Jennifer's Tale, Part I

How it Started. I?ve been punished every Saturday night for more than five years. And I don?t see that changing any time soon - at least I hope not. The ritual has gone through several changes. And the person doing the punishing has changed. First it was Poppa. He started not long after my mother ran away with the younger Martin boy. Then when his health was failing, Poppa convinced his sister, my Aunt Rinnie, to take over. But while she agreed with Poppa about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, her heart was never in it. So quick as she could, she turned my punishment over to Uncle Jamie. Poppa and I had been very close since I was big enough to help around the farm. He always treated me with kindness and respect (which was more than I can say for Mom). He taught me to be self-reliant, work hard, and go after what I wanted. And right now, Uncle Jamie is what I want more than anything else in the world. Mind you, he isn?t really my uncle - he?s they guy who married my mother?s younger sister. And my mother was 20 years younger than my father, which made Uncle Jamie much closer to my age than any of my other relatives. I?ve liked Uncle Jamie for as long as I can remember, but it wasn?t until he came here to run the farm, and took over my punishment, that I fell in love with him. * * * All my life it seems like I?ve spent most of my time alone. And most of that time I spent reading. Or dreaming. Poppa used to call me his beautiful dreamer when he?d find me lying under the giant oak gazing at the clouds, or lying in the hayloft watching rays of sunlight from the knotholes make patterns in the air. I loved to read books from the library about ladies in distress rescued by handsome noblemen. And once in a while I?d sneak home a True Confessions and get myself all worked up about what a ninny the confessor had been just waiting for things to get better instead of doing something to make it happen. That?s what I?d do, I always told myself: make it happen. Often I dreamed that some day my prince would come riding up on his white charger, sweep me into his arms, and whisk me away to his castle in the mountains. The same mountains that reared their gnarly white heads over our farm. When I first imagined that happening, I was too young to worry about what would happen once we got there. It was just the wonderfully romantic idea of being swept off my feet. Later, when I got more realistic about myself and my life, I was forced to admit that there really weren?t any castles in the mountains. But all the same, somewhere deep inside, I still believed that wherever life might take me, I would be going there with my own personal prince. * * * I was a late bloomer, as they say. All the girls in my class had started to develop, and I was still as straight as a board. It tended to make me even more of a loner than I was naturally. Finally, a few months after I turned 14, my breasts decided that maybe it was time they made themselves known. But, much to my irritation, they took their freakin? time about it. Then, not long after my 16th birthday, two things happened that changed my life completely. First, my mother ran off with the younger Martin boy. Second, my body suddenly decided it was time for my periods to start. And just as suddenly, Poppa decided that he had been too permissive with me, that I was getting much too lax about my responsibilities. ?So you?re going to start paying for your misdeeds, young lady,? he announced out of the blue, ?to make sure you don?t turn out to be a slut like your mother.? My jaw must have dropped as I stared at him in amazement. ?And don?t try to tell me you?re too old for spanking, because that?s exactly what you?re going Anadolu yakası escort to get. Every week. Starting tonight!? Any number of times over the years, when I had made him mad, he?d bent me over and give me a dozen swats or so. As far as I was concerned, that was what ?getting a spanking? meant. And I knew he was really upset about Mom running away. So I thought, what the hell, he?ll get over it. Boy, was I ever wrong about that! * * * I?ll never forget that first Saturday night... Dinner was over and he still hadn?t said anything else about what he planned to do. I wasn?t sure, but I had the feeling he was watching me the whole time I did the dishes, instead of reading the paper like he usually did. But as soon as I finished, he walked over to the table, and now he was staring at me. He picked up a kitchen chair and carried it very deliberately to the middle of the room, set it down right in front of the fireplace, and said, in a kind of funny voice, ?Get yourself over here, young lady.? He indicated a spot in front of the chair. But once I was there, he pulled me even closer, so I was standing right between his knees. Then, sounding a lot like a preacher, he told me it was his responsibility to make sure I grew up ?pure,? and he started praying out loud for