Chapter 5

As it turns out I only ended up being my master's slave for about three weeks.

They were a hectic, life altering three weeks, though. Every hour of every day was so packed full of new duties and responsibilities that I had absolutely no time for myself anymore. I mean, before having a master I'd had my chores, my church, and my studying. Those obligations alone had taken up a ton of my time. But with the additional burden of having to please a warped and demanding master my life had essentially become nothing but obligations from the moment I awoke to the moment I went to sleep. I never had time to do anything I wanted. The only time I really had for myself anymore were the few minutes I laid in bed every night before falling asleep. Often I would spend the time masturbating, though there were times I fell asleep before achieving orgasm. Not that it mattered much. I was getting more than my fair share of orgasms everyday over at my master's house.

It only took a few days for my ass to return to normal but even back then I knew that there was no way my life ever would. By all outward appearances I was still an awkward, innocent, fresh faced girl but I was no longer a virgin and never would be again. I was on the pill now and it didn't seem likely that would ever stop. And then there were things I was doing, things my master demanded of me, that further chipped away at the 13-year-old child I'd so recently been. My entire psyche was being carved into something new and there was no way I could stop it, even if I had wanted to. My master constantly referred to this as my "training"-- but what was I being trained for? That I didn't know. All I knew was that I wanted it to continue. Occasionally I would long for the Becky of Old but deep down I enjoyed what was happening to me. All of it was so exciting to my warped pubescent brain. I mean, even the punishments excited me. To be honest, they often excited me even more than the rewards did, even though they were always painful and humiliating to endure.

It wasn't enough for my master that I was over at his house every day, fucking him and sucking him however he desired. He wanted more. He wanted to control all of me. In order to accomplish this he was constantly giving me new rules and homework assignments. One new rule was that he'd decided I could no longer wear a bra around my house. Never mind the fact that this meant my brothers and father were constantly exposed to my jiggling, teeny-bopper boobs, and that I always felt completely awkward in my own home as a result. My master liked the idea of me being a sex object in my house so I had to obey. My master promised that if my father ever garnered up the courage to tell me my attire was inappropriate I'd be able to go back to support undergarments in the house but my father never said a word.

"I'm sure he enjoys, ahh, watching your little titties jiggle," my master had said, adding, "God I can't wait for them to get, ahh, bigger." He mentioned my chest sized all the time. I guess for him my barely b-cup boobies weren't big enough for him, yet. But I was a growing girl, he would always say, and any day know I would hit another growth spurt.

Another new rule was that I had to spend at least thirty minutes every day stretching. At first I just thought he just liked watching me touch my ear to my knee while I was naked, or whatever, but eventually he decided that my stretching was taking up too much of his time with me. I had to do it at home, on my own time after that. Apparently he simply wanted me limber and flexible. He even bought me a book about it. "You'll be able to, ahh, do the splits any day now," I remember him telling me when he gave me the illustrated stretching manual intended for ballet dancers.

He also gave me another book, one that he made himself and had put an uncharacteristic amount of time and effort into completing. It was only about a hundred pages long but he'd had it bound professionally at some sort of publishing store. When he gave the prettily wrapped gift to me during our second week together I was a little surprised. I'd been able to tell that it was a book from its heft and feel, but I'd expected something perverted. Like, some kind of book full of nasty erotic stories or something. But when I unwrapped it what I saw instead was a paperback sized, hardcover book with a large white cross embossed against a gold cover. It resembled the kind of prayer book I might have received at school or at my church.

I remember him breathing heavily at the look of confusion on my face. "Open it," he said.

When I did all my confusion left me. Because on the cover page, in beautiful flowing script, was the title. It read: "A Complete List of All Sexual Sins in the Catholic Holy Bible". The subtitle read, "A Checklist for Becky S. from Her Master".

