Letter From Willesden Chasm

Dear Shoeblossom

I have a difficult time standing in the corner for long periods after a whipping.

Ingrid requires that I stand on my tip toes, and that of course is impossible for more than eight or nine minutes.

Ingrid will sit at the end of the parlor, reading her "Mirabella" magazine and every now and then she gazes over to see if I am up on my toes.

I am naked except for my underwear, which are rolled to mid-thigh. And as always, after a correction, my rear feels like it's sunburnt.

And I must stay on my toes. If I can stay on my toes for a period, then blessedly, it's over, and I get to leave the corner. And sometimes after that, I can take Ingrid to bed and service her glorious nether world with my willing mouth...

But can I stay on my toes?

If it looks like I've relaxed, and my heels have hit the floor, Ingrid calls me over to resume the hard paddling she began three hours ago.

The original punishment lasted about ten minutes, then I went to the corner to stand, ostensibly for forty minutes...

Ah, but every time my feet relaxed, I was summoned for further spanking and then the forty minutes starts over again.

And when she orders me over, I just can't handle it.

"No, no please, Ingrid" I cry as she snaps her finger.

"You know the drill, Bancroft." Ingrid says, usually quite annoyed.

"Please, my feet are so tired and I have to go to the buh-bathroom."

"You'll have to hold it. If you can't stand on your tippies for at least forty minutes at a time, you get spanked again and then you have to start your corner time over."

She sighs in exasperation.

"I may have to take you out back and use the bullwhip on you, I've never seen such slovenliness and indolence...now get over here...I must spanky my Banky!"

"P-please-"

"Now!"

I am erect, of course, terribly excited as well as terrified.

Sometimes, after the third or fourth time she's re-whipped me, I just can't come back to her lap from the corner...

Ingrid gets angrier, and counts ten, sometimes adding an extra swat for every second she must wait...

"It's up to you, Bancroft. I can make things easier or harder my dear."

Finally, sobbing I run over and lay across her pretty legs.

And I am so excited! Ingrid is beautiful. Jet black hair that is kept in a bun except on special occasions (She wore it down on my birthday) full breasts and yes, the most heavenly gams...those thighs!

But Ingrid whips me so effectively that I am reluctant to come and take further punishment.

I have to force myself to return to her knees to bend over, my bare cheeks bearing up for the brunt of her cruel wooden Spencer paddle.

Sometimes, Ingrid must rise and come and get me from the corner.

Dragging me by my ear to where she's sitting, and then I get thirty on my bum instead of ten, and sometimes she uses a series of implements.

Sometimes if I've been whipped, say, five times in two hours for not being able to stay on my toes...she takes pity on me, lets me go pee, and gives me an enema...

Or plows into my rear with her strap-on, a big one, which actually helps me sleep.

And she continues the punishment the next day! Until I have finally, successfully stood in that damned corner.

After all, the only day I really must rise early is Sunday you know.

Because I minister to the Willesden Chasm Holy Redeemer Congregational Temple!

I, Reverend Bancroft Blenciewicz, a spiritual leader in my community.

And a true pain slut.

The first time I saw Ingrid in action was when she persuaded her daughter, Cailean, to come to services with her.

But then Cailean had begun texting during my sermon, and Ingrid had dragged the girl out of the church screaming by her ear, stopping only for a moment at the Ladies' to throw the offending cell phone in the toilet.

Outside, I heard blood curdling screams.

I had excused myself from the congregation to run outside and incredibly, Ingrid had her twentysomething daughter over a marble bench in front of the church.

Cailean's panties were down and her skirt was up and Ingrid was swinging a strap she apparently carried in her handbag.

I have to admit, I was tremendously aroused at the sight of that saucy bottom, it jiggled beautifully, turning cherry red under the leather's attentions.

But I also felt badly about the girl's humiliation.

Several other congregants, all adults, thankfully, had followed me out to witness this spectacle.

Then Ingrid made Cailean rise, still weeping, and ask my forgiveness for texting during the sermon.

I can't lie, it all was so enthralling. My boner was just...pulsating. I wanted to rescue Cailean, and I also wanted to watch Ingrid hit her more.

And, yes, I guess I kind of wanted Ingrid to hit me. Me, a man of the cloth!

A few weeks later, I was in the supermarket, and I heard arguing. Ingrid and her daughter were shouting at each other over in the Produce aisle.

