On My Honor

For the other women in the commune, prayer was a time of devotion. We shuffled into the prayer room at exactly 10am every day, smiling, our hands clasped together over our modest cotton dresses, looking forward to half an hour with no children to see to, no food to prepare, no chores, only the truth of God in our thoughts and tongues. Ever since I was eighteen and old enough to go there, I too had treasured the time, listening to the other women, feeling the power of the word strengthen us, and being guided by our prayer teacher, always an older man of some experience. Recently though, I had begun to be distracted.

Reuben was relatively new in our commune but had already started to make a name for himself as a biblical authority. Only slightly younger than my father and with his rough beard, darting, bespectacled eyes and complex theological opinions, he was an imposing figure. Even so, it was still remarkable how quickly he managed to impress himself on our commune. For the last several months, he'd been asked by our elders to lead women's prayer, a decision that was met enthusiastically by many of us. My feelings were a little different.

I had a secret. When he first joined, just over a year ago, I thought I caught Reuben looking several times with unusual interest at the shape of my nineteen year old body. I couldn't be sure, but in the weeks that followed, I felt his eyes resting on my breasts a little too long.

Now, for more than half a year, he had been coming in the night to my room. Not every night, but more often than not.

It began the same way, each time. He would creep in in the low, blue light, my door always unlocked, as was a rule of the commune. He would perch on my bed and lower himself down beside me until we were lying together, his back creaking against the indiscreet springs in my mattress. He would bring his face next to mine, never touching it but always close enough that my mouth, chin, nose and right cheek were covered consistently with the shuddering, warm breath from his mouth, his big belly bulging against my right hip and nestling in the hollow of my waist. And then, with those long, long arms and fingers, he would begin, very gently, to touch me.

I would freeze. Sometimes I pretended to sleep, but more often I would open my eyes and stare at him, watching him do things to me. Staring at him felt the bravest thing I could do, but I imagine I looked strangely still to him, my eyes glazed in soft alarm, like a horse looking at its master.

It didn't perturb him. He felt entirely able to look me in the eyes as he violated me, sometimes with a patronising fondness and sometimes with a dismissive look that said 'Shush. Just lie there and let me use you.' If I'm really honest with myself, what he most likely read on my face was confirmation that he could do anything he wanted to me, if he hadn't thought so already.

He didn't quite do everything, though. He would undress and rub himself against me, pushing yearningly against my abdomen and squeezing himself up between my breasts as he pushed them together. He would take my hands and wrap them around him, holding them and pushing into them. He would rub himself over my face too, and push himself into my mouth, holding my head firmly against him as he moved in and out of my lips, my jaw, my throat, over and over again, until he moaned and I felt that my mouth would never know any other shape but him.

Sometimes he would branch his arms and legs out over me so that his thing lingered right between my legs, a wild look in his eyes, rubbing himself up and down with tiny, agitated movements all over that area so I felt the warmth and the stickiness of him pulling up and rocking against me, teasing my skin as I lay stupidly beneath him. But he always hesitated around the edges of my slit.

I knew why. It was a sin to take the virginity of another man's daughter before marriage. It was a sin to touch her too, but clearly to nowhere near the same degree. Raping an unmarried woman's slit was the greatest theft of property you could ever commit against another man; it was an indignity to him, the ultimate token of disrespect, and a threat to the very patriarchy of our community. Women had a responsibility to their fathers and future husbands to stay pure until marriage, and Reuben, a very godly man, had great respect for other men.

So, respectfully, he satisfied himself with my mouth, my outside skin, my hands, which he trained up to understand exactly how to hold him, tempt him, please him.

I have to admit that I took some pleasure in it myself. After all, wasn't it the best thing a woman could do to find favour in the eyes of a man? Even an old, fat, bastard? Every night, as I lay there silently with my eyes closed, every hair on my skin awake, I wondered whether I would be good enough, whether I'd please him that night and feel his long wet spurts of ejaculate in my throat where he'd often like to finish, or whether my body, impure and familiar, would finally bore him and he would leave my room, deciding never to visit me again.

