The Neighborhood Spanker

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains religious abuse with a heavy emphasis on spanking and bondage. If you do not want to read those topics, you have been warned.

***

Oh no, I really fucked up this time. It was just supposed to be a few drinks at a party, nothing crazy, but next thing I know I'm vomiting and my parents have to come pick me up. Now this would get any 18 year old in trouble, but for a girl like me who grew up in a hyper-religious sect, it's the apocalypse.

"We've had enough of this!" my Father yells when I wake up the next morning. "We won't have you humiliating our family!"

"Claraaaaa!!" my mother wails to the side. "Why won't you ever listennnn!"

'Because," I want to scream, 'this society is oppressive and I feel like a slave!"

But of course I don't. I can't. I'd be shunned, forever separated from everything I know and love. So instead I stay silent like the submissive daughter I'm trained to be.

After an intense stare down, my Dad puffs his chest and declares, "after today, you won't ever disgrace our name again."

He's standing over my bed with crossed arms, his face contorted with rage, but an unsettling smile begins to creep in. When I look over at my mother her whole body shivers. She won't make eye contact with me but affirms my Dad with a nod. Satisfied with whatever trick is up his sleeve, he tells me to get up.

"It's already past noon and you've got chores to do. Your mother and I are going out for the day but you know the drill. I trust the house will be better than perfect when we get back."

"Yes, Father..." I grumble, then somehow manage to stand through my piercing hangover.

"And you'll want to take a long shower too. Get yourself nice and presentable." I look at him suspiciously and see his smile has fully bloomed. "Yes, Clara, you need to look your best this evening since Mr. Sorensen is coming over."

WHAT! I choke, "Wait, but-!"

"Uh, uh, uh," my Dad cuts off. "You brought this on yourself, little girl. Your behavior has been nothing but shameful and it's time you remember your place in this community. You're of marriageable age now and I won't have you courting in this condition! No, Mr. Sorensen is going to make sure our daughter's behavior is impeccable for the coming season."

"Please, Dad... Ple-"

"Not another word!" he shouts. "Mr. Sorensen will be here at 8 and you will welcome him with the utmost respect!"

I give my mother a pleading look but her gaze is downcast. She too has no power in this situation. None of us do, the women... From our hairstyle to the books we read, we are entirely controlled by the men.

'So why don't you leave?' you might ask, but you just don't understand.... I have so much love for my faith and community. It's all I know and I'd be lost without them. I could never be one of those runaway girls, the ones who lose everything--that's just not me. So I put on my house dress, tie my hair back and begin cleaning.

From the day we are born, girls in my church are trained to be wives. That's how I see it, like we're pets whose skills and deportment are carefully nurtured towards servitude. We're taught that women are the helpmeets of Men, the demure servants who are expected to be both powerless yet eternally grateful. But not too grateful, or too anything, because to stand out is to be worldly, masculine, a heathen. To us, silence is a blessing.

Sexually, we're an enigma. Both under and oversexualized, we require constant covering to avoid triggering rape. Because of course it's always our fault. Balancing this Madonna-whore dynamic has become even more difficult with my 18 year old hormones. I've snuck around a few times, kissed some boys, but nothing else I swear! Premarital sex is grounds for shunning and I wouldn't dare.

But I do toe the line, just like every other horny teen. Sadly though all my dates are parentally sanctioned, as will be my Husband.... And they wonder why I act out! But this isn't the time to dwell. I have things to do, windows to wash. And jeez, I could really use a shower because Mr. Sorensen is-

"Oh God..." I drop my sponge. Mr. Sorensen is coming at 8........

Explaining the role of Mr. Lars Sorensen to an outsider is... difficult... He's a sort of disciplinarian of women, someone you call when your daughter or wife has "strayed from God's path." What exactly he does is subject to speculation, as none of the girls who've had visits discuss them.

What I do know is that he's only used as a last resort, so I'll have to be on my best behavior. I'm not sure what the punishment will be, but for my parents' sake I'll take it stoically. Deep down, I almost feel like I deserve what's coming. The guilt of shaming my family is eating away at me and I just want to be back in their good graces, in God's.

Questions flash as I clean. What's he gonna do to me? And why aren't my parents here? The anxious thoughts slow me down but eventually I finish and head to the bathroom.

In the shower, I look down at my tall, athletic body with mixed of emotions. Secretly I love my figure, the delicate curves of my pale B cups, the light pink nipples that dot each. I love the feminine elegance of my lean tummy and long limbs, the cute way my bubble butt perks up. But I'm told this self-love is shameful, that only harlots view their earthly vessels immodestly.

