be clenching her interlocked finger so tightly that her hands were becoming red.  As they switched once again from Steve to David, Dr. O’Brien’s entire breasts were red.  She was panting and sweat had broken out on her face.  After the twentieth blow about half a dozen tiny droplets of blood could be seen oozing out from sites on her breasts where a dozen blows had overlapped.  Her breasts were unevenly swollen and purple blotches were appearing on the front and upper surfaces.  It was obviously that her bra would no longer fit and that just putting it on would cause agony.  But interestingly enough she seemed to be ignoring the pain.

As Agnes rose to her feet Steve addressed her.  Dr. O’Brien, we are not finished with you yet.  Go over to the foot of the examination table and open the top drawer.  As she bent over to comply with his instructions she noticed that the enameled steel drawer was labeled “PELVIC EXAM” and she sucked in her breath a bit.  When she opened it she saw the usual stirrups and specula and interestingly enough a shiny pair of chrome plated pliers.  David remarked, “Oh, I forgot and left them in there since the last time I was playing with Donna and Hannah.  Well that’s fortuitous.  Alright, Agnes, take the stirrups out and put them into the slots.  Good girl.  Now you know what to do.  Hop up on the table and put your heels into the stirrups”.  After she complied, he opened the second drawer, took out some leather straps and secured her feet into the stirrups and her wrists and waist to small rings just below the top of the table.  David then said, “Agnes we are going to give you another 20 and I guess you have figured out just where you are going to get them.  But first, Steve, I would appreciate it if you would prep her.”  Steve pulled a stool over to the foot of the table and sat down.  He noticed that the third drawer was labeled “PREP”.  Opening it he could see a stainless steel basin, packets of shaving cream and disposable safety razors.  David then suggested, “Don’t bother with the cream, just dry shave her.  She should enjoy the scraping.”  While Steve complied with the physician’s instructions, David rummaged around until he found Agnes’ white cotton panties and her bra.  He said to her, “Open your mouth” and stuffed the panties in.  Then he used her bra as a gag holding the panties in.  When David and Steve were done they stepped back and admired their handy work.  Her legs were spread in the classical position for a pelvic exam with her perineum shining forth in all its glory.  Steve had done a lousy job of shaving her and minute droplets of blood stood out on her inner labia and around her anus.  But, eyes bulging, Dr. O’Brien was obviously ready for the next step.

Steve looked at David and said, “Same drill as last time”.  David replied “Yes”.  Steve then did a spectacular wind up and struck with his belt squarely along her mons and labia.  Agnes groaned and her knees shook and legs trembled.  Not desiring to prolong the punishment any more Steve followed up with four more blows delivered in rapid succession.  This left Agnes struggling with her bonds and attempting to scream despite a mouth full of panty and a hard tied gag.  David waited until her struggles died down before administering another five blows to her pussy which triggered another display of thrashing on the part of the bound lady.  After 10 strikes both the outer and inner labia were scarlet red and the inner labia were starting to swell causing them to protrude more prominently.  And her clitoris was starting to swell.  Whether this was from excitement or bruising or a bit of both was unclear to the men.  David, however, decided to take advantage of the situation and began to lick and suck Agnes’s clit which caused the lady to begin moaning and thrusting her hips to the extent that her waist restraint would allow.  David chuckled “That’s better” and nodded to Steve.  Steve then took up his belt again and applied another five blows in rapid succession which triggered Agnes to begin howling as much as her gagged condition would permit.  The pelvic thrusting turned into bucking such that the sturdy table shook a bit.  David grinned and applied his lips once again to the empurpled pussy.  After a couple of minutes he stopped sucking and returned to beating it with his belt.  Such was the lady’s efforts at screaming this time that Steve was grateful that all of the staff had long gone home and the clinic was relatively well removed from any occupied buildings.  Once the last of the twenty lashes was delivered, David returned to sucking the woman’s genitals. Then the screams turned to moans and soon Agnes’ body was shaking with what was undoubtedly a massive orgasm.  She became silent, simply lying there panting.  David gently started fondling her clitoral hood with the fingers of his left hand.  It was purple and massively swollen from the pussy whipping she had taken.  She never saw him apply the pliers he had in his right hand.  But as the blood gushed out of the crushed flap of flesh, her screams could in no way be contained by the gag.  But they ceased abruptly when she passed out.

Fucking

Sally regained consciousness when Helen waved the cotton ball soaked in ammonia water under her nose.  She gagged and retched and shook her head to clear the noxious vapors.  As she lay there, head down, bound across the trestle, she gathered her thoughts. 