God?s help. I couldn?t tell if he wanted it for himself or for me, but it went on a long time. Finally he tried to unfasten my jeans, but he was so clumsy at it that I reached over and undid the side for him. He jerked them down ? along with my panties, grabbed me around the waist, and sort of flung me over his knees. Then came my first bare-bottom spanking. It was more painful, and lasted longer than I had imagined. A lot longer. I didn?t know what to think as I got into bed that night. I couldn?t think of anything I had done that would make him think I deserved that much pain. And he didn?t really seem all that angry while he was doing it. I kept gently rubbing my derriere as I tried to figure it out; soon the pain seemed to diffuse throughout the area, and I fell asleep with strange thoughts in my head and strange feelings in my belly. The next week, the procedure got a little smoother. He had me take my jeans and panties off entirely. After my spanking, he hugged me and told me I was going to be fine. Then he handed me my pants and sent me off to take my bath. One Saturday, after that routine was pretty well established, he had me take off my jeans and panties before he started to pray. He acted like it was a mistake, but the next week it was clear that that was the new routine. When he put his chair in front of the fireplace, I knew that, without any prompting, I was supposed to suddenly be standing there, naked from the waist down, while he prayed for the goodness of my soul. Then he?d spank my fanny for ten or 15 minutes. I don?t remember much about those early spankings themselves, but I loved it when he hugged me afterward. He stayed sitting down and had me walk around and stand between his legs. Then he?d wrap his arms around me and gather me to him. He?d whisper in my ear what a good girl I was, how brave, and stuff like that. I really ate it up. All the while, he?d be lightly rubbing my sore fanny and it seemed to make the pain go away -almost like magic. * * * It was during that summer, as I tentatively explored what was happening to my body, that I stumbled onto the wonderful world of masturbation. I had heard the girls at school giggle about it, and I knew the dictionary definition. But it had never been real to me before. Amazingly, I still hadn?t made any connection between my spankings and a desire to masturbate. Kurtköy escort bayan I looked forward to doing it on Saturday nights more than any other time. But for a long time I thought that was just to comfort myself. What thrilled me most that fall was Poppa giving me a bathrobe for my 17th birthday. It was the first one I had ever owned; it was so beautiful and soft, and it felt just fabulous against my skin. I couldn?t believe that Poppa had been so extravagant, but that Saturday night it all came perfectly clear. (Actually, it wasn?t until the next day I figured out that the bathrobe had been part of his new plan all along.) After I finished the dinner dishes that Saturday night, he told me that from now on I was to take my bath before my punishment. ?When you?re finished,? he said, his eyes looking just past me with such intensity I knew something unusual was happening, ?put on your bathrobe and come out here.? Then he added quietly, ?Just your robe.? I quickly looked away so he wouldn?t see me blushing, and I managed to answer calmly, ?Yes, Poppa.? But my heart was pounding wildly as I ran my bath. I wasn?t sure what was coming next, all I could think, over and over, was, ?He wants me naked under my robe. He wants me naked under my robe.? For the first time that night, I realized that I was really excited - sexually excited, I mean - before a punishment session. But that was nothing compared to the feelings that shot through me as I stood in front of him in my new robe, and he told me to take it off, lay it on the davenport, then come back and stand in front of him again. When I came back, it was a real struggle not to try hiding my newly developed tits by slouching. But somehow I managed to stand up reasonably straight, my hands clasped modestly in front of my mound, which had only the barest hint of a downy covering. Poppa slowly reached out and took one of my hands in each of his. Except for the circumstances, a natural fatherly gesture. But I noticed that instead of bowing his head as he usually did, he stared at my naked body the whole time he was praying. I can?t remember that prayer exactly, but the gist of it was, now that I was becoming a woman, we had to redouble our efforts to overcome my base nature, to eradicate the sins of the flesh, and generally save me from myself. When he had finished praying, he said to me, still staring straight at my tits, ?You?re getting too big for a hand spanking to be much punishment. You need something stronger now.? His eyes were roaming the room as he spoke. ?I know, bring me Shep?s old collar.? As if in a dream, I turned and walked over to the door, where the