When the spankings finally did occur, she much preferred them to take place in her upstairs bedroom. The main reason was the height of the bed. It was low enough so that rather than dangle over his knee, she could fold herself over his leg and rest her elbows on the floor, which made it much more comfortable. She'd known this all along, but by a simple twist of fate, the floor became a key ingredient in enhancing the pleasure she now depended upon.
It was a hot Wednesday evening, but her nightie was in the laundry, so she was wearing a baggy T-shirt instead. Father Petri marched into her bedroom, sat down on the bed, pulled her panties off, but when she assumed the position over his leg, her loose T-shirt slithered all the way up to her armpits, allowing her bare breasts to dangle free, her stiff nipples just barely grazing the rug.
With every swat of his hand on her bare bottom, her body lurched forward and the tickling of her nipples rubbing the carpet seemed to travel straight down to the place between her legs, that place from which the unimaginable pleasure radiated from. Then, when he was through with her, and he sent her sprawling to the floor, and she instinctively covered her breasts with her hands, she discovered that smashing her nipples prolonged the release. She further discovered that after Father Petri had left the room, if she pinched her nipples in a certain steady rhythm, the sweet ache of release would start up again in earnest.
Curious about where this feeling of release was coming from, she sent her fingers exploring down there one night, and discovered a certain small area, a little bump, if you will, that seemed to act like a switch. If she worked the switch correctly, she could prolong the aching feeling of release, turning a two minute encounter into a twenty minute orgy of pleasure. Unfortunately, through extensive trial and error, she learned this little switch only worked after a spanking, which made Father Petri's discipline routine absolutely imperative in maintaining her well-being and peace of mind.
Because of Father Petri's important position with the church, he would invite a fellow pastor from out of town to stop by and have dinner now and then. Depending on who this dignitary was, (or, Heather would soon realize, if he was with his wife) Father Petri would request a certain dress for Heather to wear: "The red satin one," or "the shimmery blue one." These were all dresses her mother used to wear, but they were ill-fitting on Heather's curvy frame. In fact, Heather thought the dresses looked stupid, like in Victorian times, when a woman's chest was all smooshed up on the verge of escaping from its containment system. She shared her concern with Father Petri, but there was no arguing with the man.
"That dress doesn't fit me," she would say softly, so as not to annoy her very persnickety father. "It's too small, and I'm afraid my bust is going to pop out."
He would lower his spectacles and look at his daughter adoringly. "We're honoring you mother's memory dear. Now run along and get changed, and put on that pretty red lipstick. You're looking more like your mother every day."
She had no choice but to do as her father asked, even if she couldn't wear a bra underneath her Mom's dresses. She would put the dress on and adjust it so that her nipples weren't showing, but her nipples were always mere centimeters from revealing themselves. It was nerve-wracking, and she took to having a glass of wine whenever she was required to dress that way.
"Go ahead and refresh Bishop Oglivey's glass, darling?"
Feeling the comforting buzz of the wine cushioning her every move, she would bend over at the Bishop's side, her quivering breasts inches from his face, and minister to his needs.
"You're such a pretty girl," the Bishop would say, talking to her breasts instead of her face. "You're going to make some lucky young man very happy one day." Then he would lean back in his chair and adjust the napkin in his lap while she refilled his wine or removed his salad plate.
She readily accepted the woman's role of subservience because it seemed to lead to more attention. She liked having these strange men tracing their fingers across her bare shoulders and along her collarbones, or grabbing her around the waist and plopping her in their laps. It made her feel special, loved even, and wasn't that what Jesus wanted for us all?
While Father Petri's taste in dinner dresses was rather liberal, he was not as accommodating about swimwear. He would have no part of this new, modern-day trend with women revealing every inch of their sinful bodies in a tiny bikini. He was adamant that Heather was to wear her old red speedo, the one she got during her sophomore year at the Christian Academy she had just recently graduated from.
"But father," she would say, turning around and showing him her backside, "see how it's too small? If I take two steps, it rides up between my bum cheeks." Then she would face him. "And here?" she would say pointing to how her breasts were bulging out like squished water balloons overflowing the top of her suit, "don't you think it's too small for me?"
"You look, wonderful dear," he would say, slipping his finger under the shoulder strap and checking the tension. He didn't think it was too small, he thought it was perfect, because he thought Heather was perfect, and you can't blame him for that.
With summer approaching, Heather realized it was time to get serious about trimming "down there." She was always conscientious about her pubic grooming, but no matter what she did, there was always evidence of unpleasantness showing when she'd don the red speedo. Finally, one night, after she'd had a glass of wine to alleviate the pressure of one of Father Petri's dinner parties, she took a razor and shaved herself bare.
She immediately regretted it, not because she didn't like it. She loved it. She loved it so much she spent the next three days shoving her hand down there to feel it whenever she could get away with it. Her regret was the anticipation of Father Petri's reaction. Would he approve? Would he disapprove? Would he spank her with the ruler? She found out the next night, up in her bedroom, when Father Petri jerked her panties down and gasped.
"Oh my," he said in a whisper, followed by silence. Heather held her breath, hoping to God he wasn't mad. Finally, he spoke, tenderly, lovingly. "You look just like your mother." Tentatively, he let his bony finger explore the new hairless area, delicately caressing her secret folds and crevices that had heretofore been hidden. Heather loved this part of the ritual, the innocent touching, the tender caresses that preceded the spankings. It made her feel beautiful when her Father fawned over her like this, saying things like "such a pretty pretty girl" or "such perfect skin -- smooth as glass," and tonight was no exception.
She was a little startled when he leaned in and brushed his lips across her special place, the place where her switch resided. It wasn't a kiss so much as a caress with his lips. She giggled, and the giggle made her feel like she needed to pee, but that was normal. Sometimes, just thinking about Father Petri pulling her panties down and spanking her made her feel like peeing, but she accepted it, knowing that at the worst, only a few drops would leak out, and she was pretty sure it wasn't pee.
With the issue of her hairless area now resolved, Heather was looking forward to pulling on her red speedo and going to the annual pool party up at Jim Clips' residence in the foothills. Pool parties were one of the few times she was afforded the opportunity to socialize with her peers, and Jim Clips threw the best pool parties in town. He was a well-known local car dealer, a generous donor to local charities, and a pillar of the Republican Party. His guest list included certain church dignitaries and select members of the congregation, as well as several local politicians and a couple of radio DJs from the right wing talk shows he often appeared on.
Jim Clips called his annual pool party "Summer Fling!" The event coincided with his birthday, but the real purpose of these pool parties was to allow the men of the church to show off their pretty daughters -- or trophy wives in some cases. (Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.) It was sort of a right of passage for these young lovelies who were preparing to meander off into the world of college, or marriage, or the sweet nothingness of wealth enjoyment.
Swimming was expected, and the pool would be populated almost entirely by gorgeous young women, all of them in one-piece swim suits, since it was important to retain the decorum and dignity expected at a gathering of conservative Christians. Surprisingly absent from the pool area would be the aging wives, who would be shuttled off to a rec room to drink various beverages and play bridge.
Jim Clips liked to have different themes for his annual "Summer Fling!", but the recurring theme that seemed to be the most popular was "Island Time!". For an "Island Time!" party, the caterers would prepare Hawaiian food, and the servers would all be dressed up in corny native garb. Heather always thought it was strange that although she was required to wear a stupid one-piece swimsuit, the ladies serving cocktails and horderves would be wearing very low-riding grass skirts with nothing but a tiny string thong underneath, and vinyl coconut bras that would in no way accommodate the physiques of these busty young women, but Heather didn't question the motives of the church elders. Her task was to learn, not complain.