She recalled that by the fiftieth stroke of the cane she was fairly obtunded.  Then the girls had untied her ankles from the lower cross piece of the horse and removed the ropes that held legs together at her ankles and knees.  Her hopes that they were going to release her were dashed, however, when they merely repositioned her legs.  After a good deal of stretching and wrenching, they succeeded in tying her knees and ankles to the legs of the horse.  This left Sally splayed out in a most revealing and vulnerable position.  By that point she had recovered enough to realize that others were in the garage.  They were Edward and Hannah.  Maybe the older girl would restrain the wild sadomasochistic abandon of the younger girls.  Fat chance Sally quickly realized.  Hannah came over and began to stroke Sally’s pussy.  She turned to Helen and said, “Eat it” whereupon the school girl got down on her haunches and put her lips to her mother’s genitals.  Given Helen’s expertise at cunnilingus, she soon enough had Sally on the brink of a climax.  Hannah then said “Don’t let her cum” and handed a riding crop to the girl ordering  “Whip her cunt.  Hard. Twenty lashes.”  As a pain like none she had ever experienced before tore through Sally, she had gotten to only fifteen when she passed out.

When she was fully alert again, Sally wondered what was coming next.  She shouldn’t have.  Hannah said the obvious.  After inspecting Sally’s nether region she told Helen, “Give her the final five”.  If Sally thought the first blows of her pussy whipping were bad, these were immeasurably worse.  The first fifteen lashes had hit intact skin.  These last five landed on bruised and swollen labia.  As the world whirled around her, Sally could see the blood starting to run down the inner aspects of her thighs.  When the whipping stopped, drops of blood were dripping from her labia and slowly forming a small puddle on the floor.  The world stopped spinning when Helen took a rag and started sponging her torn pussy.  It stopped spinning because of the pain that seared though her.  All she could see was red and the panties stuffed in her mouth hardly stifled her scream.  She realized what was happening only when the fumes hit her nostrils.  Sally realized what it was - paint stripper.  Her daughter had rubbed paint stripper into the cuts in her genitals.  Then she heard Hannah say to her brother Edward “Alright zit-face.  Fuck her”.

Edward dropped his jeans and drawers and went at it with a will.  He had fucked Sally many times over the last year but never like this.  She was twice his age and actually he much preferred her two daughters, Helen and Sandra.  But her had always found that coercive and abusive sex particularly arousing.  And he had never had abusive sex like this before.  He enjoyed punishing Donna, his sluttish stepmother,  with rough sex.  But the far better looking Sally was bound over the saw horse and was unable to resist.  Her charms were exhibited for all to see.  Edward had always enjoyed sodomizing Donna when her ass was striped from six of the best.  But this was something else.  Sally’s ass was in tatters after fifty strokes of the cane.  But her pussy was even more spectacular with the labia purple and puffed up enormously.  Usually you could just barely see her inner pussy lips.  Now they were just bulging out at you.  As he guided the glans of his penis into her fourchette she tried to howl through a mouth stuffed with wet panties.  The least pressure from the head of his cock caused excruciating pains to shoot through her.  This spurred him on to thrust deeply into her and his balls banging into her torn labia cause her to scream even louder.  Edward was aroused like never before and his organ became tumescent to a size that he never believed possible.  This made every thrust ever more painful to the woman bound across the carpenter’s horse.  She stopped attempting to scream and then settled down to piteous moaning.  He was so aroused that it didn’t take him long to come to a climax.  He pulled out just as he shot his load into Sally spurting semen all over her battered labia.  He then stepped back and admired his handiwork as he pulled up his pants.  He then looked at Hannah and said “Ok sister, have you ever eaten a jism and blood Sunday?”  Hannah rose to the occasion and began to lick the mixture of blood and semen out of Sally’s battered vagina.

More Fucking

Steve looked from the unconscious Dr. Agnes O’Brien over to David Ritchie and inquired “What do we inject her with to bring her back around?”  Dave replied “They only do that in fiction.  Girls not infrequently faint when you give their genitals a good hard squeeze like that.  Then they come around in a few minutes.”  As if on que, Agnes started to mumble through a mouth stuffed with panty and gagged with her own bra.  “Mutilated genitals, mutilated genitals.”  Steve scratched his head and queried, “What is this obsession with genital mutilation.”  Dave replied, “Her PhD thesis was on the theological significance of female circumcision.  I guess she got off on it for more than academic reasons.”  Both men became silent as the woman began stirring in her restraints.  “Fuck me, Fuck me” she moaned.  And so they did.

Steve unzipped his trousers releasing an erect phallus, wanked it a time or two, and pressed it in to an amazingly tight pussy.  “Jez Dave.  I think this girl is the proverbial forty year old virgin.”  After a few thrusts, Agnes began to get the idea of how to go about it.  She began to vocalize and give instructions to Steve which honestly Steve didn’t appreciate.  But a pussy is a pussy and he knew what to do with a pussy.  He was more interested in business than sex and as a result had no great interest in bringing her to an organism.  So he shot his wad and made way for a ready and waiting Dave who eagerly sprang into the breach.  Dave was fresh and after having spent the day looking up the asses of little girls and grannies, he was hot to trot.  He was interested in bring Agnes to the summit and worked hard at it.  He even went so far as to tell Steve to lick Dr. O’Brien’s bleeding nipples and to give her badly bruised tits little love bites.  This caused Agnes to the clench the muscles of her pelvic floor grabbing David’s pecker in an iron grip.  He roared and thrust into her with all the force he could muster.  He managed to manipulate her in such a way as they reached climax simultaneously. Dave was immensely proud of his work.

