Sherrys Sanctuary Ch 05

Once again, I would like to thank GamblinLuck, CurrentParameter, and Velcro Fist for their support in this story. I read all the feedback and appreciate the support I have received so far.

Chapter 5- Tied to the whipping post

Over the next two months, life took on a steady routine. Ellie recovered relatively quickly. It was obvious she was still in pain, but to her credit, she never complained. Still, the first week or so was tough. I could tell she was hurting. Whether it was from the pain in her leg or the cravings, I don't know. But she was hurting bad. I felt like shit when she would ask for pills before the next scheduled dose, and I had to refuse her, but true to her word, Ellie never put up an argument. I almost wished she had argued or yelled at me; I would have felt less guilty. Seeing her just nod and walk away with pain and sorrow etched on her face was almost too much for me. I felt like I was torturing her, but Sherry had been adamant. Ellie needed us to be tough if she was going to beat this. By the third week, Sherry had completely weaned her off the ibuprofen, and Ellie started to look much healthier. She still had a slight limp, and that would stay with her for the rest of her life, but she seemed to be on the upswing. There were times when it was apparent she still had cravings, but she seemed to have made it through.

It was many years later when Simon confided in me that he spent most nights with her the first six months, trying to help her through the pain and the cravings, giving her the strength to keep going. Ellie had put on a brave face because she wanted to protect Sherry and myself from knowing just how much she was suffering. Kicking her addiction was harder on her than we ever imagined, and she suffered silently. That's the type of person she is. She takes on so much pain and hardship, just to protect those around her. I can't imagine how difficult beating the hold those pills had over her was, but she did it. She didn't complain, she didn't fall off the wagon, she just buckled down and kicked the habit. And through it all, she stood by us, supported us, and set a model of goodness we could only hope to one day achieve.

Still, Sherry was right. Once the pills were gone, the pain was not as bad as Ellie had feared. She still hurt, she still craved the pills, but it was manageable. There was light at the end of the tunnel for her. Within two months, we were sure the worst was behind her. I just wished I had known how difficult it still was for her.

But while Ellie was pulling herself out of the hole of addiction, I was quickly falling down the hole of despair. The fears Sherry and I had came true. I became the main focus for my father. I had to bring every test, paper, or assignment that was graded home for him to judge if I had done well enough to meet the standard of a "Breaux". Swimming was no longer an escape for me; it was just another prison. I was expected to perform to perfection every time I jumped in the pool. I dreaded swim practices, and I especially dreaded the swim meets. Anything but a first place was met by ridicule and derision. And then there were my father's "lessons". Nights when he wasn't too drunk to join us for dinner, he would regale me with long-winded lessons on how to be the most successful man I could be. How power and influence would be the doorway to all successes in life. "Trust your head, forget your heart." Anecdotes on the "proper" way to interact with both those in power and those without. Again and again, he would continually drill into me his "secret" to success and power.

To me it was all bullshit. All those lessons could be summed up simply, "Do whatever it takes, and don't pay attention to wreckage you leave in your wake." I was able to see through most of my father's bullshit, but it definitely took a toll on me. I had to be perfect for him. I had to live up to the Breaux legacy. A legacy that I'm sure none of my ancestors lived up to.

Then, sometime during the second month of owning Simon and Ellie, my father almost broke me.

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Simon had become the de facto chauffeur to take me to and from school. These rides were usually the highlight of my day. Simon and I would laugh and joke about the day, just having a good time. We had become closer, and I felt I could talk to him about anything. He always had a way of seeing through to the crux of any issue. It was refreshing to have a friend like that. This day, however, I was not in that great a mood.

Simon asked, "Master Claude? Not happy?"

I tried to smile as I told him that I was worried because I had gotten a B on an exam. I knew my father would be angry and was sure he was going to tear me a new one. Simon smiled.

"Master James tough. But want what best. Remember, trials prepare. You get stronger. Stay true to you and you win. You your own person. Never forget."

As always, Simon's wisdom made me feel better. At least until I saw my father walking into the house ahead of us. I sat in the car, dreading entering the house. Simon noticed my reluctance and patted me on the back.

