TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 11
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-11
SUMMARY  : Sarah faces her irate father--again!
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-12-07
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |cheerleader|high school|schoolgirl|lesbian|spanking|mother|tits|machine|father|daughter|


<i>Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.</i>



* * *



Sarah hadn't had as much fun as she'd had at Marilyn Madison's sleepover in a long, long time. Her girlfriend wasn't only gorgeous, a great lover, and the best cheerleader on the squad (and maybe in the whole country), but she was also someone who knew how to have a good time.



Marilyn had assured Sarah and the other girls that her parents would honor their privacy, and they had. Mr. and Mrs. Madison had both been home and available, should Marilyn or one of her guests need or want anything, but not once, even when the girls had become pretty rowdy, had either parent as much as knocked on Marilyn's bedroom door--which was a good thing for all concerned, Sarah thought, as, walking home from Marilyn's house, she recalled the erotic spankings and the hot sex that had taken place, off and on, pretty much all night, among the girls.



Ahead, she saw her house, and she sighed. Home sweet home was but a block away. At least her father was away on a business trip. He wouldn't be back until tomorrow at the earliest.



Marilyn's mom and dad were as different from Sarah's own parents as the cheerleading squad had been under Coach Chambers' direction and was, now, under Coach Bigg's guidance. Sarah loved her parents, even her dad, just the way they were, but she wished, sometimes, she could trade them in, just for a day or two, for parents like those of her girlfriend. Sarah's mom and dad--especially her dad--were stricter than strict, and, once in a while, Sarah, like any healthy teenage girl, wanted the freedom to discover who she was, to find herself, and to experiment with social roles and her sexuality.



Well, she had experimented with sex, she guessed, a little, having masturbated one boy and sucked another guy's cock, but most of her sexual experience had been with her girlfriend. Sarah never wanted to give up Marilyn for anyone else, male or female, but it might be nice, she told herself, to try sex with boys that involved more than a hand job or a blowjob.



Still, she told herself, with a girl as gorgeous and highly sexed as Marilyn, she was pretty lucky and should be content to count her blessings.



Marilyn had asked Coach Bigg's permission to host the slumber party. Having been a cheerleader on the coach's squad at another high school, Marilyn knew--and respected--Coach Bigg better than anyone else on South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad, and there was nothing she'd do with the girls, during school or after, unless she had the coach's approval and consent. As it turned out, the coach was going to be out of town for the weekend, attending a sports equipment convention with Mike Ryerson, the boys' varsity football coach, in San Diego, California--the same one, in fact, that Sarah's father was attending.



He'd taken a new job as a regional sales manager for an athletics equipment company, and he'd been at the sales convention all weekend and wasn't due back until tomorrow night. Sarah and her mom would have the house to themselves. Maybe they could do some mother-daughter bonding, watch a romantic comedy or a tearjerker over a bowl of popcorn and a couple of diet sodas as Sarah's way of thanking her mother for having allowed her to sleep over at Marilyn's house. Had her dad been home, there'd been no way he'd have allowed Sarah to attend a pajama party. He didn't believe in a bunch of scantily dressed teens staying up half the night, even if there was a guarantee--and there never was--that no boys would be involved. It was unnecessary, and it was unseemly, he'd said, more than once.



Sarah laughed. Being facedown in Marilyn's sopping-wet cunt had been unseemly, perhaps, but it sure as hell hadn't been unnecessary. Both girls had needed the release that Sarah's eating of Marilyn's twat had provided them. Even now, Sarah's pussy purred with pleasure and her clit stiffened at the memory of the ecstasy she'd experienced as Marilyn's lover. After the other girls had returned to their homes, Sarah had tarried, and she and Marilyn planned another sleepover to coincide with the next weekend that Sarah's father was away from home. Sarah hoped it would be soon. The sooner, the better, she thought.