As soon as David released the restraints that fastened her wrists and waist to the examination table and her feet into the stirrups, Agnes began to softly frig herself.  She completely ignored the two men in the room and concentrated on fingering her swollen and battered slit and massaging her bruised breasts.  In almost no time at all her body began to shudder as she moaned and groaned.  Finally as every muscle in her body appeared to go into a spasm she gave a yelp and relaxed. 

Agnes sat upright.  She untied the large brassiere that was gagging her mouth. Then she removed the white cotton panties that had been lodged in her mouth for quite some time now.   She began to put on her undergarments beginning with the formidable brassiere.  She put the bra on backwards, fastening the four sets of hooks.  Then she turned it around and slipped the straps up onto her shoulders.  It was with obvious discomfort, she hoisted her large boobs into the cups.  Although the panties were quite wet by now, she put her feet into them to cover her bruised and bleeding buttocks and perineum.  Agnes winced as she pulled them up.  Then she looked around for her clothing.  After spying it hanging from a set of hooks next to the examining table, she grabbed her white nylon half slip.  By this point she realized that blood was seeping through her panties but she shrugged this off as she climbed into the slip.  She must have figured that even if some blood seeped through the slip it would not be noticed against the dark and heavy fabric of her suit skirt.  The bra would be able to contain any blood that was oozing from her nipples.  So she put her white blouse on, buttoning up the cuff and the front.  She breathed a sigh of relief and said to David, “You wouldn’t happen to have a bit of medicinal whiskey on the premises.  We could have a tot and then settle down and discuss some issues and plans.”

Donna’s Dilemma

When Helen and Sandra released their mother from her bondage Sally was still dazed.   Blood was seeping out of wounds on her buttocks, thighs and pussy.  Helen grabbed a metal folding chair and sat Sally down on it.  The contact of the cold metal with her torn flesh startled her and Sally tried getting up but she was unsteady on her feet and the two girls had to steady her.  A second attempt to sit her down succeeded.  Sandra quickly realized that Sally was far too battered to attempt to get her back into her clothes and so went off to get a robe for her mom.  Sally just sat and stared at the scene that was unfolding here in her garage as Hannah and Edward were preparing to inflict yet further damage on their step mother.

Sally was not the only one that had passed out during a fifty stroke caning.  Donna was just now coming back around to the land of the living.  She was still draped over a carpenter’s horse but her children had loosened the bonds that held her captive.  She tried to stand up but her legs buckled under her and Edward and Hannah had to hold her up.  But there was no chair in Donna’s immediate future.  The kids merely wanted to turn her around and soon enough Donna was on her knees with her back up against the upper cross member of the horse.  Hannah then secured the lady’s out stretched arms along the cross member by buckling straps around both arm and wood.  At this point the jutting out of Donna’s large breasts made obvious what Hannah’s intentions toward her step mother were.  Edward secured Donna’s knees to the legs of the saw horse and Hannah began swishing the terrible cane through the air.  Donna, in her befuddled state was the last one to realize what was coming and by that point it was too late to resist.

Hannah was standing to her step mother’s right and she brought the cane down from high over head, striking the expansive tops of both breasts with a single resonating blow.  The fatty glands jiggled in the most marvelous fashion.  The pain electrified Donna causing every muscle in her body to clench.  Despite having a mouth full of wet panty, she let out a terrified howl.  Steven and Edward had frequently slapped her large boobs around just to watch them wiggle like a cube of gelatin.  On occasion they had even taken the belt to them leaving her with bruises that took almost a week to fade.  But nothing like this had ever been done to her boobies before.  Before she could really think further about it, Hannah struck again and Donna didn’t have to think anymore.  This time the lash landed a centimeter and a half further down the breasts.  Donna realized that this was a cm and a half closer to her nipples.  Donna’s reaction shook the trestle, but it was heavily constructed and stood up to the tremors.  By the fourth blow, Hannah had laid a progressive set of darkening wheals down that reached almost to the bleached blonde’s areolas.  Donna’s eyes were wide with pain and terror and her breaths were coming as gasps.  After a fifth stroke Hannah held back.  It was not out of mercy.