The book was actually more than just a checklist, it was also sort of a journal. And my master had sure done his research. At the top of each page of heavy-stock white paper a different sexual sin was listed, along with a Bible verse or two to support that what was described really was a sin according to the Bible. For instance, on one page I randomly flipped to the sin listed at the top was "Viewing Pornography". There were two supporting Bible verses: Matthew 5:28 ("But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.") and 1 Thessalonians 4:3-4 ("It is God's will that... you should avoid sexual immorality; that each of you should learn to control his own body in a way that is holy and honorable"). And below those two quotes were blank lines where I could list the dates I committed the sin. For that particular one, "Viewing Pornography", he'd given me two additional pages full of blank lines.

Other sins listed in the Book of Sins (as he liked to call it) included "Sex Before Marriage"; "Exhibitionism"; "Masochism"; and even "Oral Sex". All the regular ones were there, too: "Incest", "Prostitution", "Lesbianism", and the "Use of Contraceptives". All in all he'd managed to list, and find Bible passages to support, 69 sexual sins. Whether or not that number was intentional on his part I'll never know. What I do know is that some of the sins listed really scared me since he was also calling the book a checklist.

Checklists are things people make with the intention, or at least the desire, of completing. So when I saw the sin "Making Pornography" listed in the book, along with, "Sexually Abusing a Child", I did get a little worried. But my stupid little brain was able to explain it away. He was just trying to be thorough, I thought. He didn't expect me to actually make pornography anymore than he intended me to abuse another child. There was no way he was that twisted, I told myself.

After giving me the book my homework assignment was to read it and fill in every date of every sin I'd already committed. And I did so as accurately as I could. Thankfully he'd told me that I could use ranges of dates when necessary rather than having to list each one separately. Otherwise, even though he'd given me three pages of blank lines to fill out for the sin of "Masturbation", I would have definitely run out of room.

His obsession with my Catholic upbringing was obvious from the start of our short-lived relationship. I learned this the day after he'd made me walk to the coffee shop wearing that slutty black fishnet shirt. That day had been a Sunday. My dad was taking my brothers to a Browns game while I went to mass, so I was going to have a ton of time to spend with my master after church. When I got to his house, though, the sight of me in my very conservative, pure white Sunday dress had elicited a response I never would have expected.

I mean, I was in my Church clothes! I could see why my Catholic School uniform was sexy because it involved a pleated skirt, a tight fitting top, and those knee high socks that really accentuated my youthful legs. But my Sunday church clothes? My dress that day had been all white and fell down way below my knobby knees. The outfit revealed no cleavage whatsoever and even its sleeves were long, silky, and stretched down to my wrists. In addition, my hair was tastefully pinned back and I was wearing white gloves. Very little skin showed. What could possibly be sexy about that?

But my master got so excited by the sight of me that he bent me over almost immediately, and fucked me from behind without removing a stitch of clothing from my 13-year-old body. He didn't need to, after all. I wasn't wearing panties. Heck, this outfit had been the first dress I'd worn since receiving that rule that hadn't worried me at all. The dress was so long there was no way anyone could ever know I wasn't wearing underwear. But he knew. And when he bent me over and fucked my eager, amateur cunt, the idea that I was being screwed in one of my Sunday dresses got me so hot that I came several times.

After that he wanted to know everything about my church. And I told him. I told him about how I was the only member of my family expected to go to mass each Sunday, since supposedly it had been my mother's dying wish that I be raised a "proper Catholic". I told him all about Father DeGrazia, the man who had been my priest since the moment I was born. He had baptized me, I explained, and had given me my first communion. When I absentmindedly mentioned the fact that Fr. DeGrazia was the only man besides him who knew I'd ever masturbated, my master grew even more intrigued.

"Well... uhm, like I said in that notebook... I mean, in my homework assignment?" I struggled to explain. I was still wearing that white Sunday dress but his cum was now dribbling out from between my pubescent legs and he was holding me tightly against him. I continued, "Uhm, when I learned that m-masturbating was... a sin? I confessed it. But I... I haven't confessed it since that one time. I mean, I can't tell him about this stuff... sex stuff. It'd be, I mean, too embarrassing."

This information seemed to please my master. A few days later is when he gave me the Book of Sins.

