Chapter 9: The Fifth Commandment

As soon as Lucy arrived home from school, she knew that something was wrong. There was an atmosphere in the house. Something had happened. She glanced anxiously at her mother and saw that that she'd been crying. Her face was flushed, and she wouldn't look at Lucy directly, and so Lucy was anxious.

"What is it? What's going on?" Lucy demanded, but her mother would only say that Lucy should go see her father.

He was in his study.

That's what she kept saying over and over. He was in his study. Lucy should go see her father.

So, somewhat perplexed, Lucy went to her father's study and she knocked tentatively at the door. Immediately, there was a mighty roar, and it was obvious to Lucy that her father was angry, impatient.

"Come in!" he yelled.

He was snarling, ordering that Lucy stand in the middle of the room, and then, without explanation or preamble, he told her to strip.

Lucy was horrified. The demand was alien for he'd never abused her. "No! Daddy! Please! No!"

He'd never acted like this, and it seemed to her that maybe he'd been drinking, for there was a half empty bottle of whiskey on his desk. Lucy pleaded with her father. She wanted an explanation, a reason. She begged that he reconsider, but he would have none of it.

He kept telling her to strip, and Lucy kept wondering what she'd done to deserve such anger.

She was crying now, and her father remained irrational and angrier than Lucy had ever seen him, and the injustice of it was that he refused to talk to her or explain why he was behaving so abnormally. He just kept swigging at his whiskey and telling her to undress. "Come on, Lucy. Strip. Let's see that bare ass. Let's see those cute tits. I want your clothes on the floor, and then you'll receive thirty strokes on your behind; thirty strokes across the pussy and thirty strokes on each of your breasts. You've been asking me for it for months, babe, and today you're going to get it in full measure!"

What had she been asking for? Asking for months? What was he talking about?

"I've asked Daniel to apply the strokes," he snarled. "It's time that he learned about such things. A man needs to learn how to discipline a woman and it's time that your brother learnt because he'll soon be a man. So get out of those clothes and drape yourself across my desk."

"Papa!" Lucy could barely utter the word. She was weak bellied. She was incredulous. She was ashamed. She blushed violently and stammered: "Please, papa. No! Stop it. What are you saying?'

Her father seemed not to notice that she was a young woman and therefore it was inappropriate for him to tell her to undress or ask her brother to punish her in that way.

Once again Lucy pleaded with her father. She reasoned so as to soften his heart, and although he made out that he was amenable and listening, he wasn't. His mind was closed, locked up, sealed; and so purposely he added another five strokes to her punishment.

He did it to discourage her from more protest and it was for dissension, he said. Did she want more?

Lucy shook her head miserably, angrily, knowing that her father wasn't being fair. She wiped her nose, and then she wiped her cheeks and her eyes. Her father's mind was decided. It was made up. He obviously expected her to obey him because that's what daughters did - it was there in the fifth commandment, children obey their parents - and the more she argued and pleaded with him, the worse it would be.

Her father bared his teeth and dared her to delay. "Strip!" he repeated, and he leered at her and glared at her clothes in utter contempt. "Show me your pussy," he spat. "Play with your tits. I want to see them close up on my desk."

Lucy was confused because it was her father talking to her, and because of the drink he was acting like a stranger and not like a father at all, and yet she had to obey.

It was there in the fifth commandment, and so Lucy did as her father asked her. She undressed and lay across his desk, with the cold hard wood chafing against her back and her tits poking provocatively into the air.

She did it nervously, self-consciously, leadenly removing her clothes and afterwards, when she was naked, she climbed on to the desk and positioned herself upon it, uncomfortable, ill at ease, allowing her father to tie a handkerchief across her eyes.

"Okay," he rasped. "Now I must get your brother, so stay still. You better not move."

And then, he'd gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts, and the silence was frightening. What was going on? What was happening? Lucy could neither see nor hear anything. She could only fill in the gaps left void by her senses, and she imagined her father walking around the house, searching for Daniel and finally finding him in the yard, tinkering with his car. What would he say? How would he react? What would Lucy's father tell him to do?

Jesus.

Lucy lay shivering with her legs and her feet hanging loose across the edge of the desk, and with her breasts pointing up towards the ceiling and her arms clinging to her sides. She lay there imagining the worst for what seemed like forever, asking herself what was taking her father so long and why was he doing it at all. Had Daniel gone out? Or was it something else? How long must she wait?

And then, after what seemed like forever but probably wasn't, Lucy's father returned with Daniel in tow.

"It doesn't matter what your sister's done," her father was rampaging. "I want you to hit her. Hit her, Danny. I want you to hit her tits and beat her pussy. I want you to stick the fucking birch right up her crack and twist it all the way in if you have to... I want it to hurt..."

Lucy was listening and panicking. What was going on? She was naked and her heart was thumping and in turmoil, and at any moment Daniel would speak... He would say something... Things would be explained.

Surely...

And then Daniel did speak, but it was only to say: "Look, Luc! Christ! Look at you! You look so heavenly sexy that I've got an almighty hard-on! I don't know what you've done to upset Dad, but I'm glad that you did. I know it will hurt when I beat you, and I'm sorry, but I wish you could see my cock..."

Her father interrupted. "Okay, Lucy," he said. "Open your legs and keep them well apart. Nice and wide. Give Danny a big target to aim at. If you close your legs or try to wriggle I'll add extra strokes to your score, lots of extra strokes... Do you get the picture, Lucy? It'll get worse... Now open up or I'll add another five strokes..."

Lucy hurriedly opened her legs although she knew that Daniel was looking at her there, but she was more frightened of the extra punishment. Oh God. She waited for the first stroke, the scream of the birch, very aware of how badly it would hurt her.

Oh Jesus. Oh fuck.

It didn't come yet; not yet.

She felt herself shaking and she could hear the terror of her heartbeat.

She could hear Daniel picking up a birch and then practicing, swishing it several times. She was blind. She couldn't see him, but she could hear. She could hear the birch. She could hear its swish, and he could see her. He could see. He could see her spread open pussy vulnerable and waiting to be hit. He could see her quivering tits - another swish - and she tensed, her legs wide open, anticipating the pain, the shock, the attack: while he looked in pleasure at her nakedness - and swished.

Oh fuck. Why was this happening? What had she done? Why was her father so angry?

The seconds passed - another swish, more violent this time - and then, out of the blue, it came. The birch sang through the air and it crackled and burned. Lucy screamed at the first stroke and she felt her legs close. They snapped shut automatically to keep out the pain, but Daniel stayed calm. He merely paused while he reflected on what she'd done, and then he forced Lucy's legs apart, while her father added five more strokes to the count.

"Noooo!!" Lucy wailed, covering her face with her hands, but even as she cried, there came a swish followed by the second stroke, and she fought to keep her legs apart, but she couldn't; and then a third stroke, and a fourth, and a fifth and all the others. She felt them raining down blow after blow and tearing her apart; the miserable humiliating pain - and she heard the noise without being aware any longer - the terrible swishes - for so bad was the pain - and the only relief came because she couldn't take the blows and she closed her legs to bring a stop to the relentless battering of the strikes.