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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(****, MF/f, Edgy, nc whipping, caning, birch to breasts and pussy)
A liberal Indian girl is severely punished by her traditional-minded parents. (Approximately 2,248 words. Originally published 2004-07.)
Asha was in trouble. She had been caught with a boy. For her conservative Indian family, this was a most serious offense. She was only sixteen -- though she was physically mature enough to easily pass for a young lady of nineteen or twenty -- and not permitted to fraternize with members of the opposite sex.
Nothing had happened, of course. She and Morgan had only been talking. She didn't even like him, at least not in that way, exactly. She was only curious.
But that did not matter to her father, who only knew that she had been alone with a boy. Nothing she said now would make any difference. He intended to whip her and so she would be whipped.
Asha slowly undressed. Her tawny flesh was satin smooth, her breasts ripe and full, her curves a lure to men. She would be punished for having such a beautiful body. The plump curves of her buttocks would be wealed for being so luscious and tempting.
Her naked body, something that usually gave her a secret thrill of pleasure, now felt shameful and naughty. Her father would see her like this, bare as a babe. It was not right. This body ought to be her secret to share with only those she chose.
But she there was nothing she could do about it. She was always whipped bare. Her age meant nothing. Her father was proud of telling how his own father had once whipped him at age twenty-two, and he promised Asha the same fate if she transgressed at that age.
With a deep breath of courage, Asha wrapped a shawl around her nude figure and stepped into the hall. The walk from her bedroom to her father's study was usually not long, but today it felt like miles. She passed her parents' bedroom, the collection of family portraits on the table in the foyer, the eyes of dead or faraway relatives cold and accusing, passed the deserted living room, and arrived at the oak door. She knocked once.
Her father was at his desk. He did not say anything as she closed the door behind her and bowed. His eyes were hard. She looked at the floor. For a long time he said nothing. Asha's knees grew weak and she forced herself to be strong.
"You have disappointed me, Asha."
She nodded, briefly. There was nothing she could say in her defense. She would always be a disappointment to her father. She did not like that, but she could not help it. She would not change to suit his ancient traditions and ideas of propriety.
He stood, a tall man, limber and fit, though his short hair was almost white. As he reached for the strap, Asha saw the muscles in his arm were full of wiry strength. He always whipped hard and Asha knew this would not be an exception. She gritted her teeth and nodded somberly at her father.
As he curled the strap in his right hand, Asha decided to risk a final plea. It couldn't hurt.
"This... this isn't necessary, father," she said, trying to be strong. "Whipping me will not accomplish anything."
"You say that now, but we she shall see."
"I will not tell you his name!"
Her father did not respond, but merely indicated the settee where Asha was to prostrate herself. The robe fell to the floor and naked, she bent forward. The smooth globes of her naked buttocks gleamed as she got in position, the flesh trembling slightly as she shuddered in dreadful anticipation.
There was a whistle of leather and a harsh slap of flesh as the heavy belt stretched across Asha's backside. She grunted, pressed forward against the furniture, as the fierce sting assaulted her hindquarters.
There was no talking now, just whipping. The belt sang again and again, each blow leaving a wide crimson mark across Asha's buttocks. The whipping went on and on, six, ten, twelve. Still the belt lashed down. Asha's whole backside was burning now, but she knew the whipping had a long way to go.
After fifteen he switched to her legs, lashing the backs of her thighs with the same vigor he'd attacked her buttocks. The pain was horrendous, but Asha remained mute. She writhed and hissed angrily at the stinging pain, but did not speak, did not beg for mercy. But the whip did not stop either, continuing to flog her relentlessly, stroke after stroke after stroke.
When thirty blows had been delivered, her father paused. His breathing was accelerated and a thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, but he did not look tired. "Who is the boy?" he asked.
Asha said nothing.
After a moment, the belt fell again. Asha gasped for it seemed her father was whipping her even harder. As the blows rained down, her buttocks quivering with pain, she wondered how long she could hold out. Her fear settled into a heavy iron ball in her belly, a dread she could not escape. The whipping went on and on, another excruciating thirty strokes, half to her buttocks, half to her thighs.
Again Asha said nothing, though tears trickled down her face. Surely her father wouldn't... but he did. Another merciless thirty strokes, slowly delivered. This time Asha could not restrain herself. She sobbed openly, she begged for mercy, she tried to explain, cried out that nothing had happened, that the boy was innocent, that she'd been punished enough. But the belt did not stop until all thirty lashes had been delivered, each as hard as the first.
"Name the boy."
"Please father, no more!"
"Name the boy."
"I can't father, you don't--ahhh!" Asha screamed as the belt cut across her blistered buttocks. "No! No more! No more! I'll tell, I swear I'll tell!"
By the tenth stroke Asha was screaming Morgan's name, but her father did not stop. All thirty strokes were lashed down upon her writhing rump and legs, all thirty leaving blotchy red skin and swelling blisters.
"Oh oh oh," moaned Asha when it was finally over. "Why did you have to keep whipping me, father? I told you who he was, I told you."
"You are a silly and foolish girl, trying to protect him. I do not even care about him. It is you who lured him, you who are to be punished. Now fetch me the rattan!"
Asha howled in horror, terrified that her punishment was not over. Fresh tears coursed down her face. Somehow she got to her feet and stumbled to the bin of canes by the door, finding the long rattan rod her father used for the most severe beatings.
