Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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(***, F/F, Severe, Period, religious flogging)
A religious novice undergoes her weekly penace. (Approximately 494 words. Originally published 1997-07.)
When Novice Kelly heard the bell early Saturday morning, she forced herself up. Saturdays were always difficult. She could not afford to let dread make her late.
She slipped on her only garment, a white tunic representing her rank. She paused at the door for a quick prayer for strength.
Others hurried in the early darkness, anxious for Contrition. About thirty acolytes gathered in the courtyard. As the bell struck four Lady Superior, in a black robe, bade them to enter.
The Lady closed her eyes and prayed the Prayer of Contrition, pausing after each phrase so the novices could repeat it.
Then it began. She drew a name from a cloth bag. "Sarah."
A tall girl, thin as a reed, walked to the front. She put her hand in a second cloth bag and drew.
"Twenty-five," she read. She took off her tunic and bent forward across the wooden trestle. Lady Superior picked up a long four-tongued leather whip and began to flog the girl across her naked buttocks and legs. The audience calmly chanted the number of blows out loud. The girl did not speak or move. When it was over, she put on her tunic and returned to stand with the others.
Another name was drawn. She drew twenty strokes. The next drew forty, then thirty, then sixty, then ten.
Kelly watched the whippings with a strange excitement in her lower belly. Contrition thrilled her. It was excrutiating, but it was also a heady spiritual experience, full of unpredictability. The thoughts that passed through her head! Never quite rational, never quite sane.
She heard her name called. A coldness gripped her chest. She went forward and bravely put her hand in the bag. The number was like a blow to her belly. God is angry, she thought. He knows.
"Seventy-five," she whispered.
The world seemed to hold its breath as she disrobed and spread her naked body over the trestle. The whipping began with slow, hard strokes. The beginning was the most difficult, when you had to fight every natural instinct to bolt.
Holding herself still, Kelly pondered the pain. She accepted it, relished it, knowing how it was deserved. She remembered her evil life in the Outer World. With shame she thought of her body, the vile ideas that dominated her late at night. She deserved this.
As the lashing continued, hot welts on her skin boiling and swelling, Kelly felt the peace begin. Tears flooded her cheeks and her body shuddered in agony, and yet she smiled, for she was being set free. The pent-up emotions and confusion of the previous week melted out of her. She sobbed with relief.
It was over, the next acolyte's turn. Kelly trembled, her body dripping sweat and tingling violently. She longed to touch herself, feel the itching welts, rub her secret place. It was wrong, but she didn't care. She would pay for it at next Contrition.