We had two more Sundays together as master and slave after that. During the first his only command was that I finger myself whilst confessing whatever hum-drum sin I decided to admit to my priest. That wasn't so bad. At least I got to choose the sin I wanted to confess. Of course, I had to be careful not to rustle my dress too much while I fingered my cunt, or make any other potentially embarrassing sounds. But I chose one of my less flamboyant Sunday dresses for just that purpose. It was a light yellow dress that draped down around my knees, and when I went to kneel in the confessional booth it had been easy to silently pull it up behind me so that I'd have access to my cunt. And while I fingered myself from behind I focused on where I was: St. Joseph's, the church I'd always attended, the church I had been baptized at. Keeping my mind on such thoughts kept my pussy more or less dry, and prevented me from getting too worked up.

I should mention, though, that while Fr. DeGrazia droned on in his Italian accent about how I had to say ten "Our Father's" as penance for breaking the fourth commandment, my mind did wander a bit. And I found out that fingering myself in the confessional booth was such a nasty thrill that I nearly lost control despite my best efforts.

The last Sunday I had to endure as my master's slave was a lot worse. Because on that Sunday I was completely the biggest punishment my master had ever doled out.

It all began on a chilly November afternoon. It was a Thursday, and Thursdays were one of the days I still had to prepare dinner for my family. On days like that my master would often send me a text message while I was at school letting me know whether he wanted me to go over to his place before dinner, after dinner, or both. On this particular Thursday he told me to come on over after.

When I got the message during fifth hour I was relieved. I had a ton of homework to do and this would give me the opportunity to finish it before preparing supper for my dad and brothers. Fact was I was starting to fall behind in several classes because of all the time I spent with my master. Any opportunity to play catch up was a good thing.

But it turned out I wouldn't have any opportunity to study that day. Because, to my surprise, my dad was already home when I got there.

It turned out that the factory he worked at as a skilled trade electrician had been shut down halfway through his shift because a delivery of steel never arrived. When I walked into the house, though, he didn't explain that to me. What he did do was glare at me menacingly and from the look in his eyes I knew I was in trouble.

He was on his cell phone. Cupping the mouthpiece with one hand he pointed at me angrily and said, "Up to your room. Right now!"

I scampered away in a total freight, running up the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me. I hadn't seen my dad so angry in a very long time, but I had no idea what he was angry about. Had he found out about my master? That I was on the pill? Had I done something stupid like leave a porn magazine in my room? I had no idea. What I did know was that I was in trouble, and that the moment he finished his conversation he'd be coming up to see me.

I paced around inside my bedroom completely terrified. There were so many things I could get punished for, I just didn't know which one he'd found out about! And then it occurred to me: punishment! He was going to punish me. I was certain of it. And with my dad that could only mean one thing.

Suddenly I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairway and I knew I didn't have much time. I ran over to my dresser and pulled open the top drawer to retrieve the first pair of panties I could find. Since I was never wearing them anymore the drawer was packed full of clean, folded underwear. I grabbed a pair of pink cotton panties and, without taking my shoes off or anything, started to pull them on. It was a peculiar feeling to have underwear on again. It'd been two weeks since I'd last worn a pair and the fabric felt strange on my bald cunt. I didn't have time to reflect on that too much, though, since I had just finished putting them on and readjusting my skirt when my dad threw open my bedroom door.

I gulped at the sight of him. Then my wide, terror filled eyes locked onto what he was carrying in his big right hand. It was a coffee can. My scared teenage mind didn't have time to figure out its significance but I knew in my gut it meant something bad. Then the screaming began.

"You mind explaining this to me?" he said, his voice simmering with fury. He thrust the can out to me. I was frozen with fear and couldn't think of anything to say. I just stood there, paralyzed, my knees beginning to shake.

"I know what you've been up to in the kennel!" he roared. "You think I wouldn't find out? Huh?"

My face flushed red. For one brief moment I thought he might actually know what I'd been up to in the kennel, or at least what I'd been up to there a few weeks before with the dogs. That thought was so horrifying I literally felt myself getting sick.

But then he took the lid off the coffee can and stuck it in my face. The smell of cigarette butts engulfed my nostrils.