Edward was standing to his stepmother’s left.  He held in his hand the riding crop that had earlier been used to beat Sally’s nether regions.  He struck with a backhanded blow, hitting Donna squarely on the mons.  Again and again he struck the shaved skin until the entire delta of venus was a swollen mass of inflamed tissue.  As he let up, his sister resumed beating Donna’s breasts.  The tops were a mass of black and blue bruise and Hannah was hitting her step mother directly on the nipples.  The nipples were made of tough stuff.  After all mother nature designed them to be sucked for months by multiple brats.  But 10 stout blows with the fearsome cane tore their skin and blood began to drip down.  At this point Hannah turned Donna’s torment back over to Edward. She pointed out to her 16 year old brother with all the pedantry possessed by an 18 year old elder sister that if he positioned himself correctly and swung his riding crop skillfully, the loop at the end of the riding whip would curl inward and squarely hit their stepmother’s labia.  He grinned and went at it.  Donna wriggled and struggled fiercely but her bondage was such that she could not avoid the blows raining down upon her pussy.  Edward struck successive strokes rapidly, building up a terrifying rhythm.  In short order Donna’s clitoris and inner labia were swollen and red-purple with bruise. 

“Can I fuck her now” he asked his sister.  “Go ahead” replied Hannah, “she’s nothing but a piece of raw meat now”.  Edward unzipped his fly once again and dropped to his knees to stick it to his semi-conscious step mother.  Shivering in her robe on the cold metal folding chair, Sally was horrified.  Yet she was also aroused.  Despite the battered conditions of her own genitals she became aware that she was becoming tumescent on top of the swelling from the beatings.  And the dampness accumulating between her legs was no longer sweat and blood but vaginal juices as well.  Hannah applied a rag moistened with paint stripper to Donna’s lacerated nipples and Sally remembered how it felt when her torn genitals were given like treatment.  The memory of that pain left Sally panting with arousal.  She opened her robe and began to finger her swollen slit.  Out of the corner of her eye she noted that her two daughters were also aroused, and were likewise frigging themselves.  Edward, now aroused beyond all previous experience, thrust deeply into Donna.

And none of the participants in this drama realized that all of this action was being captured by the six camcorders positioned in the garage earlier that night by Steven.

Inside Agnes’ Mind

The three of them went to Dr. Ritchie’s private office.  Agnes and Steve sat down on the couch while Dave sat down behind his desk.  He opened a drawer and pulled out a virginal bottle of 18 year old Irish whiskey.  He apologized, “I am sorry that there is only one glass, I think that Dr. O’Brien can have that honor.  I will make due with my tea mug.  Dr. Waters, would you like a 150 ml beaker.  Is there anyone who requires ice?”  All shook their heads and so they passed the bottle around and settled in.

At this point Dr. O’Brien launched into a long monologue:

You have to understand where I am coming from before you can understand where we are going.  Although I am over 40, until tonight I never had sexual intercourse with a man.  This stems from my childhood wherein I was regularly abused by my father who on the rare occasions when he was home, beat me, sodomized me and made me fellate him.  This always occurred in the presence of my mother.  When he was finished with me he would start on my mother.  The abuse continued until I was about seven when he was killed in a fight.  He seldom bing home at an early age my mother took me into her bed almost every night.  Before long I was assisting her whenever she sexually gratified herself.  Soon enough, she discovered that sexually arousing me, sexually aroused her.  So you might say we had an unusual relationship.  After my father died we were on the dole and moved 3 or 4 times a year.  For reasons I completely misunderstood at the time, when I reached menarche, my mother handed me over to a rather strict community of nuns, the Sisters of Perpetual Penance.  I thought it was because I was evil and needed to be punished.  I later found out that she had been diagnosed with widespread cervical cancer.  Since mom had no close relatives, either I would become a ward of the Council or the nuns would take care of me.  I found out, much later, that she died, a pauper, shortly after the nuns took me in.

I have to admit that the nuns were strict but very kind to me.  They didn’t expect anything from me that they did not expect from their novices and postulants.  And they loved me, although not in the ways that my mother loved me.  They knew nothing of the sexual activities that had gone on between my mother and I.  For my part, since these were things of the past, I never informed them.  In fact, until tonight I have never told anyone about the things that happened to me before I entered their convent.  Discipline in their cloistered convent was about what you would expect – severe but uniform and always carried out in a spirit of love.  As far as I could tell at that time, chastisements, which were frequent and at times very painful, were never administered with sadism.  In retrospect perhaps it was well that I could not look into the minds and souls of some of the older nuns.  We were always punished individually following the precept ‘mortification of the flesh was the gateway to heaven’.  The tawse was regularly used in class but not in the front of the room.  The misbehaving girl went to the back of the classroom, hiked up her long grey skirt and white petticoat, lowered her drawers, and bent over a table.  The teaching sister came to the back of the room, picked up the tawse that was invariably hanging on the wall next to the table and administered the required number of strokes.  Woe betide any girl in the front of the room that swiveled her head around to watch the punishment.  She would get an equal number of swats or even worse.  In my first couple of years at the Perpetual Penance school, it seemed as if never a week went by without a trip to the back for anything ranging from fidgeting in my seat to failure to properly conjugate or decline by Latin, to failure to factor an equation.  And I was considered to be a model student, quiet and humble (coming from my abused background that was no surprise) and surprisingly adept at school work. 