As she entered her driveway from the sidewalk that paralleled the street in front of her house, Sarah considered the movies she had in her library. No doubt, her mom would prefer Gone With the Wind, while Sarah herself might be more inclined to watch a contemporary teen comedy, but, she decided, if her mom wanted antebellum romance, Sarah would defer to her tastes. Clark Gable wasn't really Sarah's type, but the teen sure could have gone for Scarlett O'Hara!



She inserted her key into the front door's lock, turned her wrist, and shoved the heavy paneled door open on its hinges. "Mom," she called. "I'm home. Want to watch a movie? Gone With the Wind, maybe? I'd bet you're just hankering for a little of that Gable-Leigh action."



There was no answer.



"Mom?"



Sarah gasped, her eyes widening as, rounding the corner at the end of the entrance hall and entering the living room, where she expected to see her mother curled up in an easy chair with a good book (meaning a trashy romance novel), she came face to face with her father instead. "Dad!"



He glared at her.



"What are you doing home?" she asked. "I mean, Mom said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow."



Max Owens scowled at his daughter. "That's what I wanted you to think," he said. "That's what I wanted both of you to think."



Sarah frowned. "Huh?"



"Get downstairs, to the basement."



Sarah remembered the bare-ass spanking she'd received a while back as she'd lain naked across her father's lap. She also remembered the erection she'd felt pressing her lower tummy through her father's slacks. "Where's Mom?" she asked.



"Downstairs," he said, his tone of voice flat, cold, and eerie.



Sarah shouted her mother's name as loudly as she could: "MOM?"



There was no answer.



She tried again: "MOM!"



Her only reply was the silence of the house.



"If Mom's down there, why doesn't she answer?" Sarah demanded, frightened.



Her father grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron. "Because," he said, in the same flat, dead voice, "she's gagged."



Sarah tried to jerk away from him. "Let me go!" she screamed.



He backhanded her across the face. The stinging blow brought tears to the teen's eyes and drained her, at once, of all resistance. Although terrified, she followed meekly as he led her through the house to the door in the kitchen wall that opened upon the flight of narrow wooden stairs that led to the basement below. He shut the door, drew his daughter behind him, and they descended the steps.



At the foot of the stairs, Sarah's father turned to the right, pulling his daughter behind him, and they turned yet again, following the constricted hallway to a room on their left. Although unfinished, with only cinderblock walls and a few naked bulbs hanging from simple ceiling fixtures to which were attached pull-chains, the chamber was large.



In its center stood a contraption as bizarre as Coach Bigg's Carousel, except that it was of much smaller dimensions and a totally different configuration. However, the function of the diabolical apparatus was clear enough to one who'd ridden The Carousel as many times as Sarah had: the damned thing was a spanking machine.



Mounted upon it was Sarah's mother, Marlene, wide-eyed and frightened-looking, with a gag in her mouth. She was also naked.



"Mom!" Sarah cried.



"Take your clothes off," Sarah's father told his daughter.



Sarah threw her mother a terrified look.



Her mom nodded, signaling that Sarah should do as she'd been told, and, reluctantly, the teen doffed her clothes.



"Mount the machine," the girl's father commanded.



The apparatus was equipped with dual bicycle-style seats. However, each of these seats was equipped with a feature such as no bicycle, even one built for girls rather than for boys, possessed. At the back end, twin, shiny, black phalli rose--a longer, thicker one that would fit into the rider's vagina and a shorter, thinner one that would fit into her anus. Simply by seating herself upon the contraption, the subject would doubly impale herself. The seat was also angled forward, at a 45-degree angle, which would ensure that the rider leaned well forward and down, sharpening the arc of her buttocks and increasing the severity of the pain with which the spanking instrument landed its blows.



Instead of pedals, there were fetters, somewhat like handcuffs, but for the feet; the manacles would lock around the subject's ankles, and a chain between them would prevent her feet from moving too far opposite one another, whether forward, to the rear, or sideways. A set of actual handcuffs were also present, low down on the machine, which, locking about the subject's wrists, would keep her bent well forward in a painfully uncomfortable position. A seatbelt-like harness would prevent her from falling forward or sideways, from the machine.