"I found this behind my worktable," he yelled. "You've been smoking, haven't you? Don't lie to me!"

His accusation was actually a relief. Of course I should have realized what I was getting in trouble for at the first sight of the coffee can but I'd been too scared to remember right away. See, back when I'd been visiting the dogs almost every night I'd hidden the can behind his worktable to use as an ashtray. I'd realized early on that I had to have a place to put out the cigarettes I loved to smoke before and after getting fucked by the dogs, and a coffee can seemed perfect. I'd always meant to empty it on a regular basis just in case, but I never had. And after I'd quit smoking because of my master I'd forgotten all about it.

"D-d-daddy, I... ," I finally choked. "I, uhm, I..."

Suddenly he smacked me extremely hard across my cute, terrified face. The blow hurt so bad that I literally spun from its impact and fell on my butt. I began to cry as my dad pointed a trembling finger down at me. "Tell me the truth!" he roared. "Or God help me there'll be more where that came from!"

"I'm sorry, D-daddy, I'm s-sorry!" I sobbed. Then it came pouring out of me, a lie mixed in with pieces of truth that once again proved I was good at thinking on my feet. "A g-girl gave me some cig-cigarettes, and then, and then, she s-sold me more! I th-thought I liked it, and I, I did sm-smoke for a while! But I quit, Daddy, I swear, I quit! Af-after Fr. DeGrazia t-told me it was a s-sin to... you know, to p-pollute my body like th-that, I quit right away! I haven't smoked in w-weeks!"

I was rocking back and forth on the ground, my knees pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. I sobbed uncontrollably as I waited for my dad to say something. When he didn't right away I peaked one blurry eye up and saw him at my desk, going through my purse. Then, to my horror, I saw him pawing around inside my backpack. He tossed out a couple of books, including the Book of Sins, but didn't inspect them. And thankfully he didn't touch the folders I hid my porn magazines in. He was only looking for cigarettes.

Finally he walked back over and glared at me suspiciously. "You be honest right now, Becky. Are you tellin' me the truth? You really quit?"

"Y-yes!" I blubbered. "I knew it was dumb, Daddy, I knew it was wrong! B-but when I f-found out it was s-sinful, too, I just quit! I had to!"

Thankfully I was telling the truth. I really had quit. If he had sensed any trace of deceit in my voice I know he would have really lost it. It was also a good thing that my dad, who believed so much that his little girl cherished her church and was obedient to her god in all ways, accepted my explanation for why I'd done so. It fit nicely with his view of me as a timid, obedient, church-going daughter.

"Well, then," he said. "You're just lucky you quit right away. I tell ya, girl, cigarettes are one of the most addictive things in the world. It took me five years and your mother's constant intervention, God rest her soul, before I was able to kick the damned things. It's a nasty, terrible thing to get hooked on. You hear me?"

"Y-yes," I choked out. I was beginning to feel relieved. He was calming down and had completely bought my fictitious story about how I'd gotten into smoking.

He wasn't done with me yet, though. "Come on," he said, sitting down on my bed. "We best get your punishment over so we can both move on."

My eyes widened and stared at him as my heart sunk. "D-daddy, please!" I begged. "I'm thirteen!"

The anger returned to his voice. "You really wanna argue with me right now?" he growled. "Thirteen or thirty, it don't make no difference to me! Whenever you misbehave your father will always punish you! Now come on, let's get this over with!"

Sniffling back more tears I slowly got to my feet. My heart thumped in my chest as I slowly pulled up my skirt, ready to assume the position and thankful beyond measure that I'd had the presence of mind to pull on a pair of panties before he'd gotten to my room.

I was on automatic pilot as I draped my body across his lap. This had been my punishment for as long as I could remember whenever I did something really bad, but it was the first time I'd been spanked since my body had really started to develop. The last time had occurred months before after I'd called Jason a faggot. I think there was a part of me that had hoped I was too old for spankings now, and a part of me that was glad that I wasn't. Because like it or not I was actually getting excited. When I felt him pull my pleated skirt back the rest of the way, and realized he was getting a good look at my rounder, more womanly ass for the first time ever, I nearly choked with sexual arousal.