Then Ingrid sat down on a tomato crate and pulled Cailean to her.

"Not here, Mom, please-" Cailean was begging, forgetting the quarrel she'd been having. When your opponent in debate decides to end it by whipping you, it means they won.

I watched, playing pocket pool as Ingrid unsnapped Cailean's tight faded jeans and pulled them down, followed by adorable beige panties.

This time, Ingrid took a thick wooden paddle out of her bag, a short Spencer paddle, the one I was referring to in the first paragraph. I know that paddle well. It is unforgiving and harsh, but not permanently damaging.

The paddle, slightly bigger than a table tennis paddle, features solid wood with holes throughout, neat, circular holes, which Ingrid told me later allow air through so one can hit harder and faster..."get more done." as she put it.

What I noticed was, Cailean's glasses fell off, and her wig fell off.

Yes, she had a wig and under the wig, Cailean was bald!

After the chastisement, Cailean knelt on the supermarket floor, jeans around her knees and bare buttocks on display. She was sobbing, but I noticed her fingers were dilly-dallying around her uh, Bermuda triangle...

Ingrid looked up at me triumphantly. She was still perched on the tomato crate.

"Ephesians six four, right Reverend?"

I thought of the verse-" Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord."

"And let's not forget Proverbs twenty-two fifteen." Cailean surprisingly piped up. "Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline drives it far from him..."

Then the assistant manager chorused in "Withhold not correction from the child, for if thou beatest with the rod, she shall not die."

I was very freaked. I had been sent to this little backwater parish as a bit of a punishment for being a skirt-chasing drunkard at my big church in Eugene, Oregon...

But these people knew Scripture far better than I did.

Seeing my astonishment over Cailean's bald head, and watching the girl prop the blonde wig rather awkwardly on her dome as she knelt...

Ingrid quoted a few more verses on vanity.

Then she went-

"Of course Ingrid is a schoolteacher, she must wear a wig, but her recent egotistical insistence on dating a boy I don't like caused me to have to cut off those locks she was so proud of..."

"But Mother, I'm a grown woman. I can date who I want! I'm twenty-eight years old!"

Ingrid smiled grimly and turned to a pimply nineteen year old box-boy.

"Young man can I borrow your belt, with that nice turquoise buckle?"

It was quite unusual, me experiencing this curious family dynamic.

After Cailean endured a second whipping, she collected herself, and walked out with her groceries.

"Is she waiting for you in the parking lot? I suppose she's upset." I gave Ingrid a concerned look, but my cock was about to pop.

"No, Cailean is taking her purchases to her apartment. We just happened to run into each other today by accident at the store. But then, of course, she had to provoke me."

"She-she has her own place and she lets you spank her?" I paused.

"She needs it. When I neglect her discipline sometimes Cailean will remind me of her many offenses. She's quite a provocative young woman.

In more ways than one, I thought.

"I understand about sparing the rod and spoiling the child in the Bible, but she is a grown-"

"Actually that is not a Bible verse at all." Ingrid clicked her tongue against her teeth.

Ingrid was wearing a tartan plaid skirt, and I envisioned lying across it, weeping as she manipulated a paddle on my bare bottom. Was I jealous of the daughter?

Ingrid wore a starched white blouse with the first three buttons undone, and her lips were bright crimson with fire-engine red gloss.

"You don't appear to know the Bible very well, do you, Reverend? Stop looking at my chest. I should thrash you right here."

I looked around the supermarket nervously.

"You have such a lackadaisical attitude. It goes with that silly ponytail.

I bristled. "Ingrid, I am an inclusive minister-"

"Yes. I am aware of that. I would have left the parish but I was fond of your predecessor, Father Eade. I am not sure what to make of you, Bancroft."

She paused, and I tried hard to stop staring at her pulsating cleavage.

"How so?" I tried to be cold.

"Well, you are easily older than I, and yet you have the manner and sartorial interests of an adolescent. And I've seen you dancing at those singles bars...it's quite sad.

I wasn't sure what to say. To this, I was truly out matched.

When I got back to the rectory, I called my friend Slim. After he came over, I told him of these encounters with Ingrid.

Slim is fairly muscled, and gleaming ebony black. He's very bright and a great listener...though he doesn't share my faith.

"Ingrid whips her daughter, but I know she must have a kind heart.

Before I got in my car to leave the market parking lot, I saw Cailean had waited for Ingrid and they were hugging."