The seats were mounted upon a plank, beneath the center of which was a fulcrum, and they faced one another, seesaw fashion, so that the subjects might be forced to watch one another, their own misery increased by the sight of the other's suffering. Dangling from the unoccupied side of the machine were a pair of transparent hemispherical cups; Sarah saw that another pair of these domes had been placed over her mother's breasts. Sarah could only imagine their purpose. Would they send jolts of electricity through their subjects, the way that the tubes inside which the teen's own breasts had, like those of the other cheerleaders', been inserted during one of their many rides on The Carousel? Would the cups squeeze and pulsate? Would they fill with some sort of liquid? Would they offer some other sort of fiendish "treat"? Sarah had no wish to know, but she suspected that she would find out soon enough.



Trembling, shocked and terrified, Sarah did as she'd been told, climbing aboard the contraption.



As soon as she settled, as gingerly as possible, into place, the twin dildos penetrated her fore and aft, and she felt the thick, smooth plastic columns push past her labia and her anal sphincter, invading her front and back, cunt and ass. It was humiliating, to say the least, especially in front of her parents, and, already, tears sprang to the mortified teen's eyes. She blinked them back, determined not to add to her mother's--or her own--embarrassment by shedding tears as this damned machine did whatever it was going to do to her.



Just by climbing aboard the infernal apparatus, Sarah's upper body was pitched well forward, and, no doubt, she'd have fallen, had the seatbelt-like harness not have snapped into place as soon as the sensor in the seat registered her weight and signaled the harness to deploy. The belt broke her fall and secured her in place, doubly impaled upon the inclined seat. Likewise, the fetters and the handcuffs automatically locked in place around her ankles and wrists, and Sarah, with renewed terror, realized just how vulnerable and helpless--and uncomfortable--she was. The breast-domes also deployed on their own, cupping the terrified teen's tits as if they were the cups of an especially well-made, if unyielding, brassiere. A pair of wires extended from the back of each cup, connecting within the sturdy fulcrum that connected the two ends of the teeter totter-like contraption.



Sarah saw her mother, naked on the other end of the same plank that she occupied, bent torturously forward on the machine, and the teen was thankful that all she could see of her mom was her mother's back, the spill of her breasts, and the tops of her thighs. Sarah could see her mother's face only if her mom raised her head, just as her mom could see Sarah's face only if, as now, the teen raised hers. It required an effort, after a few minutes, to continue to do so, and, Sarah guessed, her mother sagged forward against her harness to take the stress off her muscles as much as possible and, for the same reason, looked down, rather than up, more often than not.



Besides, the sight of her daughter, strapped onto the machine, was probably at least as horrible to her as the sight of Sarah's mom, secured to the machine in the same sadistic posture as her own, was to the cheerleader. Sarah relaxed her own muscles, dropping forward, into the harness' rough embrace, and, she realized, her surrender to her predicament did, in fact, alleviate some of the stress on her muscles and bones and, consequently, the physical discomfort she felt. The tradeoff was that her view of the world was pretty much restricted to the carpeted floor of the recreation room.



"Now that I have your undivided attention," her father said, in the same eerily dispassionate voice in which he'd spoken upstairs and before, the day he'd administered the first nude spanking Sarah had ever received at his hands--the one that had given him an erection--"let me explain both why you are here and what you may expect.



"You are here because, according to 1 Corinthians, chapter 11, verse three, 'the head of the woman is the man,' which means that I, by the will of God Himself, rule this house. I am appointed as the head of this household, and, yet, the moment I am away--earning the money to feed and clothe and shelter my family--my so-called helpmate allows my daughter to do something that she knows I am dead-set against



--spending the night among scantily clad girls at the house of a man and woman we do not know and have never met.



"That is why your mother is where she is, Sarah. You are here because you have transgressed the command to 'honor thy father and thy mother,' by dishonoring us both. Like your mother, you must learn that, when you disobey me, you disobey God, for it is He, in His infinite wisdom, who has set me over both of you, as the head of this household.