Unlike the last time he'd spanked me he didn't curse me or insult me as he began to beat my ass. He didn't say anything, in fact. He let his hand do all the talking. After each blow to my delectable behind, though, I couldn't help but scream. Part of me was just trying to cover up the gasps of pleasure that kept threatening to escape my lips but no small part of it was from the actual, very real pain from his blows. He certainly wasn't holding anything back. In fact, with each new blow he seemed to be hitting me even harder. I writhed around on his lap as he punished me, kicking my legs back and screaming with pain each time one landed. And then I felt it.

Just like the last time he'd punished me like this I felt his erection growing beneath my belly button about halfway through. This time I was certain what it was, and it felt massive. It was creeping up against his skin, restrained by his underwear and jeans so that it couldn't stick upward, but the outline of it felt absolutely huge. He was easily bigger than my master, I realized, and as my tiny body slid this way and that across his thing it didn't stop growing! My screaming intensified as his dick hardened beneath me. If I didn't scream my throat raw, I knew, I'd only end up revealing the pleasure I felt from this treatment.

Finally he was done spanking my ass but unlike the previous times he'd done this to me he didn't immediately lift me off his lap and throw me onto my bed. Instead he seemed to be catching his breath while I blubbered and sobbed across his lap. All I could see was the ground, of course, but I felt in my bones that he was staring at my butt still. His erection, meanwhile, seemed to be throbbing beneath my tummy. I kept myself completely still, afraid that if I made any voluntary motion over his erection he'd realize that I knew what it was. I didn't want him to know that I could feel it, and knew what it was, for about a billion reasons. But knowing that only a few millimeters of clothing separated my daddy's cock from my smooth, flat tummy was making it more and more difficult for me to stay motionless.

He kept me draped over his lap for a good long while. Then he slowly pulled my skirt back over my butt and gently grabbed me around my waist. With no effort whatsoever he tossed me off his lap, onto my bed, and he quickly stood up and walked away. Without turning around I heard him say, "Alright, then, you best remember that the next time you want to go and do something stupid like smoke cigarettes."

He slammed my door shut and I was left alone, breathless and trembling all over.

After a few minutes I crawled off of my bed and retrieved my cell phone from my purse. My fingers were still shaking as I typed a text message to my master.

I was asking him for permission to have an orgasm. That had become one of his rules early on in our relationship. If I wanted to have an orgasm I had to get his permission first. And right now my dazed, confused young mind was desperate to have one.

While I waited for his reply I examined my butt in the mirror. I kicked off my panties first, knowing that I wouldn't be putting them back on again but still extremely glad I'd chosen to put them on before my dad had gotten to me. What if he'd lifted my skirt and seen that I wasn't wearing any underwear? There was no way I'd have been able to explain that.

My ass was bright red and would definitely turn angry shades of black and purple before it recovered, I knew. It wasn't nearly as bad as the time my master had used the ping pong paddle and cat o' nine tails on it a couple weeks before, but it was bad. After rubbing it tenderly and wincing at my touch I paced around my bedroom, anxiously waiting for my master to text me back. When he finally did I was relieved beyond measure that he'd decided I could cum without him. About half the time he would deny my request but thankfully this wasn't one of those times. Though it shamed me beyond measure I was about as sexually aroused at that moment as any other time in my life before it. If my master had denied me my cum, well... I honestly don't know if I would have been able to obey.

I piled up some pillows on my bed and bent over them so that my ass was high in the air behind me. I began to finger myself from behind and had to bury my face into my mattress in order to choke back the sounds and screams of pleasure I was tempted to belt out. It wasn't long before I came. I didn't even need to rub my clitty. Penetrating my soaking wet cunt with my trembling fingers was more than enough to do the job.

After that I tried to get some homework done but I just couldn't concentrate. My mind kept drifting back to the feeling of dad's erection. Was it normal for a father to get excited while spanking a daughter? Or was my dad just a sick old pervert to become aroused from spanking his little girl? Of course, I had no room to talk. I'd gotten sexually aroused, too. What did that say about me?

