SSC: Guilt

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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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SSC: Guilt

(*****, F/F, Intense, cons whipping, sad)

A woman seeks whipping to assuage her guilt. (Approximately 473 words. Originally published 2000-09.)

"I am Elvira, Mistress of the Whip!" cried the woman. Her arm flashed and the long bullwhip snaked outward and snapped with a crack that sent ice through Melanie's veins.

The whipmistress, dressed from head to fit in body-gripping black leather, glared fiercely at the trembling female kneeling before her.

"Are you ready for your whipping?"

Somehow Melanie nodded. Her voice was a harsh whisper. "Yes, Mistress."

"Then go upstairs, remove your clothes, and wait for your whipping."

* * * * *

The words were the same, the situation so different. Melanie was fourteen. She'd recently discovered she was pretty with the body of a woman, and thus had become arrogant and willful.

The suspension had come as a complete shock to her mother, who'd immediately decided that physical discipline was in order.

"Just wait until your father comes home!" she cried furiously. "Now go upstairs, strip naked, and wait for your whipping!"

Melanie, horrified and terrified, sobbing uncontrollably, ran to her room. Oh God, what had she done? Why had she taken those cigarettes to school?

Melanie had never seen her mother so angry. She'd really fucked up this time. In a couple hours her father would be home and then he'd whip her. With the belt. She knew the belt. It was a wide, heavy strip of black leather that hung on the back of the garage door. She'd only felt it once, a few years ago, when he'd given her a couple licks at the end of a spanking, promising her that the next time he needed to spank her he'd use the belt.

The girl lay on the bed and sobbed. Maybe he wouldn't whip her. Maybe he'd have mercy, realize she was sorry, that she'd learned her lesson. Maybe if she promised, if she *SWORE* she'd never even _look_ at cigarettes again, maybe then he'd relent and let her off.

She wished, she prayed that _somehow_, someway, she'd be spared this horror. "Please, God, I'll be good forever, just don't let Daddy whip me."

But she knew it was a false hope. He'd be here shortly, and the belt would rain down, and the pain would be unbearable. Melanie wept as she undressed.

Then there had been that horrible knock at the door. It was Mother, and she was crying.

"There's been an accident," she was saying. "Daddy's not coming home."

* * * * *

Naked, Melanie knelt at the foot of the bed. It had been fifteen years since she'd been in this position. Fifteen years she'd been waiting, waiting for the whipping that never came.

As the tough leather lash wrapped around her hip and caught the swell of her right buttock Melanie screamed in agony.

"Oh God!" she moaned, and with her tears she began to release a pain she'd kept bottled for fifteen years.

The End

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