collar that had been worn by the dog I had gown up with, a large German Shepherd, had been hanging ever since he?d gotten too old to run and Poppa had to put him down. I took it off its peg and instinctively unbuckled it as I returned. It was a little more than a foot long, made of sturdy leather. It struck me with another shocking tingle that the buckle had been polished and the leather recently oiled. This was obviously not the spur of the moment idea his words had suggested. ?That should do nicely,? he pronounced, slapping it loudly against his other palm. ?Come here.? He laid the collar in his lap and took my nearest hand to pull me over to his right side. In the past, he had let me drape myself over his knees, but that night he pulled my left hand behind my back and pressed me gently forward. Because I couldn?t use both hands like I was used to, he reached up and placed his left hand against my chest to help lower me into position. His hand just ?happened? to land on a breast, and he cupped Escort Maltepe it firmly all the while he was maneuvering me into position. Once he was satisfied that I was exactly where he wanted me on his lap, he let go of my breast and placed his hand in the middle of my back like always. But then he surprised me once more by announcing, ?You?ll likely be squirming a bit more than usual tonight. I think you may need some help staying put.? And with that he reached under my chest and again took a firm grip on my right breast. Then began my first adult punishment. After a couple of minutes with that strap, my fanny felt like it was on fire. Poppa was right about one thing: I did do a lot of squirming that night. It was that night too, as I gyrated on his lap, that I realized for the first time what the hard bulge, straining against the leg of his overalls, really was. After that, I tried every way I could to grind against that bulge. I?m not sure what it did for him, but just the idea of it jacked my excitement level up another two notches. When he finished, I thought I?d die from the pain. But even as I walked back to my room, with the soft fabric of my robe caressing my burning cheeks with each step, it wasn?t long before the pain seemed to dissolve into passion and I suddenly couldn?t wait to jump into bed and attack my soaking pussy. That night I experienced my first full-scale orgasm. From then on, I looked forward to Saturday nights with lust in my heart. * * * Our Saturday night ritual hardly changed at all for the next three years. Except that every year, on the Saturday night nearest my birthday, Poppa would announce, in his prayer voice, that since I was bigger now, he?d be adding another five minutes to my punishment. I don?t believe he actually did that, at least not beyond the night when he said it. Straining to achieve my first orgasm of the night while I was still on his lap, that?s what was on my mind. I couldn?t even see the clock. My impression at the time was, the length of my punishment depended on what kind of mood he was in. Now I wonder if he didn?t just keep on strapping my behind until he came. Sometimes he let out a moan just before he quit, but I never saw anything to prove it one way or the other. What I do know is that for me it seemed to get better every week. The orgasms, I mean, well really, the whole punishment scene and how I reacted to it. I?m not crazy about the pain, but considering what follows, it?s worth every minute. Like I said, we went on that way for nearly three years. Then Poppa started getting weak. For a long time he wouldn?t admit anything was wrong. When he would make an occasional comment, I just shrugged it off with one excuse or another. I couldn?t deal with the idea that something might be really wrong any more than he could. Finally he saw a doctor and we found out that just about all through the past year the cancer we didn?t know about had been taking over his body. After while, he ?rented? one of the Shelby?s hired men two days a week. And finally he asked his sister to come and live with us and look after things. In his zeal to make sure I grew up ?pure? (and maybe to justify himself, too) he insisted that Aunt Rinnie take over my punishment when he no longer had the strength. My Aunt Rinnie was a very irritating woman. She and her older sister had never married; they looked after Grandpa until he died and then continued to run the old homestead on their own. She was very stubborn and set in her ways. I had never liked her, even as a child, and I?m sure it showed in my behavior. So it wasn?t hard for her to believe I needed punishing. Actually she was nearly as strong as my father, but she lacked his motivation. There was clearly nothing sexual in it to her and she tended to quit before I was as turned on as I was used to getting. So I?m afraid I fell into the habit of egging her on a bit. Well, quite a bit, to be honest. Crossing her up by generally acting like a spoiled brat gave me some degree...