The larger moral issues were addressed in different fashion.  Every Saturday morning we went to confession.  For our penance, Father handed us, through a little slit in the wall of the confessional, a card sealed in an envelope.  After confession we went to the Prefect of Penance who was an older nun.  She probably wasn’t that old but to us early adolescent girls, elderly was defined as over 30.  And of course the exact age of a nun in those days was a Vatican secret.  The Prefect occupied a room in the basement of the convent, next to the root cellar, coal closet and boiler room.  There was a bench outside where the girls sat and awaited their turn.  You sat and listened in dread to the muffled cries of the girl undergoing her penance.  Some times there were only barely audible noises and the line moved rapidly.  At other times you sat forever, listening to the screams that were only moderately diminished by the heavy door.  It was those times that you dreaded.  When we had drawn a confessor who was a dutiful Jansenist and a Prefect who rigorously attended to her duty.  Confession and penitence could occupy only an hour after Saturday morning mass or you could spend all morning and into the afternoon sitting on the bench and waiting for your turn to come.

What went on within the dreaded room varied with the sins and shortcomings that were drug out of you by the confessor.  When the sins involved carnal desires (something that some confessors were highly diligent about uncovering) the punishments could quite often involve chastisement of the offending part.  Upon many occasions I got out of the room after saying three Hail Marys and three Glory Be’s while getting swatted with a bare hand on my panty-clad behind.  Then I got a hug and off I skipped.  Just as frequent, however, was bending over the table with drawers and petticoat removed and the skirt of my jumper pulled up.  Then it might be three dozen or two score of the best delivered with skill and a heavy cane.  On a Saturday afternoon you could see girls in the dormitory lavatory washing their bloomers to remove the inevitable blood stains that were caused by having to pull you knickers up before the bleeding stopped.  It was awful to sit on the bench for a couple of hours and have to listen to the screams of girl after girl knowing that all of you had drawn a over-scrupulous Confessor and a cruel Prefect.  You knew that regardless of how good you had been that week, you were going to have a painful walk back to the common room due to a lacerated arse and thighs.  You dared not get up and use the loo upstairs, because in your absence the girls would shuffle over on the bench and you would have to go to the back of the queue.  Better to wait with bursting bladder and use the chamber pot inside the punishment room than to have to endure the torturous wait.  And yet, I sometimes found, as I sat there and listened to the noises of torment coming through the door, that I was becoming aroused.  Just like I used to get with my mother.  This happened most often when the girl being chastised was one I disliked.  I could see her, bent over the punishment table, arse bared, as the cane laid yet another ‘tram track’ over bruised and inflamed flesh.  On some occasions I actually ended up with moist panties when my turn came to be disciplined. 

And then there were the times wherein I remember the details to this very day.  They happened on the average about twice a year and I never could understand the rationale.  They always happened when we drew a harsh Confessor and the Prefect was Sister Emerencia.  Then you were in for it.  You had to strip naked and were tied down.  And then you really got it.  You always knew when somebody was “getting it”.  The word always spread quickly that Sister E was on the other side of the door.  There was inevitably a long silence before the punishment started – a time interval sufficient for disrobing and bondage.  Often punctuated by ‘Oh Sister, please, not that, merciful God, not that’.  And then the screams came, at times not even recognizable as human.  They could go on, and on, and on.  And then sometimes a silence for a long time.  That made you worry that someone had died.  Deep within you realized that the girl had fainted but there was the ever present rumor about girls that Sister E had beaten to death. 

Once, when a girl that I particularly disliked was suffering the torments of Sister E, I actually had an orgasm while sitting there on the bench.  This terrified me because of the fear that she would know.  Well when my turn came, I got strung up naked but for my shoes and hose.  Shackles were attached around my wrists and a line passed from them through an eye bolt in the ceiling.  Strung  up like this, upon my tip toes, every bit of my body was available to Sister E.  After she accomplished my bondage she went over and examined my knickers.  ‘Wicked girl, wicked smutty girl.  You are going to pay for your lust with severe mortification of your flesh’.

