which dangled a thin thong about two feet long. At the last six inches of this thong, the leather had been split down the middle to form two tapering lashes, about a quarter-inch in thickness and as much in width. When he turned back to her, Laurette shrank back, eyes wide with fright, and clasped her soft little hands to her rosy mouth.
“Yes, my child,” he said sorrowfully, “one drives out sin by chastising the very flesh where it has entered or sought to enter. I do this for your own salvation, my sweet daughter. Accept the scourge in true humility as reparation for your having yielded, even infatuated though you were, to the impure desires of this young scoundrel. Mayhap this punishment will also bring you to sober reflection upon the precepts you must follow to obtain a good and holy marriage.”
“I—I will, my father,” poor Laurette faltered.
“Excellent! Your docility and resignation restore in me the glad hope that redemption is still possible for your soul, my gentle Laurette. Now, I enjoin you to kneel up upon that chair, to hoist your skirt and petticoat to your waist and hold them there tightly while I proceed to inflict your well-merited punishment.”
He made a gesture with the scourge toward a heavy, straight-backed chair near the window, whose shutters had already been drawn for the night. Poor Laurette slowly arose, and reluctantly approached the altar of her atonement. Slowly she knelt down upon the hard seat of the wooden chair, and as she grasped the hems of skirt and petticoat, I hopped upwards till I had reached the crown of her lovely head. Very slowly she drew up these protective garments till they were lodged about her waist, thus exposing her beautiful buttocks snugged in the tight thin drawers which she had already once discarded such a little while ago and under such different circumstances.
The worthy priest now advanced, his eyes glistening with anticipation. Transferring the scourge to his left hand, he proceeded to insert the fingers of his other hand inside the waistband of Laurette's drawers. The poor girl uttered a cry of shame, and turned her scarlet face toward him in agonized appeal.
“Do not dismay, my daughter,” he gently consoled her, while tightening his grasp of the waistband of her thin drawers, “this humiliation which you are about to feel is properly wholesome, since it at once indicates to me that all sense of modesty has not yet fled your gentle nature. If there is pain and shame in your punishment, my child, know that we must all suffer upon this earth, not only for our sins but also for those which we even consider and ponder upon.”
“But—but, mon pere,” Laurette quavered, “can—can you not punish me over my drawers? They are very thin and they will not protect me very much from that awful whip.”
“Alas, my child, this is simply vain pride which compels you to speak to me, your confessor,” Pere Mourier sighed. “Moreover, we speak now of degrees of shame. If you felt naught at exposing your most intimate parts to that young scoundrel a moment ago, how surely can you argue against baring yourself to the disciplinary scourge which will drive out wickedness? Resign yourself, my daughter, for it is the custom of a father who thrashes his daughter, just as I, your spiritual father, am about to do, to administer it upon the naked flesh itself. Bow your head humbly and pray for redemption, dear Laurette.”
The poor girl did not dare refuse his advice, and so with a stifled sob of apprehension and despair, bowed her head and submitted herself. With a greedy smile, the portly holy man tugged down her drawers till they rested just above her knees, thereby exposing the magnificent, milky white contours of her bare behind and splendidly rounded soft thighs. At this exposure, Laurette gasped, and she contracted all of her muscles in an instinctive defense which of course only served to accentuate her magnificent development of the posterior. The cheeks of her bottom were marvelously rounded, with the most harmonious proportion of curves from waist to hips. They were set rather closely together, resembling the ambery furrow which parted them, and their plump summits and the mouthwatering, swelling base of those luscious nether globes would have tempted a saint to risk perdition. I much doubt that Pere Mourier was a saint, and I suspected then at once that this means of chastisement was also a favorite penchant with him. For his florid face became still redder, and his eyes sparkled with an unholy joy, while the broad wings of his nostrils flared and shrank. Not only that: I perceived a sudden protuberance making itself known against the stuff of his black cassock just at the juncture of his thighs.
He did not at once begin the discipline. Instead, his thick, short hand lingeringly passed over the milky skin so liberally proffered to his licentious view and touch.