"Come, Master Claude. Is good. Stay strong. Know Ms. Ellie and I always with you."

I took a deep breath, as Simon patted me on the back reassuringly, and entered the house. I knew where my father would be, the same parlor, having a bourbon, so I just sucked it up and walked in. I figured it was better to get it over with. If I had known then what was awaiting me, I would have begged Simon to drive me to the nearest bus station and buy me a ticket for Alaska.

As I entered the parlor, my father looked up at me with expectation. "Claude, come on in here. You were supposed to get the history exam back today, right?"

I nodded sheepishly.

"Well, hand it over."

I took off my backpack and pulled out what I was considering my death sentence. I handed him the exam and stepped back. Watching him review the exam was terrifying. His smile slowly disappeared, his eyebrows bunched together, and his face became a darker and darker shade of red. This was not his normal anger; this was something new. This was fury. For a brief second, I wondered if my internal joke about the exam being a death sentence was true. I knew this was not going to be a normal yelling at me. I was about to experience a whole new level of my father's wrath. When he looked up at me, The Voice returned.

"Sit right there, and don't even think of moving."

I quickly complied and sat as still as I could, hoping I would not piss my pants. It was close, but my bladder held. He stormed out of the parlor, and I heard him go upstairs. Sitting there alone, I contemplated my fate. Would it be the rack? Bamboo shoots under the fingernails? Chinese water torture? My mind was going wild with the possibilities. A few minutes later, I heard him come back down the stairs and scream to Simon and Ellie to "get their asses into the parlor. Now!" He entered with a paper bag in his hand, but did not take a seat. Instead, he stood by the bar. The fact that he was not pouring himself another bourbon scared me more than anything else.

Ellie and Simon appeared in the doorway quickly. Both assumed the present position. My father motioned for both to sit, which they promptly did.

"Listen up. I have been very lenient in this house, letting the slaves adjust to their new life, allowing Claude to grieve the loss of Sophia, but mostly to allow Ellie to heal. It looks to me like she has. BUT, because of my leniency, Claude here is not living up to his potential. I am not sure what the hell is going on, but it is stopping today. Claude, a B is not just unacceptable, it is disappointing and embarrassing. You are better than this. I raised you better than this. I looked over that test. Hell, even I know the right answer to most of the questions you missed, and I haven't taken a history class in over 40 years! How the hell do you explain a grade like this? Don't answer, I don't care. What I do care about is making sure it never happens again!"

I could not remember my father ever being this angry before. I really had no idea what was going to happen next, but I knew it wouldn't be good.

"Now, I have never struck any member of my family. Never spanked or even raised a hand to any of you. But right now, I want to blister your ass! I want to beat it into your thick skull what you need to do in order to succeed. I'm not going to, though. No, instead I am going to take a page out of history. You know, the subject you can't seem to get your goddamn head around!"

He was on a roll now. The more he talked, the angrier he appeared to become. And the more frightened I became.

"See in the past, the royal families would not strike a young prince or princess. It was beneath them. You don't hit princes and princesses like you would common folk, it wasn't proper. Instead, they developed a new system called 'whipping boys'. The idea was to take a peasant, slave, friend or whatever, and have the royal child create an emotional bond with them. Let them become the child's one true confidant. Then when the child screwed up, the 'whipping boy or girl' would take the punishment for the child, while the child watched what their errors had caused. The child would be so worried about their friend getting punished, they would work harder and harder to make sure it does not happen again.

"Well, we Breaux's are basically royalty here in Lafayette. So, we're going to institute that same policy here!"

I was shocked. He wasn't going to beat Simon or Ellie because I got a bad grade, was he? This was my fault. I should have studied harder. I knew I wasn't completely ready for the test, but it wasn't like I had failed. I was only a couple points from an A. My overall grade in the course wouldn't even be affected to any extent. For them to be punished for my failings was wrong on so many levels. I had to stop this.

"Dad, please..." I began. But one look from him shut me up quickly.