"That is why you are here; as to what you may expect, well, it is best, I think, to let the machine speak for itself, as it were."



"I'm sorry, Mom," Sarah whispered. "I brought this on you."



"No, child," her father contradicted his daughter. "She brought this on both herself and you, for, in my absence, she was in charge, and it was her weakness in permitting the impermissible that has brought both of you here today, to learn the lesson that I, with the aid of this machine, shall impart.



"By the way, I met your new cheerleading coach at the convention. It was she who told me about Spank-o-Matic. She also told me about The Carousel and how she uses it to enforce discipline during practices. She mentioned how effective it has been, and she suggested that I purchase one of my own.



"As you can see, I took her excellent advice. I also told her to feel free to subject you to The Carousel's punishment whenever she is of a mind to do so and that, from now on, when you come home from school, you will bare your buttocks for inspection. If you were caned at school, you will also be spanked at home. Your coach seemed delighted to know that her discipline is respected and will be reinforced at home."



Coach Bigg! Sarah thought. Because of her big mouth, Sarah's punishments had increased; now she'd not only be caned with the other girls on the cheerleading squad, but she would also be spanked, with or without her mother, at home.



"And, now that you know why you are here and what you are to learn, I think it is time for the machine, which I call The Teeter Totter, to speak to your heart and mind and soul as only it can speak." Behind her, Sarah's father said, "Open wide."



Sarah wanted to refuse, but she was too afraid. Reluctantly, she opened her mouth, as directed, and her father inserted a gag, securing the strap to which it was fastened around his daughter's head. Now, Sarah would be unable to make her screams heard. This precaution seemed unnecessary, the teen thought, because the recreation room not only well insulated, but it was also soundproof. Perhaps her father was more interested in the gag's terrorizing his victims further than he was in securing their silence. Sarah had to admit that she felt completely helpless, completely vulnerable, just as a true victim felt, just as she always felt when Coach Bigg compelled her to ride The Carousel.



Seating himself on the comfortable couch nearby, Sarah's father pressed one of the many buttons on the oversize remote control device he held, and The Teeter Totter set itself in motion.



One end of The Teeter Totter--the one upon which Sarah was seated--rose into the air, lifting the startled teen over three feet, and, as the plank ascended, the dildos lodged in the cheerleader's cunt and ass withdrew, until only their tips remained within their respective orifices. The plastic domes cupping the girl's tits pumped up and down, each alternating with the other, like the cylinders of a two-cylinder combustible engine, "juggling" Sarah's jiggling boobs and further astounding the teen. As her end of the plank descended again, the one on which her mom was seated rising, the artificial penises filling Sarah's rectum and vagina thrust inside these orifices again, and she felt her bowels and sex crammed anew with the thick, rigid, smooth columns.



The domes, cupping her breasts, continued to juggle their captives, although a new twist had been added to their action; as they juggled the twin orbs, they also alternately squeezed and relaxed them so that, as the left breast was gripped, the clutching hold upon the right was relaxed. Sarah's breasts danced, as it were, throbbing from the constant motion and the forceful squeezes. On the end of the plank they shared, Sarah knew that her mother was undergoing the same treatment, only in reverse. So far, unlike her daughter, Sarah's mother had spared the girl the sight of her face, which, streaked with mascara and tears and contorted with humiliation, fear, anger, and pain--the clamping domes were more than merely uncomfortable at times--was as much a mess as, or more than, the cheerleader's own distraught countenance.



As he was putting his wife and daughter through their paces, Mr. Owens shared additional information about The Teeter Totter: "I must say I'm surprised at the number and variety of the bells and whistles that come as standard features of this machine, and even more are available as options or as features that can be custom-made to the buyer's own specifications. Needless to say, I'll be adding more in the weeks and months to come."



