Chapter 21

The group standing around the whipping post looked like people invited to witness an execution. Realizing what she'd done — depressing what had been a joyful evening celebrating the upcoming marriage of Barbara and Steve — Sheila's natural charm and high spirits reasserted themselves. "Caitie, will you please show me how this is done. For example, should I ask to have my back or my belly whipped first? Or does it make any difference?"

Then with a cheerful grin to the others she said, "I've been to many Irish wakes happier than this gathering! Good grief! After all, it's just a sort of sorority initiation, isn't it?"

After making the comment Sheila tossed her head and felt a very unfamiliar sensation. She was used to feeling her hair toss, too, but now her dark hair was shorter than she could ever remember. For many years she'd worn it longer than shoulder length, but now it was in a short urchin cut like Kelly and Caitie's.

Following the declaration of her slavery, Caitlin had taken Sheila out to the kitchen. There, after spreading a plastic sheet over the floor, she knelt down and bent over while little Caitie used a very sharp knife to cut her hair. "It will prevent the whip from catching in your hair," she said softly. Then she added, "You can cry if you want, Aunt Sheila. Gram tells how she did this to Mommy on the day they first met. When she finished with Mommy's hair, there were equal parts of hair and tears all over the floor." She grinned and continued, "Mommy always says that Gram is a super hair stylist because she has worn her hair short in the exact-same style ever since."

Sheila was kneeling on the floor with her head down. In that position all she could see were Caitlin's lower legs and feet. As she looked at them she realized again how utterly perfect this little girl really was. Even her toes were perfectly shaped. Everything about Caitlin was perfection as she verged on puberty. Feeling the knife pull through her hair and out again, she raised her head and knelt up straight bringing her nearly to the height of the girl.

Caitlin was holding a long carving knife in her right hand and a lock of Sheila's hair in her left. With an adorable little grin she asked, "Getting a little cramped, Aunt Sheila?"

Sheila took the knife from her hand and set it on the floor. Then, still without speaking, she gently pulled the girl close to her body, folded her arms around her and then kissed her full on the lips. Although she was very inexperienced in lovemaking, she realized that Caitie's lips were always soft and ready for a kiss. As she felt the flow of incredible joy and pure goodness into her body from the girl's lips she very gently ran her fingertips over the satin smoothness of her skin.

Moving her head back just far enough to focus her eyes she looked into Caitie's and saw a puzzled, somewhat quizzical look. "My darling niece," she said, "I want you to know that you're largely responsible for what I'm doing. You see, you're so pure and good. And you're such a wonderful reflection on the people who brought you into this world, your parents.

"Caitlin, I want to be like your mother. Then someday, if I pray very hard to Almighty God, and if I become a far better person than I've been so far, maybe someday I might marry and give birth to a child like you. Caitlin Fitzpatrick, that's my dream and I want you to know it. Child, you are utter perfection!"

While slowly shaking her head in negation, tears came to the corners of Caitie's eyes. "No, Aunt Sheila! Please don't say things like that. Ask my mother. She'll be the first to tell you that I'm a disobedient imp and two of me are about equal in value to one pair of broken-in Levi's. Perfection? Not!"

Still looking at the little girl Sheila asked, "What if your mother were dying and the only thing that could save her would be a heart transplant ... from you?"

In an instant the girl's face lit up with overwhelming joy. "That would be utterly fantastic!" Caitie exclaimed. "I can see it now: Mom and I are taken into the surgical amphitheater. Before they anesthetize her, she gives me the finest kiss of my entire life. I'm just overwhelmed with the power of my mother's love for me. Then I watch as they put her under, open her up, and take out her failing heart.

"Then, if they will allow it, I would want them to operate on me without anesthesia. I would want to feel the scalpel cutting into my body and then feel the bone saw cutting through my ribs. Then the surgeon will cut in, remove my beating heart, and sew it into Mommy's body." The happiness on the girl's face was overwhelming as she said, "It will just be so neat!"