"Claude, you're weak. You're emotional, you're blinded to the way the world really works, and you just don't understand what you need to do to succeed. I don't know if it is because I didn't instill it in you earlier, or if your mother just coddled you too much. Either way, she's not here anymore to shelter you from the real world. She's not here to kiss you and make it all better. I loved her, but she did you wrong by not letting you learn the tough lessons in life. She tried to protect you from the realities of the world, and in the process failed you. You never learned to live with the consequences of your actions. Now you will."

Ok, now I was getting angry. Be pissed at me all you want, but DON'T insult Mom. She prepared me for more than he ever would. I was about to protest, when he continued.

"Before you say anything, you would be wise to just sit there, shut your mouth, and listen. Got it?"

I nodded, fear outweighing anger. So much for my righteous indignation. I was afraid anything I said or did was going to make this much worse for everyone.

"As I said, you're weak. You let your emotions drive you and you let your feelings for others cloud your judgement. This is going to help fix both problems. One of two things will happen here today, you will either step up your efforts and perform like you should in order to protect these two from further punishment, or you will stop caring if they are punished. Either way, it will help you become the man you are meant to be. Today you are going to learn that your actions have consequences. So, sit there, shut up, and start acting like a man. Simon, come over here beside me."

Simon quickly stood and walked to the bar. He was smart enough to have figured out what was coming, but if he was afraid, he didn't show it. Thinking back on that moment, he didn't show much of anything.

"Bend over and rest your arms on the bar."

Simon complied.

"Claude, I want you to watch this closely. Normally this is better done on a bare ass, but for some fucked up reason, Sherry has an issue with you being around nude slaves."

He picked up the bag he had brought down with him and pulled out what would be the star in many of my nightmares to come over the next year. It was a wooden paddle. The paddle had a grip around the handle, and striking portion was wrapped in red leather. The wood portion was about 3 inches wide, just over a foot long, and about a quarter of an inch thick. The thickness was almost doubled by the leather wrapping. It was menacing in its simplicity. It was the single most frightening thing I had ever seen.

Simon stood there, spread legged and bent over with his forearms resting on the bar. He turned his head towards me and gave me a smile. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and did something I have rarely heard of any other slave doing. Experience has since shown me with almost every slave I have seen be paddled, they all clenched their muscles. They try to prepare for strikes they know will come. It is a natural response. The body knows the pain is coming and tries to do everything it can to prepare itself. But Simon didn't do that. When Simon let out his breath, his entire body seemed to relax. He looked like someone who was just casually leaning against a bar without a care in the world. He appeared so relaxed, I wondered how his legs were supporting his weight. My father did not notice this at first, and just swung the paddle as hard as he could against Simon's buttocks.

The sound was horrifying. It sounded like a gunshot, and Ellie and I let out a frightened "yip". There was no doubt in our minds that strike had hurt. You can't get a sound like that from something striking a human body and it not hurt. The force of the hit caused Simon to be pushed forward, but he never broke his position. More amazingly, he did not even utter a sound. Just a soft exhale, face neutral, and back to the relaxed position. His eyes told a different story. That strike had hurt and hurt bad. But you would have never been able tell by looking at the rest of his body. Aside from the eyes, everything about Simon's body language and posture said nothing of note had happened.

My father was surprised as well. He obviously expected Simon to scream, wail, jump around, basically have any reaction besides indifference. He raised his arm again and delivered a series of quick, sharp blows. Each blow echoed in the small room. Each blow seemed to strike me through the heart. And to my father, each blow seemed to make him angrier and angrier. Simon, continued to stoically take each hit.

I wish I could say I did something to stop this. Scream, grab my father's arm, anything, but I did nothing. I sat there and watched Simon be beaten, and I just cried. I think I was in shock. While I was horrified with what was happening to Simon, I couldn't help but be astonished with his ability to ignore the pain. I knew it had to hurt terribly, but only his eyes showed any signs of distress. Simon was turned in such a way, neither Ellie nor my father could see his face. I could. After the fourth strike, Simon looked me straight in the eyes, nodded slightly, and smiled. Jesus Christ, he was trying to reassure me! The man was being beaten mercilessly for something that was my fault, and he was trying to make me feel better. When a single tear dropped from his left eye, I felt anything but better.