As if to demonstrate his spiel, Sarah's father activated another of The Teeter Totter's features. The cups surrounding his subjects' breasts heated up slowly until, a few minutes later, the plastic was alarmingly hot. Both Sarah's and her mother's pleading eyes expressed their terror. He laughed at them. With the press of another button, he heated the dildos in his wife's and daughter's assholes to the same disturbing temperatures, making them think that he might fry them. Impaled upon the fiery phalli, their tits ensconced in equally searing cups, they squirmed, screaming into their gags.



"Don't worry," Sarah's father reassured his victims. "The cups and cocks may seem dangerously hot, but they aren't; their temperature's just sufficiently high to be disturbingly uncomfortable. You have to admit, though, that the burning sensations, especially in such sensitive parts of your anatomies, focuses the attention." He laughed again, activating yet another of the domes' many features, and a tingling occurred, both in his victim's nipples and throughout their breasts.



Sarah welcomed the sensation, which, as a soft of soft, diffused, tickling, was not only pleasant in itself, but it also distracted her, somewhat, from the heat that had suffused her breasts and bowels. Her mother's soft moans suggested that she was of much the same mind as Sarah concerning the tingling-tickling sensation.

<hr pg="2" />Within minutes, however, the tingling and the tickling gave way to a stinging sensation, and it felt to Sarah and her mother as if a thousand bees were stinging them from the inside as well as on the outsides of their hot, jiggling, juggling breasts. Pleasure was quickly replaced by pain, and pain that was as much psychological as physical, for, Sarah realized, a girl or a woman fears most for damage to her femininity--to her breasts, her pussy, or her round, firm buttocks no less than to her face--because these assets are, after all, more than anything else, including honor and integrity, honesty and dependability, compassion or love itself, what makes a person a woman; without her feminine charms, she is nothing, no matter how nice or kind or morally upright a person she might be.



Dr. Fanner, Spank-o-Matic's quality control expert, had introduced herself as a physicist, and, as such, she obviously knew her stuff, but Sarah was betting that the company for which the scientist worked also employed a psychologist--maybe a whole team of them, each with his or her own specialty--for machines such as The Carousel and The Teeter Totter couldn't create the levels of duress they did unless experts in the manipulation and control of human behavior had been among the devices' designers.



To add to the victims' anxieties and discomfort, the stinging sensations they felt in their warmed and compressed breasts was repeated inside their heated vaginas and anuses as an electric current passed through the dildos impaling them, and their cunts and assholes began to sting, as if wasps had nested within the orifices and were warding off an attack upon their homes.



Sarah and her mother moaned and cried into their gags, their eyes pleading for mercy from the master of the house. 



To this point, Mrs. Owens had avoided eye contact with her daughter, letting her head hang before her, but, now, whether she liked it or not, a metal crescent rose under her chin, forcing her head up. Although her body remained shackled at an angle of 45 degrees form the perpendicular, Sarah's mother's face was now pointed upward, toward her daughter, and the only way that the mother could avoid eye contact with her daughter was to avert her eyes or keep them closed. She chose the latter course of action--or inaction--but Sarah was, nevertheless, able to see her mother's ruined mascara, tears, smudged lipstick, and smeared blush. Her mother looked as much the physical wreck as she was an emotional disaster. Sarah, whose chin rested upon an identical, newly raised, crescent-shaped support, wondered whether she presented a similar countenance. If so, she was sorry, for Sarah had no desire to add to her mother's distress by showing her own puffy, red, teary face to her mom.



The cups disengaged themselves from the women's breasts, retracted on a cable, and left Sarah and her mother feeling even more naked, vulnerable, and helpless, which, of course, was absurd, for the cups were transparent and had, in addition, themselves been a source of added discomfort and pain. Sarah, who had despised the assault of the dome-shaped containers, now missed them, for she'd become accustomed to their juggling, squeezing, electrifying grip, and their sudden absence was disconcerting. In addition, their withdrawal suggested, to the teen's experienced mind, that The Teeter Totter's operator, her father, had something even worse in store for them. Were she to liken their session aboard the machine to a meal, the appetizer they'd just finished--the cups that had assaulted their breasts--had served merely to introduce the main course, which was now to follow.