"Then what?" Sheila asked, stunned by what she'd just heard.

"Then, if I can, I would like to wait a little bit to be sure the transplant is successful — that it really takes..."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then Mommy and I will go hand in hand to the Gates of Heaven and I'll be with her for always," the girl said simply.

"But ... but what about Johnny Taylor? You'll be leaving him all alone," Sheila reminded her. Earlier while the two had been snuggling together on the sofa, Caitie had been telling Sheila all about Johnny Taylor, the love of her life.

"No, I won't," Caitie insisted. "Why do you think I roped and hog-tied him so fast? There are all kinds of neat girls who would love to console him in his time of loss ... with their bodies! Boy! Can you believe what some girls will do? Here I wouldn't even be cold in my grave and they would be warming Johnny between their thighs."

"Caitie, you're one of a kind. There's no way another girl could be close to you," Sheila protested.

"That's all you know!" Caitie responded. "For example, in Chicago there's Krista Bradley, Ed and Vangie Bradley's granddaughter. She has gorgeous brown hair exactly like Barbara's but with the most incredible gray eyes you can imagine. Her father is a Rhodes Scholar and an All-Pro football player, while her mother, Cathy, was the first woman ever to play professional football and was voted the most valuable player in the Pro Bowl game. She was also Phi Beta Kappa and valedictorian of her college class."

Sheila knew next to nothing about American football, but she'd seen a couple of games on TV at the pub. The fact that a woman could play was impressive. She did recognize the reference to a Rhodes Scholarship and to Cathy Bradley's academic performance.

Continuing, Caitie said, "Then in Los Angeles, there's Bill and Ali Clifford's granddaughter, Betsy. She's the most incredibly cute little girl. She's sort of like me in coloring except with eyes that are bigger than mine even, but emerald green. She's utterly brilliant and even richer than we are. Then there's Laura Benson! She's utterly unbelievable! Her father is an aeronautical engineer and her mother, Sandy, is the finest trial lawyer in the state of California, and probably in the whole country. You meet Laura and you're utterly dazzled by her beauty. Then you look at her more carefully and realize it's just incredible goodness, grace, and purity that she just radiates.

And you know what? She already asked if she could have sloppy seconds. Laura is the nicest girl! She made me promise to let her know if I ever throw Johnny back. She said that she's not proud. She would happily take my rejects!"

With a big grin, she added, "See? Johnny will be just fine." Then she thought for a moment and added, "Maybe ... maybe God would even let me do what Susie Sloan is doing. I could watch Johnny and his wife, help her take him inside her body ... Then later I could look out for their children..."

Although suddenly tears were streaming down her cheeks she was actually smiling as she repeated, "It will be just so neat!" Then she said, "Now back on your knees, Slave! We don't have all night!"

"I think it would be better if your back was to the post for the first fifteen strokes," Caitie told her. "You'll be able to see the whip coming. Since it's really going to hurt, I think you'll do better if you don't see the last ones. Okay?"

With a cheerfulness she didn't feel Sheila grinned happily and nodded. Then she stood with her back to the post and wrapped her arms behind it as far as they would reach. She just held them there while Caitie tied them together with a length of rope. Earlier Sheila had expressed doubt at her ability to hold on to the post unsupported.

With her arms pulled behind her, her tits were forced up and out while she felt the post running up her back. "I'm ready, Mistress," she said softly. Only then did she realize that Caitie, now standing behind the post, was gripping her right hand tightly in hers. Her touch was strangely reassuring as she prepared to receive the first stroke. The whip went back and cracked forward. Sheila gasped as she felt it slice into her thighs just above her knees. "Thank you, darling mistress," she said.

"But how could she have missed so badly?" she added to Caitie in a whisper. Then she remembered feeling a sharp squeeze on her hand the instant the whip had struck her.

"She didn't miss at all," Caitie replied softly, almost whispering into her ear. "She's starting low and working her way up. This way your blood won't be all over the place she cuts next — at least, not for a while, anyway. She doesn't want to splash the other people with your blood."