Eventually I gave up on homework and took a shower instead. Afterwards I dressed in a modest red blouse and a pair of black slacks. Of course I wasn't wearing any underwear, neither bra nor panties, but my tits didn't strain against this particular top. The last thing I wanted right now was for my dad to get a good look at the outline of my breasts, even if he had been seeing that quite a bit lately. I just didn't want to up the ante at all, not right now, not after what I'd just been through. When I was finished dressing I brushed and blow dried my hair, pulled on a pair of shoes, and went downstairs to prepare dinner.

The meal was extremely awkward for me. I had a hard time looking at anyone, most of all my dad. My brothers basically ignored me as always but normally my dad would ask me at least a couple of questions, about my day and whatnot. But he didn't. I don't think he looked at me once during dinner. Maybe he knew that I'd been able to feel his hard-on during the spanking and was embarrassed. Or maybe he was simply mad at me, still, for smoking. I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that I couldn't wait to leave after doing the dishes.

When I got over to my master's house at around six that evening I was anxious to get fucked. I wanted to feel a man's cock so bad-- any man's cock, so long as it wasn't my dad's. Doing so, I felt, would erase the memory of how excited I'd gotten during the spanking. Unfortunately my master didn't make it that easy for me.

"What do you mean you put on, ahh, panties?" he demanded.

His tone of voice made me shudder. He sounded pissed off-- really pissed off. I was in the middle of telling him about what had happened that afternoon. He'd been able to tell from the expression on my face that something had occurred, and I saw no reason why I shouldn't tell him the truth. Not that I ever lied to my master anyway, but maybe I would have if I'd known how mad he was about to get.

"I... I had to," I insisted quietly, surprised that he didn't understand. "I mean, uhm... I knew he was going to spank me, Sir. How would I have explained wuh-why I didn't have underwear on?"

Suddenly he smacked me. Hard. And coincidentally his blow landed on the same side of my face my dad had hit earlier.

"You stupid cunt!" he roared. "I don't care about explanations! You could have just said you were a, ahh, fucking slut for all I care! What I do care about is that you, ahh, broke one of my rules!"

"I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry!" I blubbered. I really hadn't expected his reaction to be so violent. In fact, it had never occurred to me that he'd be mad at all. I'd actually thought he'd be proud of me for thinking on my feet like that. I knew he didn't want my relationship with him exposed anymore than I did, and the way I saw it I'd been protecting our secret arrangement by pulling those pink panties on. Apparently I'd been wrong.

"You stupid fucking slut," he admonished me. He was pacing back and forth in front of me while I sat in the center of his big leather couch, cowering now in the presence of his wrath. "I ought to, ahh, bend you over right now and let the cat o' nine tails really, ahh, punish you."

"N-no, please, puh-please!" I begged. Tears were streaming down my face. The thought of my poor ass enduring any more torture right now was beyond imagining.

He glared at me for a long moment as if considering his options. Then he said, "Take your fucking, ahh, clothes off. I'm sick of looking at you in that ugly fucking shirt. In fact, ahh, from now on you only wear tight shirts and, ahh, dresses. You dress your age, got it? No more of these fucking soccer mom bullshit blouses."

"Y-y-yes," I stammered. It hurt to hear him speak so meanly to me, especially since I didn't think there was anything in my entire wardrobe that remotely resembled "soccer mom" apparel. Even this modest red blouse was cute in its own way, but I wasn't about to argue. I was determined to show him how compliant I was. To that end I wasted no time unbuttoning the blouse. If I could demonstrate for him that I was still his obedient slave, I thought frantically, he'd be proud of me again in no time.

"What to do? Ahh, what to do," he muttered to himself. He was still pacing in front of me, and wringing his hands behind his back as he did. "You deserve a, ahh, major punishment for this. And to think you, ahh, had the nerve to ask for an orgasm after defying me like that? And that I gave you permission, too. You just had to, ahh, cum after your daddy spanked you, is that it?"