"Yes, family is nice." Slim said meditatively.

"I am not sure how to minister to her. I really must let her know that what she's doing to her daughter is simple assault, as Cailean is an adult-"

Slim grinned. Slim, a cheerful atheist was more than a close friend. He was my male Master.

"I think what you really want to know, Bancroft, is whether or not this Ingrid would spank your naughty butt."

"Nonsense, that's-"

"Banky, I know you so well! I've had you on your knees with clothespins on your nipples!"

"Slim, this-"

"Maybe you need a lesson right now."

I coughed and blushed. "I didn't invite you over for-"

"But of course you did. You tribute me a thousand dollars a month for unlimited visits, and you are desperate for discipline, but I also know you'd like a female to punish you."

I babbled something about how he was mistaken. Slim's voice grew cold.

"Bancroft, take down your britches and your Fruit of the Looms. You know how I feel when you contradict me."

"Slim, it's not that way. Besides you just flogged me Saturday and I've not recovered-"

Slim slapped me hard across the face and his eyes narrowed. "I believe, Father Bancroft Blenciewicz, that I gave you a direct order."

I bit my lip and unbuckled my belt, though my penis was swelling. I pulled it through the loops of my pants and handed it to Slim.

"I've changed my mind, take off all your clothes. You don't deserve to be clad, you honky hypocrite."

I disrobed entirely, and Slim picked up my paper clerical collar and ripped it in half, surveying me with cold eyes.

Now my cock was hanging out and it was very, very erect.

"Sad little worm." Slim mumbled, staring at it malevolently.

It wasn't very big, but his words cut me.

"Now lie across that straight backed chair, Bancroft."

I winced. "Yes, sir."

Slim has a deadly aim and the less said about the thrashing I received that afternoon he better.

It was a severe one, and I had to stuff a sock in my mouth to keep from screaming.

Slim methodically covered my rear end from just below the hips to the tender cleave where buttocks meet thighs with long red weals.

I was in pain, but at the same time, I kept trying to hump the hard-back chair, which slightly amused Slim.

"I can't stand hypocrites, especially you religious types." Slim said contemptuously as he tossed my belt on the floor.

I was now standing in front of him, crying, and very shamefaced. I was hoping, though that he would let me service him, as was our custom after he'd given me needed discipline.

"Can-can I-"

"No. I'm not going to let you blow me. Not today. I don't feel very attracted to you right now."

I wanted to remind him that I paid him a grand every thirty days to ensure the "attraction" but the belt was still in reach, so I fell silent.

And Slim's brief statement was such an unkind cut. Worse than the cuts across my tender rear. No welt was worse than being denied Slim's glorious sausage.

"Bancroft, I want you to go to this woman Ingrid and tell her of your desires. Be honest with her, Banky. "

"I-I really can't, Sir."

Slim reached over and twisted my right nipple. I burst into fresh tears.

"Until you do, I won't let you suck me off and I will be here every other day at seven p.m. to give you another flogging."

Every other day? Twice a week, which is what he'd been giving me the past three years had almost shattered me sometimes.

"Yes, every other day, hard. No fun fantasy stuff, either. You can't wear your Donald Duck naughty boy sailor suit for me. You're forty-eight years old, and you've been divorced twice and kicked out of what is it, five parishes?"

"Seven." I mumbled. I felt so silly standing there naked in front of his clothed and gloriously muscled form.

"It's time for you to grow up, Reverend. And so, until you talk to Ingrid, there will be intense whippings, and you are off limits to my penis and I won't even let you see me undressed."

"B-but you like it when I give you full-body massages." I whined.

"No, no massages, no blowing, no me going up your Hershey Highway, and I won't let you toss my salad. You are on restriction until you stop being a hypocrite."

This was intolerable. What was I to do?

"And-" Slim said before he left, "I forbid you to masturbate at all until you have talked to Ingrid. I know you love to jerk off after one of my spankings but you can't."

"But-" I was dying to beat my meat now.

"Naughty hypocrites don't get to touch themselves or their sexy black masters. Though I will certainly touch you-every other day at seven. I advise you to go to Ingrid and confess now."

Before he shut the door to my bedroom, Slim watched a few moments as I wept, my face in my palms.

"And I'm moving back to Toledo, Banky, so part of this is because I don't want you to be alone. I know you're not queer, and a woman's touch would do you good."

And he was leaving town, too. Without being asked, I shuffled to the corner and stood there.