Fortunately, whatever the entrée might be, it didn't seem likely to involve a spanking, for the one good thing about The Teeter Totter, Sarah thought, was that it apparently wasn't a spanking machine, after all. It's purpose seemed to be to punish by humiliation rather than by the application of physical pain, for there was no evidence of the instruments of corporeal punishment, such as a paddle, a whip, or a cane. The humiliation of being shackled naked to a machine, across form her nude mother, with both parties' tits in a plastic dome and a dildo up their pussies and asses was immense, but, at least, Sarah's father had spared both wife and daughter the further physical anguish that a spanking would have imparted, should the machine have included spanking capabilities.



"I wish I could say that it hurts me more than it does you to have to administer such punishment," Sarah's father said to his wife and daughter, "but the truth is that it pleases me." Sarah remembered the erection her father had experienced when he'd spanked her, naked, across his lap a while back, and she wondered whether he had another hard-on right now, as he was speaking to his captives; she shivered at the thought. "To see you the way you gives me hope, at last, that you will learn your places and be subordinate to me, the master of this house."



As he spoke, Sarah and her mother became aware that their buttocks were being lifted off the bicycle-style seats. Semi-circular bands of padded metal rose under their thighs, lifting them upward, so that their buttocks, already at a 45-degree angle, thanks to the tilt of their respective seats, were lifted another five degrees off the seats, the phalli drawing away from, but remaining within, the orifices of their cunts and assholes. The change in elevation added to their discomfort, which verged upon pain, and renewed their distress.



The ascension of the bands stopped, with the captives' bottoms at 50-degree angles from the perpendicular plane of the floor below The Teeter Totter, and, as either end of the machine's plank alternately rose or fell, Sarah felt an excruciatingly pain flash through her buttocks, and she screamed into her gag, tears springing to her eyes. The anguish was too great to be suffered, and, after the initial agony, it died, her ass tingling, rather than hurting. However, as her nerves recovered from the shock they'd received, she felt the pain again, deep and abiding; it throbbed and trembled inside her smarting ass cheeks.



Sarah heard her mother's muffled scream, and the teen's eyes widened at the cause of her mom's distress. A basketball-size sphere hovered above and behind her mother; a red laser beam had streaked from it, and, sighting its target, had aimed a thin, supple whip, of metallic material, at her mother's ass. The whip had flicked down, from a semicircular slit in the upper half of the floating globe, and struck her mother a savage blow that twisted the features of her lovely face.



The sphere that had delivered the terrible lash to her mother's ass now streaked in a clockwise path, and as it disappeared from Sarah's field of vision, its twin, traveling in a clockwise direction, came into the teenager's view. It was obvious to Sarah that the globe that had just become visible to her, as it traveled from a point above and behind her, had delivered the punishing stoke of the metallic whip to her tortured ass, just as its twin had delivered a similar stroke to her mother's buttocks a moment before.



Another slashing blow of the whip struck Sarah's trembling ass, and she screamed into her gag again as the stroke's fiery agony flamed inside her devastated bottom. She felt the tickling trickle of something wet, and realized that her bottom was bleeding from the impact of the second, and perhaps the first, lash.



The globes were the products of a diabolical mind, the teen thought, as she watched the spheres in action, horrified at what she saw and wanting to look away, but too curious to avert her eyes. They could fly, very fast, or they could hover in place; they could revolve, so that the whip could flash in a horizontal, vertical, or diagonal direction; they could act independently, with each dedicated to inflicting pain upon one victim only, or in tandem, with both simultaneously attacking the same pair of buttocks or alternating with one another as they hovered side by side above trhe same victim's bottom.