As much as I hated him, the thought filled me with slight anxiety. The nights he didn't visit me, I found myself tossing and turning. When I saw him in the day, at prayer or by the well, I would try to catch his eye, but was only ever met with a look of disapproval, if anything at all. It was only in the nights, when he came and raped my mouth, tenderly, with aggressive ownership, that I felt truly at peace.

When he wasn't there, I began to think of little else. The thought of him alone, that greedy look in his eyes, owning me, using me, made me itch, and my hands went down compulsively to the place between my legs at any chance I got, although I'm ashamed to admit it. I know it's a disgusting sin for a woman to touch herself - a selfish perversion of the true order of things - but I felt so helpless. I was trapped. My nose was filled with the smell of his paunch, the absence of his thing leaving a strange space in my mouth and throat. My head was hot and tight with the memories of being forced against him, his hands holding me close as he drove himself into my mouth again and again. The sour taste of him, which I swallowed without fail, never seemed far from my tongue. The itch never seemed to go away, but only got stronger as I thought of him, my hands rubbing up and down between my legs the way he'd taught me, my body wet, my heart racing, my fingers fixed permanently underneath my skirts.

It was a serious problem. Impure thoughts of him, of being underneath him, overwhelmed me. I was a slut. He had to stop coming to me, I couldn't bear it, I had to do something.

Although I was twenty-one, I still lived in my parents' house, under their guardianship, so I decided the best thing to do would be to tell my mother. It would be impossible, but I had to do it. This couldn't go on. I waited weeks before making up my mind, finding the right moment. Then, one day, as we were folding the laundry, she seemed to be in a good mood. The moment had come.

I don't remember how I said it or how I managed to find the courage, but I told her what had happened - that Reuben had been coming for me, touching me in the night, rubbing himself against me, against my will.

Her face was stiff with disbelief at first. Then, she slapped me. The shame of letting a man touch me, of making him want to touch me, stung my face. However, she said almost nothing, except 'Your father will deal with this.'

My father ate somewhere else that evening, so returned late. I remember that when I heard him come in, I ran to hide in my room. I'd got into the strange habit of rubbing myself when I was anxious, and so I got into my bed, rubbing furiously. I thought of Reuben lying beside me, taking me. Would it ever happen again? What would happen to him?

I didn't have to wonder long. To my horror, I heard the warm tones of Reuben's voice at the front door, my mother welcoming him in. There was a haze of some words I couldn't hear, and then I heard my father's footsteps on the stairs, with Reuben's following closely behind. They reached the top and then tapered away. For a terrible moment, I thought they were coming to my room, but it was my father's they were going to.

In spite of myself, I pulled myself out of bed and my feet followed the two men, creeping out of my bedroom, down the hall and, my breath and feet getting more and more tentative, along to my father's doorway. The door was nearly closed, but there was still a small crack to see and hear through. I couldn't resist it.

My father had been pacing around the room and was now standing right up to Reuben, looking him directly in the face. He got straight to the point. 'Is it true? My wife tells me you've been touching Laetita.' My father sounded disgusted, and for once, I felt a touch of pride that he would be so angry over me.

Reuben was looking aghast, and he muttered something I couldn't hear.

'Well, tell me, what's the truth of it? I must hear it from you.' My father insisted. He had to hear something from another man to fully believe it.

'It's true.'

My father sighed, furious.

'But it's not what you think. I haven't dishonored her, sir, I give you my word. You're a great man. I'd never forgive myself if I did such a thing to you. No-one has more respect from me than you.'

'You haven't dishonored her, you say?'

'No, I've been extremely careful with your daughter, I promise, sir.' He said earnestly. 'I've played with her body, I admit, but I would never take her honor before marriage. I promise. I respect and admire you far too much to ever do that. You must believe me, sir. I wouldn't dream of it.'

There was a pause. 'Ah, well this is a slightly different matter.' Through the crack, I could see my father stroking his face, still eyeing Reuben suspiciously.

'I'm - I'm sorry for touching your daughter without asking you. But you know, she does look at me in such a way... You know what she's like.'

My father purred in agreement.

'I can't deny that Laetita's always been something of a slut. I've tried to snap it out of her, but I agree, it's in her eyes. She's always been a wilful girl.' My father said with distaste.