And pay I did.  Forty times she lashed me with that six-tailed scourge.  The scourge was made of leather thongs, each originally was almost a meter long.  Periodically along the thongs they were knotted with overhand knots.  Applied with a strong arm, the scourge didn’t just raise welts.  The knots bruised the skin with every blow.  And when a knot hit flesh that was already bruised, it caused a laceration.  After forty lashes there were cuts all over my buttocks, thighs, loins and most particularly my breasts and my mons veneris.  I was particularly proud of my breasts at that point for I had ripened quickly.  Every chance I got I flashed them at my less amply endowed dormitory mates to flaunt my superior development. My precious breasts, it seemed, were now in tatters.  Needless to say I never made it straight through to forty lashes.  I don’t remember exactly what the count was when I left consciousness.  I do recall being revived with smelling salts.  I was too weak to resist when Sister E released my bondage and I fell to the floor.  She then leveraged me up onto the table on my back.  She secured my hands above my head and splayed my legs out by attaching my ankles to the legs at the foot of the table.  That’s when I discovered the perverse use that pliers can be put to.  She muttered on and on about the seat of lust and licentiousness as she used the plies on every cm of my hood, clitoris and inner labia.  Oh, and she didn’t forget about my nipples either. 

I passed out several times during that genital torture.  I am sure that the two girls still waiting their turn on the other side of the door got quite an aural show.  As it was, after my ordeal, I was too weak and exhausted to get dressed.  Sister E had to call the girls in so that they could assist me in getting dressed.  They sat me down on the bench outside while Sister E disposed of the two remaining penitents.  Then the girls assisted me outside and to our dorm’s lavatory where they stripped me and tended to my wounds.  Sister E had used up all of her energy on me.  Therefore my two colleagues got nothing more than two dozen weak strokes of the cane.  They were grateful to me for that was half of what anybody else had gotten that day.  After what I had gotten they were expected that they would be beaten half to death.  None of us ever forgot that day.  It took two weeks for the last of the cuts to heal and I still bear faint scars of that flogging to this day.

At this point we all paused and the bottle made its rounds again.   

Psychodynamics

Dr. O’Brien continued her story:

Aside from the periodic floggings, I have to admit that my adolescence was quite happy.  At least when it was compared to my miserable childhood.  As the seventies passed into the eighties I was living in my own world isolated from the change and turmoil that went on in the Church.  About age 15 it was discovered that I had a considerable facility for language and history which pleased the Mother Superior endlessly.  Although cloistered, the nuns ran both a girl’s day school and had a boarding division for adolescent girls.  After a couple of years it was obvious I had no interest in the outside world.  This was scarcely startling considering that my exposure to “the world” had consisted of nothing but unremitting physical, mental and sexual abuse.  And my spiritual life was taking a unexpected turn.  During the period when I was adapting to the convent, I would will away the memories of what went on between my father and I and my mother and I.  The nuns were all I had in the world and they still taught that sex was the source of all evil in the world.  They made it clear that all men were lechers who were only interested in sticking their penises into women.  This came as no surprise to me.  They also taught that women who took pleasure from their bodies were the source of the devil’s power and the source of all evil in the world.  Any thoughts of pleasure, or dreams of pleasure or manipulating ourselves to give pleasure was satanic.  I soon learned that when these evil thoughts or urges came to me I could make them go away by conjuring up a mental image of the Virgin Mary and imagining she was my mother.  And she took me into her arms and held me in her soft warm bosom and nothing in the world could harm me.  I always told this story to my confessors when ever they examined my conscience about dirty thoughts.  I didn’t tell them that when I contemplated the Virgin Mary I silently manipulated my nipples and fiddled with my clit until I came.  And I forgot about my dad and my mom and dirty thoughts and got off on lesbian visions of the Virgin Mary.  She was my real mother and my love.   It was at age 16 that I had one of those long talks that Catholic school girls have with their Mother Superiors about where they are going in life.  I communicated my disgust with the outside world and my love of the Virgin Mary and the central role She played in my life.  The next thing I knew I was a Postulant in the Sisters of Perpetual Penance.  And then a Novice.  And then Professed. 

But during these times I was not so sure that my head was in the same place as my fellow sisters.  One part of me was immersed in my studies, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Ancient History, Medieval History.  And there I was alone because, aside from my teachers, who were all older nuns, none of the other sisters were intellectually able to enter that space.  Then there was that other space in my head, a strange and mystical space where I made love to the Virgin Mary.  I particularly entered that space during discipline.  One difference between the girls and the Perpetual Penance nuns was that the sisters carried penance to a whole different level.  The nuns looked to penance as a way of life and took as much of it as their bodies could tolerate and still sort of function.  Some specialized in being caned.  Each week.  Forty to fifty strokes every week.  Their backsides never really healed.  Others used the scourge, in private, God only knew how often.  It turned out that Sister Mary Emerencia, Sister E, was one of the biggest pain sluts in the convent.  She liked to mix it up and she liked to be on the receiving end of it as well as on the giving end.  One week it would be a total body flogging.  The next week it would be a pussy whipping.  The week after that she would have her breasts caned.  She had no nipples left.  And her clitoris and inner labia had been crushed so many times that they consisted only of scar tissue that would bleed at the lightest blow.  I know.  I developed into Sister E’s favorite.  I mostly got caned, every week a dozen, moderately applied.  When I was getting caned I went into my head and made love with the Virgin Mary.  Soft.  Warm.  Comforting.  After two dozen strokes of the cane my pussy would be dripping and I could hardly wait for the privacy to frig myself.  A proper scourging from Sister E would send me into orgasm.  Sister E also taught me to use the cane, and the scourge.  The cane was used on the school girls bottom for I was an assistant teacher before I was out of my teens.  And I learned the use of the scourge on Sister E’s body for she loved nothing more than to be strung up by her wrists and given forty lashes or more with the scourge.  I think she had her own personal demons and her own personal fantasy space in her head.