Poor Laurette fidgeted about uneasily on her chair of penance during this greatly prolonged interlude. Her little fingers convulsively twisted again the uptrusssed cloth of her gown and petticoat while the good father stood slightly to her left surveying the bewitching nakedness which his golden haired penitent so unwillingly revealed. Laurette's thighs were beautifully made, neither too plump nor too lean, swelling with gradual ripening above the knees till they merged with the plump roundness of her backside. Her lovely calves, too, were well worthy of admiration, as were the adorable, soft knee hollows. Pere Mourier frowned and approached the chair as if dissatisfied with the position of his victim.
“Bend your head and shoulders over the back of the chair, my daughter,” he instructed in a voice that thickened with lubricity. “Very good. Offer your sinful bottom to the corrective sting of the scourge, for this too is an act of humility which will not be forgotten. And now, move your knees a little more apart. Just so. I shall begin shortly, so steel yourself, my child.”
He bent now and tugged her drawers a little farther down, wishing to uncover as much of that milky flesh as possible, though he did not intend to scourge all of it. For his eyes feasted on the trembling cheeks of her backside, which had begun to quiver and restlessly contract as her suspense was agonizingly continued.
Finally, placing his left palm on the small of her back so that it might revel in its contact with her gleaming white skin, he raised the scourge and applied a rather gentle lash across the tops of her deliciously swelling hips. More startled by the unexpected contact and by fear than by pain, gentle Laurette uttered a little “Ohh!” And her naked hips squirmed from side to side. Hardly the faintest pink mark blemished the milky flesh where the split thong had kissed. But by now the obese father's sexual weapon was ferociously extended, forcing out the thin black stuff of the cassock as if savagely intending to pierce it in its quest for freedom.
A second lash now followed, slightly lower down, the two tips of the lash whisking around towards Laurette's tender groin. Another “Ohh!” escaped the lovely penitent, and she convulsively clenched her thighs and bottom cheeks. “No, no, my daughter,” he said hoarsely. “Do not resist the discipline. Submit yourself completely, for that is the only way to escape perdition. Once more, stick out your backside and move your knees well apart.”
“Oh, do please hurry and end it, mon pere,” Laurette whispered, her eyes tightly closed and her little fingers whitening as she clutched her up-trussed garments.
But this was a supplication which Pere Mourier had no intention of granting, for I comprehended that this worthy father delectated in this flagellatory penchant of his, which attained its greatest satisfaction when the ordeal was endlessly prolonged by all kinds of interruptions and nuances and sermonizings. There was, to be sure, practical wisdom in his method of application: the longer he kept poor Laurette kneeling on that straight-backed chair, the longer his glittering eyes could feast on the twisting, wriggling, flexing and contracting cheeks of her voluptuous and virginal behind, thus inflaming his carnal passions to superlative degree.
He took careful aim now, and adroitly whisked the leather thong across the very center of Laurette's rotundities, so that the tips of the split end flicked round towards her tender maiden crotch. The half-naked young virgin emitted a squeal of anguish, and her hips plunged this way and that, which made the cheeks of her delicious milky bottom jiggle in the most lascivious way. In turn, that sight caused Pere Mourier's sexual organ to attain its maximum rigidity and length, and it was indeed formidable as it prodded out the stuff of the black silk cassock. Another lash followed, no more severely administered than the others, this one wrapping around the voluptuously up-swelling base of her naked behind and drawing still another involuntary twist which brought into fine relief the magnificence of her bottom and thighs.
“Repent, my daughter,” he said in a hoarse, trembling voice, “for the heat of the scourge will cleanse your iniquities. Verily, it will act as a catharsis for those noxious tendencies to sinfulness which lurk within the very region I am castigating. Tell yourself, my poor child, that each stripe which the discipline imparts to your impudently jutting posterior is a forward step along the pathway to your eternal salvation.”
Having delivered himself of this oratory, the holy father dealt Laurette another stroke, this a bit more sharply so that the tips of the split leather thong flicked perniciously into her loins and very likely brushed the downy golden fleece of her virgin cunt. Her shrill “Ahhrr, oh I am suffering, mon pere!” said virtually as much as did the frantic and lascivious gyration of her naked hips. She turned back her tear-stained face appealingly to him, while her little hands feverishly twisted in the uptrussed stuff of her garments. Sternly he bade her not to let these fall on pain of incurring greater severity in the treatment he was meting out to her; and then, moving a little more to the left and