Slim's laugh echoed from the hall. He knew I'd stand there two hours, on the honor system, and I would not touch myself, and of course I would confess if I disobeyed.

But I was so concerned for my clerical image. I knew if I was tossed from this eighth assignment, my career would be over. I would have to do something horrible, like teach philosophy at a community college.

So, every other evening, Slim would drop by the parsonage, a question in his eyes. I'd just shake my head, he'd snap his fingers, and I stripped.

I endured, over the next ten days, five corrections that played hell on my ass.

Slim used my belt, my housekeeper's wooden spoon, and her frying pan, two of his canes, his racquetball racquet, and a golf club on my unfortunate rear.

Every 48 hours, Slim was reducing me to panicked tears, but at the same time I was hornier than I had ever been.

Once, thinking of all the punishment I was enduring, I did touch myself and I had an accident. I reluctantly called Slim to confess.

He came over with a dozen long-stemmed roses!

I thought it was a gift, he was going to apologize for his brutality, but Slim cut the heads of the roses and used the thorny branches to make me truly regret my onanistic malfeasance.

The last four stems Slim used on my penis. This did help me to remember not to touch myself again...but I just couldn't bring myself to talk to Ingrid!

And then, just as Slim was beginning to make noises about a daily beating, Cailean, Ingrid's daughter, approached me in the parking lot.

This was during the week, after I had been visiting a sick parishioner.

"Reverend, how are you?" Cailean was a gorgeous young woman, and of course now she's my stepdaughter.

As blonde as her mother was raven haired, the girl could certainly turn a head.

But her blonde wig was gone and she was bare headed. I could tell a stubbly crew cut was growing in.

Cailean smiled." Since you know all about the wig, as does everyone at Ralph's Market..." here she sighed-" I'm not wearing it out here. It's July after all, no school, right? And way too hot."

"Y-you don't have to call me Reverend, Cailean." I said smiling as I watched her tits bounce in a Billabong top.

"Your first name is Bancroft, right?" That smile.

I escorted Cailean into the rectory and since my housekeeper was out, I got her some tea.

The next hour was terribly strange. I felt like the Elephant's Child from Rudyard Kipling's "Just So" stories.

The Elephant's Child asked too many questions and got spanked by everyone!

I was stunned when Cailean told me her Momma was "Sweet" on me, and that Cailean had conferred with Slim, who in addition to being a Male Master of many local submissives, boys and girls, also taught a Spinning class at the YMCA.

"You need to talk to Mom. I think she'd be happy to spank you, and it would take some of the pressure off me, right?"

When I tried to explain my fear of exposure, yes, you guessed it, Cailean snapped her fingers, and right there in the rectory kitchen, my pants went down , and she used my belt on me, before taking me as I wept, upstairs to my room.

Then when we got up there, it turned out that Cailean had borrowed her mother's Spencer paddle, and that came out, too.

"Reverend, Slim tells me this is the only way to reach you...to get you motivated. Is that a hard-on, an erection against my nice thighs?"

How could I help it, her thighs were bare in her denim miniskirt, and I was very, very horny.

I hadn't cum in so long!

But the girl knew how to hit.

Then we talked. Cailean told me interesting familial details. "Momma made Daddy wear a pink shimmy and matching garter belt till the day he died."

Cailean was quite an engaging conversationalist, (and I showed her my Donald Duck sailor suit, she said it was charming.)

Then, towards the end of the visit, Cailean said, almost apologetically-

"Mother has forbidden me for dating till Christmas. But I'm real unsatisfied, and I think I'm allergic to my vibrator.

If I pull down my panties, can I sit on your face?"

Then Cailean gave me a "You better say yes" look!

Fortunately, I am as adept a cunnilinguist as I am a fellatrix!

And then, together we went over to see Ingrid, and I confessed, and proposed.

After Ingrid and I married, Ingrid got rid of my ponytail, and for a bit, until her own hair grew out, Cailean and I had matching buzz cuts.

Master Slim didn't return to Toledo after all. He and Cailean were in a double wedding with Ingrid and myself.

I could have sworn the man was gay!

Slim also helped Ingrid "break me in" further, and God knows what depravity goes on in Slim and Cailean's residence.

Now Ingrid goes over my sermons with a red pen and if there are more than three errors, spelling or otherwise, I am standing far more enthusiastically in the pulpit and don't sit down at all throughout the service!