'That's true, I'm afraid. I fear she's been that way all her life, from what I hear.' I heard Reuben say. "And with a girl like your daughter, it's very hard to help yourself.'

'Very true.' My father said, grinding his teeth. 'Look, sir, I understand. You're not to blame, and these things happen sometimes.'

'Thank you, sir. I won't touch her ever again.'

'Oh, I wouldn't worry about that', my father said generously. 'You're a good man and men must have their way sometimes. I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to keep touching her now that you've started if it gives you some pleasure.'

I couldn't see Reuben's face for a response, but I felt somehow that I could feel his gratitude to my father in the air. The way that my father said the word 'pleasure', so matter of factly, as he effectively handed my body over to this man, sent a cold dizziness straight through me. My whole body seemed to stop.

'But you must promise me not to take her virginity.' My father was saying sternly. 'Do you swear?'

'Of course, sir. You have my absolute word. Thank you. Thank you.'

'Very good. Right, well that's settled. It's the least I can do, given the inconvenience my daughter's caused you, and it's only right that you should have some access to her, as she's shown herself to be a real whore to you. But frankly, I'm embarrassed this has happened. Stupid girl. I'm going to have to have to talk to her.' He gave Reuben a cursory glance, and then had a second thought. 'Perhaps it would be best if you stay for this - do you agree?'

'Yes sir, that sounds sensible.'

'Good. Laetitia?'

I walked as fast and as quietly as I could away from the door, away, away, but I only got to the next room before my father was standing in the doorway. I was in plain sight.

'Ah, Laetitia. Good. Come in here.'

I could do nothing but obey. The look Reuben gave me as he saw me for the first time since this very momentous conversation, my head bowed and trembling, was the wildest look of vindication I had ever seen.

My father was not so pleased. He sat down on his bed. 'Now, I'd very much like to hear what you have to say for yourself. Reuben here, young miss, has told me everything. He's told me all about how you made him want to touch you. And I think you should think long and hard about what you've done. You've been looking at him and putting impure thoughts in his head, haven't you? Haven't you, young lady?'

I pulled my lower lip into my mouth. 'Don't deny it. Your mother told me he's needed to visit you half the nights of the week just to get his fill. It's disgusting. He's a good man and you, Laetitia, have acted like a little whore. You should be seriously ashamed of yourself.'

'But he...' I didn't have the words to say what I wanted to say.

'Shush. You could never learn, could you? And now look what you've done. You always were a little jezabel, weren't you?'.

'I...'

'Don't make that face at me. If you'd been modest, this never would have happened. You know it's very difficult for a man to resist a young woman when they're so disgustingly seductive. You know that. Your mother told me Reuben's needed to visit you again and again, night after night, and you just lay there for him. It's a good thing he's such a godly man and that we can trust him, or he would have taken your virginity completely from me. Which I'm beginning to think is the only thing you have left, young lady. You certainly don't have any dignity.' He let his words sink in.

I knew what that meant. I was spent, used, degraded. Reuben could touch me again if he wanted, without any fear of retribution, just so long as he didn't do anything to my hymen. It didn't matter now to my father - Reuben had touched me before, so it wouldn't do any more harm as I was already spoiled in that way. In the act of staring at him as he looked at my breasts, in the act of freezing and lying still as he touched me, I had seduced him, given myself to him. The thought spread a strange heat all over me. It was my fault that he was tempted to touch me in the past, and anything he did to me in the future would be my fault too.

'Now, I think you should apologise for making Reuben want to touch you, don't you?'

Reuben was nodding solemnly, and both men looked at me with righteous faces. I'd never wanted the floor to swallow me up more.

'What do you say?'

'Sorry father.' I mumbled.

'That's not good enough. Come and bend over my knee.' He smiled at Reuben. 'Reuben, would you mind handing me that switch in the corner?'

My father's favourite switch. I stumbled slightly backwards.

'Lift up your skirt, Laetitia. Come on.' My father commanded. My cheeks were on fire. I found myself stooping down to the hems around my ankles, picking them up and lifting my skirts to my waist, both at the front and the back, as I'd done so many times before for my father's switch.

I must have looked so pale and ridiculous standing there. A grown woman of twenty-one. Pathetic. Reuben was behind me, with a perfect view. He had never seen my backside before, even with everything he'd done.