By the time I was twenty two I had gone as far as I could go at the Perpetual Penance Convent School.  It was decided to send me to Rome to further studies at one of the Colleges that specialized in training nuns to teach in colleges.  But something changed in my life as I studied for my master’s degree.  In Rome I discovered that the world was not as threatening a place as I imagined.  There was excitement roaming the streets of Rome during the papacy of JPII.  And because I was in the world of ‘vanilla’ religious, the beatings stopped.  And with an end to my floggings, came an end to my incestuous relationship with the Virgin Mary.  I started to feel strange, something was exiting my life.  When my master’s was awarded and I went back to teaching at the school, something was different.  Things had changed during the three years I was in Rome.  Sister E was dead.  She dropped dead, whether of a stroke or a heart attack, nobody knew.  It took quite a while to learn what happened.  Apparently she was performing penance on two novices.  All three of them had stripped till they were clad only in their cowls and stockings.  Each of them had peeled some fresh ginger and inserted it into the rectum of another.  Then each had inserted a kung pao pepper up the urethra of another.  Lastly each had their vagina stuffed with as many habanero peppers as would fit.  Then the one being chastised assumed the ‘diaper’ position and was beaten on the perineum until they fainted.  It was just that Sister E never woke up and stopped breathing  When the two novices discovered that Sister E was dead they panicked and ran naked through the convent.  To say the least the students were all freaked out.  And the word got out to the Bishop and he was not happy.

After twenty five years, the winds of change initiated by the Second Vatican Council were finally starting to blow through the halls of the Convent of the Perpetual Penance.  Veils, wimples and cowls were being worn by fewer and fewer sisters.  After an investigation, there was a re-evaluation of the penance policies.  And I got sent to the States to Notre Dame University to get my PhD.  I had become fascinated with the subject of female circumcision.

The Conflict

It was during my doctoral studies that the conflicts in my head started to boil.  My graduate studies department was middle of the road by the standards of the early 1990’s.  It was not totally driven by political correctness as were programs at Harvard, Yale, Berkley, U.T. Austin and the University of Michigan.  On the other hand it was not dominated by the neo-conservative agendas of the fundamentalist upstart programs such as Liberty or Oral Roberts Universities.  Notre Dame was reliably Catholic.  That is to say, stodgy.  Yet even so, since I was working on an inter-disciplinary PhD in Theology /Anthropology/Philosophy/History, there was no way that I would propose a thesis that would do anything but confirm the popular wisdom of the era.  Since female circumcision was overwhelmingly practiced in Muslim countries, I would contend that this was because Catholic theology was resolutely opposed to the practice.  I never knew who it was that bankrolled my PhD studies, but I have to admit that I never suffered from a lack of funding.  My monthly stipend always was direct deposited into my checking account and a credit card was given to me that allowed me to make numerous trips to Rome, Cairo, Istanbul, Jerusalem and other centers of early Christianity.  Above all, the intellectual flexibility that allowed me to facilely navigate the rapids of my early years, served me well during these times.  My motto was keep your mouth shut (or as one of my Jewish advisors consoled, ‘Sol sein shah’).

The deeper I delved into my thesis subject the more complicated the subject became.  In the Vatican archives where no one questioned my right to access the most secret files, I learned about the origin of my religious order.  The Sisters of Perpetual Penance were far older than any of us knew.  They dated back to the very origins of ascetic monasticism in 4th century Egypt.  In this case my working knowledge of the Coptic language served me well.  What I uncovered shocked me.  The mortification of the flesh practiced by the pennitentials not only involved the use of the scourge but also encompassed female circumcision.  My own religious order, widespread during the middle ages, was in fact the foremost proponent of what is today referred to as female genital mutilation.  No matter where I went, in the secret archives of the Vatican, in the city of the dead south of Cairo, in the dusty manuscript rooms in Southern Greece, I found the same trail of documents.  In scrolls and parchments unread for hundreds of years I saw the same abbreviation next to the names of the most pious sisters, CIR.  It had taken me hundreds of hours pouring though old Coptic manuscripts to discover that this meant circumcised.  I was able to determine that female circumcision was associated with the rise of the adoration of the Blessed Virgin in the early church.  I was stunned as the information unfolded and further stricken as each bit of data confirmed what I really didn’t want to know.  In an era of increasing political correctness I had discovered what amounted to original sin.  What was I to do.  You have to understand that, above all, I am a survivor.  I suppressed the information and wrote my PhD thesis proving that the ancient Egyptian practice of female circumcision had been rejected by the early Church. I knew that in reality female genital mutilation together with corporal punishment of women was an integral part of the female ascetic religious practice in both Islam and Christianity.  But I knew when to keep my mouth shut.  I got my PhD and was the subject of recognition and acclaim.  I lost my Faith and I left my community which in any case shortly thereafter closed down the SPP Convent School.  No longer periodically beaten, my visions of the Virgin ceased and until earlier tonight I never had another orgasm.  Yes, gentlemen, my research proved that the quickest way into the bosom of the Blessed Virgin is to cane your butt and crush your clit.  And until you lifted the compulsion that I used to repress this knowledge and allowed me to say it, this fact has been increasingly eating away at me for almost two decades now.   