Once clean, I don my homely house dress and wait for Mr. Sorensen in the hallway. My stomach turns in knots as I think about my punishment, courtship, parents, God, everything! Soon though I'm interrupted by a loud:

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Eep!"

I jump and look back at the ticking Grandfather clock. 8:00PM on the dot. The black strings of my maiden bonnet sway as I step towards the door. Upon shakily opening it, I'm greeted by a tall blonde man. Huh, I've never actually seen Mr. Sorensen and he's younger than I expected. I pictured one of the Grand Elders, a paunchy septuagenarian, but as he stands on my front porch I clock him at around 40.

What surprises me even more though is just how, uhh.... nice he is to look at... I'm embarrassed to be attracted to this older man, one whose role is so sacred in my church, but can't help it. He's well over 6 feet tall with broad shoulders to match. Through his smart suit jacket, I can make out big arms and a well sculpted chest. His strong jaw and blonde goatee pair perfectly with his blue eyes, and by the time I've finished taking him all in I find myself quite flustered.

"Clara...?" he asks teasingly. "Are you going to let me in?"

"Uhhhhh..."

I'm mortified but manage to welcome him.

"You have a very nice home," my guest compliments.

I laugh to myself because it looks like everyone else's but thank him anyway out of respect. Very meekly, I then ask if he would mind removing his shoes. It's forbidden to command a man, let alone one of his stature, but these are my parents' rules.

As expected, Mr. Sorensen doesn't comply, but asks rather pompously, "would I mind taking off my shoes, what?"

Having heard this a million times, I quickly correct, "would you mind taking off your shoes, Sir?"

Mr. Sorensen smiles and says, "much better. Remember, Clara, I'm here because you've forgotten your place and strayed off God's path. But don't worry, I'm going to bring you back into His arms."

Mr. Sorensen stretches his own out and lumbers towards me. I take a shy step back but he catches up and makes his metaphor literal.

"For a girl like you," he says looking down at me in his giant's embrace. "One who's soon to be married, that means humbling yourself before Him. Showing Him you respect the life He chose for you.

Ephesians 5:22

Wives, submit yourselves unto your own Husbands, as unto the Lord."

I've always hated that line. My parents drilled it into me but to hear it from such a prominent figure it is even more poignant.

"God made you girls as our jewels and in return we vow to protect you. But you must be worthy of His protection. Are you, Clara?"

"Y-yes, Sir......"

"Then show Him you respect the role He chose for you. Humble yourself before Him by removing my shoes, for I am His vessel."

He can't be serious! I've had to wait on the Brothers hundreds of times but getting on my knees seems particularly degrading.

"Look at me," Mr. Sorensen commands, standing proudly while I unlace his shiny dress shoes. "Mmm yes, this is how I like you. Beneath me. Safe where God can protect you."

He runs his fingers under my bonnet and I'm utterly paralyzed. Hair is sacred to our women and I can't believe he's crossed this holy boundary! He knows it's horribly inappropriate but no one is here to stop him. Now even more on edge, I'm told to lead him upstairs.

"Up, girl, into your parents' room. We're going to spend some quality time together in their closet. Just you and me, bringing you closer to God."

My stomach drops and I look back at him. "A-are you sure?"

I'm rarely even allowed in their room but the closet is strictly forbidden! To enter for the first time without explicit permission feels criminal, but Mr. Sorensen assures me it's okay.

"This is exactly what we need to work on, Clara. You questioning my authority--God's. Is it your place to question me?"

"N-no, Sir, I'm sorry..."

He puts his hand on my lower back and laughs.

"Sorry? Ha! You say that word like you know what it means but you don't have a clue. No, not yet, but you will. Just like every girl before you."

I'm hyperventilating, too petrified to breathe.

"But there's something special about you," he continues. "God can see it and so can I. He's telling me to make you the most humble girl of all, a model of piety for the rest. He wants you molded into His image and that's what I'm here to do."

The same shiver I've seen from my mother shoots straight up my spine. As Mr. Sorensen opens the closet, I think back on her face when she exits this mystery room. It's always burning with repentance and shame, but also something else... Sometimes she hobbles out panting, fixes her hair and dress. Others she's crying, but undoubtedly she leaves radiating an aura of serenity. Of feminine grace. Of meekness, submission, perfection.