I dreaded my father's next sentence.

'And pull those down.'

I thought about running now, but it would be useless. In a tearful daze, I rolled down the little bit of cover I had left beneath my skirts, so that the lower half of my body was entirely, brutally exposed.

'Good, now come here and bend over.' My father said in a hard voice. 'You need to learn to not be such a whore.'

I knew the drill. In fact, it was all too easy. Shivering, I bent my naked body over my father's lap, getting myself in the best position for him to punish me, which I knew off by heart. I could have bent over him so his trousers were touching only my belly, but he liked to have my backside aligned perfectly over his legs instead, just between the two of them, so that the place between my legs rubbed naturally against him. My skin chafed against his trousers and my arms flailed out in front of me, but I had learned that the best place for me, as far as my father was concerned, was wherever made me easiest to hit.

'Good girl' my father said.

This was more humiliating even than anything Reuben had done to me at night, in my feeling. My father was looking at my backside on his lap in clinical silence - my soft, round cheeks and perhaps even what lay between them. I heard the sound of Reuben shifting his chair forwards slightly to get an even better view. The anticipation of the switch hung in the air.

My father liked to do this - to make you unsure of when it was coming so that you almost wanted it to happen. I closed my eyes and lay trembling. At last, he lashed the switch up into the air and it came down on me, hitting my cheeks, hard, just as I deserved.

'Now, say sorry for being a whore.'

'I'm sorry', my voice rang out, softly.

He beat me again. 'What for?'

'For being a whore.'

'Again.' He belted me.

'S-sorry for being a whore.'

'Say it again.'

'Sorry.' My voice was small now. I knew how to imitate the signs of obedience, but it was also something the switch did to me.

'You're a sinful little girl, aren't you? Again.'

'Sorry.'

He whacked me over and over, my body juddering up and down on his lap, rubbing on him as I hurtled forwards slightly with each crack of the switch, painfully aware that Reuben, Reuben of all people, was watching. With every crack, first because my father ordered me to but then automatically, I said sorry, sorry to Reuben and my father, sorry for acting so seductively, for staring at Reuben, for being so stupid, for being a slut.

Although I know the two men wanted to punish me for genuine sins and felt this would be good for me, I sensed there was also some gratification to be had for both of them in demeaning me in this way. Spankings were something that were done regularly in our commune, both to daughters and wives. It kept us submissive and was our husbands' and fathers' God given right. But it also seemed to be something the men enjoyed doing. The feeling of a naked girl on your lap, waiting obediently to be hit, must give you a sense of powerful authority as a man. And authority over a girl, I sensed, was particularly irresistible to both Reuben and my father.

If I had never been spanked before, I'm sure I would have resisted this spanking - the most humiliating one of my life. But the switch was a sound that I had felt painfully on my cheeks for as long as I could remember. At first, I fought my dirty shame and hot fury, angry, even as I apologised and the switch spanked down on me again and again. But soon, voluntarily, I realised that this anger had run its course and could be switched off.

With each crack and apology, after several minutes I started to become more and more relaxed. It was a strange relief to lie over my father's lap and to be entirely at his mercy. I stung with the hard welts that reflected his anger and admonishment, but something in me also accepted and even welcomed them. After a while, despite my humiliation, I felt a strong surge of love for my father. He really was teaching me.

Finally, my repeated apology was fully believable. 'Well,' my father said finally, after three or four more strikes for good measure, 'I'm quite satisfied that the message has sunk in. But perhaps you'd like to have a go too, Reuben? After all, my daughter did a disservice to you most of all.'

'Thank you.' Reuben said.

'Would you like the switch? Or perhaps you'd just like to use your hands? By all means feel free to do whatever you like.'

I sensed smiles exchanged by the two men above me. Suddenly I felt Reuben's big hand belting down on me, my backside still on my father's lap. I gasped out. He hit again. I lunged forward, biting hard on my lip. My father held me still while Reuben dealt another blow and another, pouring into me a torrent of long-held energy. I noticed to my shame that I was beginning to get warm and wet and slippery on my father's trousers under the intimacy of Reuben's strong, relentless hands.