After about fifteen strikes, my father was past frustrated. No matter how hard he hit Simon, the man never reacted. A slight movement forward from the hit, a soft exhale, and then Simon was back to relaxing as if nothing had happened. This just spurred my father on to hit faster and harder.

Finally, dropping his arm to his side, my father told Simon to stand up.

"Jesus, man, do you even have nerves? Fuck it. Go stand over there. No, not in present. Stand at attention, it may cause you to actually feel something."

My father was obviously tired from trying to get a reaction from Simon. He turned back to bar, poured another bourbon, and drank it as he stared at the paddle. I was weeping openly by this time. That was not what my father wanted to see.

"Quit your sniveling, boy! We're not done yet. Ellie, your turn. Get into position."

Ellie's eyes grew wide at that announcement. She had seen what Simon just endured. She knew how much it had to hurt. But she also seemed resigned to her fate. She slowly stood up and walked to the bar. She looked like she was going to the gallows as she put herself into the position. I have never seen fear like that. She was terrified. She was just starting to get her pain under control, and now my father was going to bring it all back. She had worked so hard to beat the pills and learn to control the pain in her leg. What was this going to do to her recovery? I could see she was asking herself the same questions. With tears in her eyes, she bent over the bar. Unlike Simon, she was clenching every muscle she had control over.

I jumped up and screamed, "Dad, please! I'm sorry, I'll try harder. If someone is to be punished, it's me! Please don't hit Ms. Deveaux..."

Fuck! I knew as soon as I had said it, I had screwed up calling her Ms. Deveaux. This was a cardinal rule in our house. The only name a slave had was their first name, and we better not give any title like Mr. or Mrs. My father jumped on the mistake.

"SIT YOUR FUCKING ASS DOWN! Jesus, you don't learn, do you? How many times have I told you to call her Ellie? No wonder you can't pass your classes. You can't even remember what to call a fucking slave. Now sit there, shut your fucking mouth, and see what YOU caused!"

Then without warning he brought the paddle down across her butt. I don't know if he was so angry that he swung even harder than with Simon, but the strike sounded much louder. Half a second later, the sound of the paddle was dwarfed by Ellie's scream. It was a scream like I had never heard. Full of shock, pain, and betrayal. This was not punishment, this was torture.

Her legs buckled, but she remained standing. As she raised herself back up on shaky legs, she continued wailing in pain. No sooner had she resumed her position, than my father brought the paddle back down with another deafening crack. I did not think it was possible, but Ellie screamed even louder.

My father had an evil grin on his face and I barely heard him say "That's more like it." I recognized that grin as the same one he had when Sherry and I begged him to keep Ellie. I had no idea what the grin meant, but seeing that look on his face, I didn't recognize my father. The man standing in front of me, beating a poor woman who had done nothing wrong, grinning like a madman, that man could not be related to me. That man could not even be the same species as me. I wasn't looking at a man, I was seeing a monster. He brought the paddle down another thirteen times, each time grinning wider. I was terrified by the sight. This monster seemed to be getting pleasure from hurting her.

I looked to Simon for any help we could give Ellie. I stopped crying when I saw him. He was standing perfectly still, but his expression was one of rage and hatred towards my father. Gone was the relaxed body he displayed when he was beaten. His fists were clenched so tightly it seemed his arms were going to burst from the strain. Watching Simon stare at him, I was convinced if it were not for the collar around Simon's neck, he would have killed my father then. I was glad my father had his back to Simon, because I have no idea what he would have done if he had seen that expression. When my father stopped the paddling, Simon's expression instantly returned to the passive look he had had earlier. Ellie had collapsed to the ground and was crying loudly. My father wiped his brow and turned to Simon.

"Simon, get her out of here and get her cleaned up. Ellie, I know you are hurting, but this was for the best. You've served your role, and hopefully we won't have to do this again. Now, take a bit to pull yourself together, then get to work on dinner." Turning to me he said, "I hope at least this lesson sinks in, if none of my others do. Get your ass upstairs and start studying. I don't want you to even think of leaving that room until dinner. Go!"