When I enter the closet I'm confronted by a wooden chair. There's little else inside, no clothes, no art. Just a mirror, a single light bulb, and an ominous chair. My hairs stand on end while Mr. Sorensen closes the door behind us. He then locks it with a key that my parents must have given him. Okay, so clearly they're fine with this. That gives me some comfort, but it quickly fades with his next instruction.

"I'm going to need you to strip now, Clara."

"Wait, WHAT!"

I knew something wasn't right!! My animal instincts kick in and I desperately search for an escape. I'm seeing red, my long hair whipping as I barrel full speed towards the door, but Mr. Sorensen is blocking it.

"NO! NO!" I scream, beating him weakly with both fists.

He pushes me back towards the center and chides, "are you done yet? For a promiscuous little thing like you this shouldn't be a big deal."

Screw him! I pace for another second, think, think. "My parents!" I finally blurt out. "If you don't let me go right now I'm gonna tell my parents!"

I stand my ground with shaky confidence, my grin smug but insecure. To have carnal knowledge of an unmarried girl is to risk exile and I know Mr. Sorensen won't dare. But my pride quickly fades when he begins to laugh.

"Ha! And who do you think gave me the key, little girl? Your Father did because he knows you need to be put back in your place. When I'm through with you the word "stray" won't even be in your vocabulary. You will be so thoroughly worked over that the word of God, and one day your Husband, will be all you know."

Hot tears stream as my fate is dictated. I hate the idea that a wife is just an extension of her Husband--Mrs. John Smith--and to think he might even control my thoughts is too much! Yet there's absolutely nothing I can do. I have no recourse. Helplessness has been ingrained in me.

"Pull up your dress, Clara! You need to be naked for your punishment!"

"No! Please!"

"NOW!"

"EEK!"

My dress yanks itself over my tight body and by the time it hits the floor indescribable shame has washed over me. I've never been naked in front of anyone, let alone a powerful older man, and am devastated. Only my Husband is supposed to "know" me but I've broken that sacred promise. All this distress is compounded by my complex relationship with my body. Is it alluring or pure, dirty or holy? I'm in pure shock as I try to cover myself.

"Hands up!" Mr. Sorensen orders, and again I comply.

Even though I can't imagine my parents allowing this, I physically can't disobey him. My submission has been hardwired, I'm a slave to authority.

"Keep them there," he snarls as I cower. "You need to expose yourself before God. Let Him see the shame you brought upon your parents' good name. Do you feel Him, Clara? Do you feel God judging you?"

My breasts lift and thin neck strains as I nod tearfully. With my legs slightly spread, every nook and cranny is visible to this man. He can see my nervous sweat as it trickles from my blonde hairline down to my hardened nipples. The athletic lines of my taut tummy, the lithe muscles of my toned thighs, they're all on display. Worst of all though, Mr. Sorensen can see the virgin bush that barely covers my precious flower.

"Wider!"

My inner thighs stretch as I step out, separating my little pussy lips. The cool air tickles my inner pink and unsettlingly erotic sensations begin to brew within me. Though it's mortifying to spread for this man, I feel that same primal urge I get kissing boys, though he's eliciting a far stronger response. My breath is heavy and heart rate through the roof, but most shamefully there's a throbbing heat between my thighs. Oh God... What's wrong with me!

"Turn around!"

Again I obey. With my ass now facing this predator, the warmth spreads to my tummy and tits. I step wider, stretch my hamstrings.

"Unnhhh..."

No! A nervous moan slips out! This is all so foreign to me, my insides are simmering and I can hardly breathe.

"Lean forward and grab the chair. It's time for your spanking."

"W-WHAT!! No... noooo...!"

I'm blubbering pathetically, beyond terrified for my very first spanking. But when it's clear there's no escape, my body again betrays me. It bends over for Mr. Sorensen, even arches to give him a nice target.

"Please don't do this.... Please....."

My sweaty palms hit the seat and I grip the sides tight. Tension builds deep in my groin as I stretch, wiggling my hips subconsciously. My lips are now gliding together with no resistance and I realize I've gotten wet. Oh no!! I pray he can't see my involuntary response!

Lifting my head up I see myself in the mirror. It's been placed here for this exact reason, so I can witness my humbling. Mr. Sorensen is behind me, soaking up my nubile body. There's nothing I can do to stop him from ogling my hanging tits and tight slit. My knees buckle and I resign myself to my fate.

"We're going to begin your punishment now, Clara. After every 10 spanks you need to say 'thank you, Sir.' Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir...."