The whip continued to crack, each time opening a deep cut on Sheila's body. Strangely, though, although her body was being sliced to ribbons it didn't hurt nearly as much as she expected it to. But still it was almost like a white-hot knife cutting into her body each time. Then, after eight strokes, to her amazement, Susan shifted the whip to her left hand and changed her position. Now she started at the top and worked down, but Sheila's blood was flying with every stroke.

Obviously Susan was as effective with her left hand as she was with her right and every bit as accurate. Sheila remembered reading that, when flogging was the standard punishment in the Royal Navy, a ship's captain always tried to ship at least one left-handed boatswain's mate. The boatswain's mates were the petty officers who administered the floggings and a left-handed one's strokes cut across right-handed one's. Susan was so effective she did it all by herself.

As Caitie had warned her would happen, the entire front of her body was now red with her blood from the neck down. Yet after each stroke the Irish girl smiled and said, "Thank you, darling mistress."

Finally, with all fifteen strokes completed, she leaned back against the post and waited. For some reason, Caitlin didn't immediately untie the rope binding her wrists together. Instead, now that there were no other sounds she could clearly hear the girl taking deep breaths as if to regain something she'd lost.

Then she could feel the girls small fingers quickly untie the knot and unwrap the rope. Ignoring the blood continuing to stream down her belly and legs she moved her arms in small circles to relieve the stiffness, then turned and wrapped her arms around the post. When she did, she gasped as all of the open cuts on her body contacted the post.

This time she put her arms up high around the post — with her arms behind her that had been an impossible option. She felt that she would likely be hanging from her bonds before the whipping was concluded and figured that having her hands high would assist her to remain standing.

"Please don't put your hands up there, Aunt Sheila," Caitie asked.

When she spoke Sheila could hear something strange in the sound of her voice but didn't know what it was. Then she continued, "You're doing just great, but really I want to continue to hold your hand if you'll let me. But I can't reach up that high. Okay?"

"Yes, my darling niece, it's okay," Sheila said.

Holding her wrists low she found herself savoring both the incredible pain in her body and the degree to which her blood was now flowing freely from the more than a dozen cuts across the front of her body. While holding her hands in position for Caitie to retie them, she wriggled her body to spread her blood over as much of the post as she could. While wriggling her bleeding body she called out, "Darling mistress, I'm even seasoning your whipping post with my blood. I hope you'll allow me to do it regularly."

With a strain she was able to turn her head around far enough to be able to see Susan and see the surprised look on her face. Continuing she added, "Is it possible to whip me from another direction? That way I'll be able to work my blood into the entire perimeter of the post and season it all around."

Her comment almost made Susan sick. With a shake of her head she handed the whip to Barbara and said, "Slave, make yourself useful. You've been on the receiving end often enough. Now let's see if you know how to apply it."

Then she just sat on the cold deck and watched. Looking around for the first time she was utterly appalled at the way drops of Sheila's blood had splashed almost twenty feet away.

With an expression on her face of acute distaste Barbara took the whip and let it roll out. To the surprise of absolutely no one, she proved to be as expert with the whip as with everything else. In almost no time, starting on Sheila's upper thighs she moved up to her buns which received four strokes only one inch apart and then on up her back to the eighth which cut into her right shoulder and, reaching over, the tip bared the girl's collarbone.

This caused Sheila to scream with anguish for the first time. Her scream drowned out a quieter one from Caitlin that Sheila thought she'd heard but wasn't sure. Caitie certainly was gripping her hand as if her life depended on it, though.

If Susan had been slow and deliberate taking her time between strokes, Barb was very quick, acting to get the messy job over with as quickly as she could. Again it surprised no one when she shifted the whip handle to her left hand and, with an expression on her face of severe distaste, lashed her seven times beginning with a cut across her left shoulder that opened a cut in her left collarbone that was the mirror image of the one on her right.