In any case, the laser-guided whip fell with programmed efficiency upon predetermined points, so that, according to the instructions that the operator--Sarah's dad--selected from a range of possibilities, the thin, cruel whip could land stokes repeatedly upon the same site; lay down parallel strokes an inch apart; deliver a series of horizontal strokes, across the bottom, and follow with vertical swats upon the buttocks, so that the fleshly mounds were crisscrossed with bloody lines; or create a grid of diagonal red stripes that ran from left to right and from right to left at right angles to one another.



Sarah learned about the spheres' capabilities the hard way--by deducing the manner of their operation by observing them inflict their suffering upon her mother and by inferring how the globes operated on the basis of the pain that they inflicted upon her own red-striped, purpling ass.



After each globe had delivered a total of fifteen strokes of their respective whips to the bottoms of Sarah and her mother, leaving both victims in tears, moaning, sobbing, and blubbering upon their seats, impaled once again, to the hilts, on the dildos that penetrated each of them fore and aft, now that the supports below their thighs had been retracted, settling their inflamed haunches back onto the seats, they were left in place, rising and falling upon the seesaw. Both wanted to hide their faces in shame, but the brace beneath their chins would allow them to do nothing more than to close or avert their eyes from each other's tear-streaked, swollen faces, runny noses, and drooling mouths.



The Teeter Totter had a final surprise for mother and daughter. After a fluid sprayed over their injured bottoms, a sponge, mounted upon a mechanical appendage, rose, spreading the fluid over their lacerations, which caused immediate and intense pain, as it both disinfected and constricted the flesh of their beleaguered bottoms. Then, the sponges withdrew and, in their places, ice-cold pads pressed themselves against the victims' buttocks, easing their pain and reducing the swelling.



"The fluid is a styptic substance that contains antibiotics," Sarah's father explained. "It will stop the bleeding and prevent infection; the cold will reduce the swelling. In a few days, your asses will be fully recovered and ready for further punishment, should either, or both, of you require additional discipline.



"In half an hour, your restraints will automatically unlock, and you will be free to return to your bedrooms and rest, as best you can--if you're able to dismount from your seats and walk, that is.



"I hope your ride on The Teeter Totter has been sufficiently unpleasant to correct your disobedient and wayward behavior and the disobedient and defiant attitudes from which it arose. After all, the machine and its peripherals were not cheap--they cost half our life's savings, Marlene--but, should they have had the desired effect, 



the apparatus will have been well worth the $50,000 I paid for it."



* * *



One might have supposed that the mother or the daughter would have telephoned the police, but neither did. They'd both been brutalized emotionally, if not physically, for years, and their psychological brutalization had been approved and endorsed, if only tacitly, by the scriptures that their parish's priest read from his pulpit and the sermons he delivered during mass. Likewise, the examples of the church's other married couples demonstrated, on a weekly basis, or more often, when the family attended other events besides the mass, the dominant superiority of the male who, as the husband and father, was the undisputed master of his house. 



To defy the patriarch was to defy God Himself, who had established the man as the head of the wife and as the head of the household. Despite Marlene's love for her daughter and her desire, on occasion, to indulge the girl's desires to socialize and to date, and Sarah's own teenage rebellion, both loved the head of their household and accepted his authority as such, believing, as he believed, and as the scriptures, the priest, and the church itself preached, that the husband and father was God's appointed authority in family matters.



To resist him was to resist God, and to defy him was to defy God. If Sarah and her mother had to choose between being spanked, even savagely, or going to hell, they'd opt for corporeal, over eternal, punishment. Neither ever so much as considered calling the police or informing anyone else about The Teeter Totter. It would be the family's own business, their own dirty little secret.



So would the erection that Sarah had seen again today, jutting insistently, even seemingly proudly, inside her father's jeans as he sat on the couch, watching his wife and daughter being whipped, or rose and walked among them from time to time, to inspect the machine's work up close. As she lay, still naked, in the fetal position, her buttocks aflame with pain, sobbing loudly, her body shaking with agony both physical and emotional, the mortified girl wondered which of her father's women, Sarah's mother, the teen herself, or both, had inspired such a state of arousal in her father.

