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."