He follows up condescendingly, "and why are you thanking me?"

"B-because you're bringing me closer to God. And t-teaching me to be a good girl...."

"Yes, sweetheart, that's exactly right. Now brace yourself, and don't forget to count!"

I clench my cheeks but nothing can prepare me for his incoming hand.

SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK

"OWWWW! OH GOD!!!"

"Quiet, girl! And don't use the Lord's name in vain!"

"Ouch, sorry!!! OW!"

How can I stay silent when he's brutalizing my cheeks?!?! Damn, he's really not holding back! The pain is intense!!!

"OW! EEE!! OWWWHOOOWW!!!!!!"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asks after a few more.

It's so humiliating but ultimately I sputter out a, "th-thank you, Sir...."

"You're welcome, Clara, but we're not going to count those. You better remember next time or this is gonna take all day. And trust me when I say I don't mind if it does."

I try my best to count but am too traumatized. To be stripped, spread and spanked is something from which I'm not sure I'll ever recover.

"Waaah!!!! Aaaahhhh!!!"

"Disobedience is festering inside you but I'm gonna beat it out!!"

As his hand soars, he rants about the virtues of piety, meekness and submission. He makes me apologize to my parents, to God, even to him for having to punish me! I feel so defeated but find solace in his promise that this is God's plan.

"Do you deserve this?" he roars.

"Yes! YESSS!!!" I squeal, and I think I might actually believe it!

Reduced to this pitiful state, I feel genuine remorse for my actions. If only I'd been a good daughter! Bending over further, I look between my legs and see my reflection in a second mirror. Red, tear-streaked, my face is a mess. But what's more distressing is the state of my bubble butt! Mr. Sorensen's enormous hand prints have painted my porcelain cheeks bright red!

"Waaaahhh!!! Waaaaahhhh!!!"

I mourn the loss of my innocence with each crash onto my jiggly cherry bottom.

"Do you feel repentant yet!"

"Yes...! Sir....!" I pant back.

"Good! But that's just the halfway mark."

"WHAT!" I'm not sure I can take any more!

Mr. Sorensen slows down and caresses my smarting cheeks.

"Don't worry, you're okay..... I just need you to step a little wider now, that's it. Just like that....."

SLAP

"OWWWEEEEEEE!!!!!"

OH MY! He slapped me right on my pussy!! I try to clench my legs to block the next but he forces them back open.

"Don't forget to count," he reminds me with a dry laugh, then continues to tenderize my lips.

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP

His smacks are quick and accurate, landing directly on my mound. Distressingly, I feel more excitement than pain. He's drawn so much blood down there my nerve endings are on fire! It's devastating how soaked I am but I can't help it! And I haven't even mentioned how handsome Mr. Sorensen looks with his jacket and tie removed. He's rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and unbuttoned the top, revealing his hairy muscles. I bite my lip and squirm as I count to ten.

"EEK! Th-thank you, Sir!"

"You're welcome. Now ten more!"

I brace myself and spread wider. As his long fingers strike my wet cunt, I close my eyes and imagine God has forgiven me. I know He's watching me repent and feel His spirit flow through me with each electric strike. I'm on my tip toes now, pussy popped for Mr. Sorensen--for God.

"Unnhhh...! Thank you, Sir.... Oooo! Thank you, Sir..."

His slaps have slowed and become more intimate, lingering on my mound after each. He slides his finger between my slick groove and rubs up and down.

"OOOO!!!"

I seem to have entered a feral state and am moaning like an animal. With each tickle and spank I get closer to a place I've never been. A glorious place, one that's righteous and holy. I grind back against Mr. Sorensen in an attempt to find Eden.

"Oooohh God.... Oooooohhh....!"

He no longer cares that I'm disgracing the Lord. He too wants me to reach paradise and brings me closer through a tantalizing mixture of pleasure and pain. His punishing hand floods me with adrenaline before fondling roughly.

SPANK SLOSH SPANK SLOSH

Surprisingly he never enters my virgin hole. I wonder if he has some sick agreement with my parents, or if he's just taking advantage of his position. Either way I'll never know. We both know I won't dare speak of this humiliation.

"Are you beginning to understand your position as a woman in this church?"

"Unh!" SPANK "Yes, Sir!" SLOSH "AH!"

Feminine fluid sprays out with each smack and I'm positively drenched.

SHLICK SHLICK SHLICK

"OH MY GOD!"