"I've been punished enough, please!" she cried, but she already saw the look of determination in his eyes and knew it was no use. She lay down on the settee, trembling and afraid, but knew nothing else she could do.
The first cut of rattan was like a hot knife scoring her buttocks. She screamed and kicked frantically, trying to shake off the pain. Already she could feel the thick weal blossoming, the swollen ridge pulsing with her hot blood. Another cut, next to the first. Another next to that. The agony was beyond explanation. She could find no thoughts to describe the intensity of the sting.
"Please!" she gasped, but the rod simply cut her again in response. After six she was weeping copiously, after a dozen she could hardly scream any more. But still the cane fell. It was merciless, like a machine. This was absolute punishment, she realized. Her buttocks were being thoroughly punished beyond anything she'd contemplated.
After two dozen, Asha decided she regretted her action intensely. Her father was very angry and she wished with all her might she hadn't made him so angry. Perhaps his anger was unreasonable, but that did not matter right now. What mattered right now was that Asha's beautiful buttocks were being striped raw with the rattan cane and her father showed no signs of stopping. Every twenty seconds, three times a minute, the cane cracked down, every blow as solid as the first. The teen's buttocks were a corrugated mass of crimson weals and her agony was unspeakable.
Finally the fierce caning ceased. Three dozen thick weals pulsed across Asha's buttocks and thighs, the once smooth flesh now rough with swelling ridges of harassed skin. Asha lay on the settee in a pool of her own sweat and tears, panting heavily like an exhausted runner at the end of a race.
"You will not see this boy ever again!" commanded her father, and Asha whimpered out a tearful agreement.
"You will obey your father and mother."
"You will honor the traditions of your culture."
"On your hands and knees, now!"
Sobbing, Asha obeyed, stumbling off the settee onto the carpet, crawling to her father like a whipped puppy.
Her father bent in front of her, prying open her mouth with a strong left hand. He shoved a thick bundle of twigs into her mouth and ordered to her to hold them.
"Take that birch to your mother. Crawl to her like a worm. Do not dress. You will remain naked to reveal your shame to all. Show your mother your marks of punishment and beg her forgiveness."
The humiliation was terrible, but Asha had no choice. She crawled on her hands and knees. She crawled through the house to the room that was her parents'. She was painfully conscious of her nudity and feared she would be seen, so she hurried as best she could.
Her mother's door was open, the woman seated on the edge of the bed. She said nothing when her daughter crawled up to her, but took the birch bundle from Asha's mouth. Asha pressed her lips to her mother's feet, the action raising her buttocks high behind her. The woman took full advantage.
"You are a wicked child!" she scolded, lashing the birch across Asha's whipped rump. Asha couldn't help but squeal at the outrageous sting. Again and again it stung, the tips of the thin branches reaching horribly into sensitive areas between her cheeks and thighs. Asha could do nothing but crouch and bear the pain, continuing to offer the wealed bottom for further castigation.
Groaning, Asha obeyed. At her mother's insistence, she spread her feet apart and pressed her bare buttocks against the rough carpet.
"Hands behind your head."
With her hands behind her head, Asha's breasts swelled and protruded magnificently, and it was these her mother attacked with the thin birch bundle. The birch lashed again and again across the delicate mounds and Asha had to bite her lower lip to keep from screaming.
With each swipe across her breasts Asha had to endure her mother's sharp tongue as well, as her scolding did not slow any more than the flogging. It was difficult work to patiently remain in position. Soon Asha's bare breasts were bright pink and covered with a fine tracery of scarlet birch welts.
"Oh please!" cried Asha but her mother was relentless. She did not stop until her daughter's mature breasts were completely crimson and impossibly tender.
"That will teach you. If a boy touches you now, you'll _feel_ it."
"He never touched me, mother, I swear!"
"Oh please, no more!"
"Stand up!" The birch rod provided intense encouragement in the form of several quick lashes to her rump, and Asha hastily obeyed. "Feet wide apart!"
The birch bundle swung upward, right between Asha's spread legs. She gasped in horror as she realized what was happening, her breath turning into a scream of pure agony as the thin branches produced an unbearable sting across her most sensitive anatomy.
Again and again the birch found its way between her cheeks, the thin branches leaving delicate weals across her anus and the lips of her sex. Asha howled and danced, her plump buttocks quivering with her frantic movements. But her mother was furious and would not be satisfied until three dozen cuts of the birch had been whipped in, and Asha sobbing like a toddler.
Grimly, the woman studied her writhing daughter, inspecting the damage from the application of the belt, the rattan, and the thin birch twigs. Asha's buttocks had been well whipped and caned, and the tender flesh between her cheeks had been found by the birch. Her breasts had also been flogged. Asha's mother was satisfied. She threw the birch aside. Asha lay on the floor, moaning.
"Daughter, I hope you have learned your lesson. These are the old ways and our family will honor them. If you do not wish to experience such a thrashing again, I suggest you obey your father and mother."
"Yes mother!" gasped Asha. Her whole body stung miserably, but she felt hope that the punishment was finally over.
"Return to your father."
Though Asha was terrified of further punishment, she obeyed immediately, as she knew that if she did not she would guarantee herself further agony. Now was the time to be modest and agreeable, she thought.
Her father inspected her as her mother had. It was humiliating, bending over and spreading her legs, offering him views of herself she had never contemplated, but she had no choice. Fortunately, her father was also satisfied with her discipline and did not punish her further. She was free to go to bed.