Steven looked back and forth between his two colleagues and thought, David isn’t thinking straight but Agnes is bloody well bonkers. 

Dr. O’Brien’s Plan

Agnes took the bottle of whiskey and poured the last of it into her glass as she stared at Dr. Pervy and Dr. Waters.  She was obviously nearing the conclusion of her monologue.

Well, the Fleming family decided to honor their grandfather by establishing a foundation in his honor using the proceedings of his literary estate.  The Fleming Trust was to further the cause of women’s rights and religion, causes that would certainly be appropriate considering the namesake.  The family selected a woman Anglican priest, a female Methodist minister, a Catholic nun and an evangelical preacher-woman to be the members of the board of directors of the Fleming Trust.  They quickly identified an area where needs were not being met. Girls who were being raised in female-headed, single parent household were eminently at risk compared to the cohort who were raised in dual parent households.  In particular they fared poorly in the Council schools and were prone to teenage pregnancy outside of marriage.  The usual gamut of social service interventions did little good with these girls.  The situation was the worst when there were multiple female siblings but no males in the household.  All of the members of the board were in agreement that a strong moral tone coupled with the best possible educational establishment was the best possible solution to the problem.  But mixing education and religion together with such selective admissions criteria was anathema to any Council School board.  The solution would be to establish a model private educational institution.  It would be adherent to religious principles and would provide, free of charge, what amounted to the finest Public School education to these girls.  Their mothers would select a denominational affiliation and would be held accountable for the girls educational and moral development.  And so the idea of St. Margaret’s School was born.

The Fleming Trust identified a site, the property of the closed SPP Convent School.  It was in a perfect location and had a tradition of faith-based education.  I had a unique background combining an association with the facility, a prominent profile in both religion and women’s rights, and impeccable academic credentials.  I was offered the position as Founder and Headmistress at thrice the salary that the miserable university at which I was teaching paid.  Needless to say, I accepted.  And the rest you know.  We opened two years ago and our growth has been steady.  We offer a class section size of twelve, an all female staff with excellent credentials.  This year we had two sections in all of the three upper forms we offered and a single section in our 2nd and 3rd forms.  Next fall, for the first time, we will offer a first form and all indications are that we will be able to fill three sections.  Dr. Pervy, I think that you have a female acquaintance, a divorced mother whose girls are enrolled.  What do they think of it.

Steve squirmed.  “Their mother is absolutely delighted with the education the girls are receiving”.  Sandra actually loathed St. Margaret’s where as Helen only disliked the place.  But the conditioning that Steve controlled the girls with resulted in adequate school performance.

Well, actually establishing the school has taken quite a toll on me as Dr. Ritchie will attest.  There are constant, I would not call them conflicts, but shall we say, necessary interactions with the Board of the Trust.  With such a diverse constituency I find myself incessantly herding them into a consensus.  And many of my teachers are high strung, as you would expect from such a group of excellent educators.  Discipline of the girls is a major problem.  Keeping the mothers in line is a nightmare, all they seem to care about is how much cock they are getting.  And there has been the ever mounting internal pressure of my repressed beliefs and resentments which has brought us here tonight.  What I really need is a board that will work together and follow my orders.  I want teachers I can command rather than a tribe of cats that need to be herded and who will function as disciplinarians and role models as well as pedagogues.  I need girls that are obedient and study hard.  Finally, I want compliant mothers who will reject the wicked ways that have resulted in their divorces and out of wedlock children.  Frankly I think the best thing would be a solid whipping for the whole lot of them.  Unfortunately, I am afraid that a good dose of corporal punishment is out of the question.

David looked at Agnes with the empathy of a consummate physician.  “Dr. O’Brien, we may be able to help you.    

   

For the last time that night, Steven looked back and forth between his two colleagues and thought, David and Agnes may be on to something here.