[Continued from Part
Mommy talked to
Daddy in the kitchen for a minute or two,
although I couldn't make out
any words. It wasn't long before the
stairs creaked under his tread
as he made his way up to my room.
Mommy had doubtlessly told him
"everything" as she saw it. I
knew Daddy would listen to my
side of the story. I also knew that
after weighing my words in the
balance, he would side with Mommy, as he
Daddy would spank me.
I began to cry
as soon as he came through the
door. He sat down on the
bed and sat me on his lap, cradling me with
his left arm and drying my
tears with his
handkerchief. In his deep
he gently commanded me to get ahold of
myself. And, almost as if
a spell had been cast, the need to cry faded
away. When I told him
I hadn't lit the matches and didn't know who
had, his face darkened and
I couldn't look him in the eye. He
pointed out that it couldn't have
been anyone else, since Mommy and I were the
only ones home and Debby was
at hockey practice and hadn't been home all
day. Desolate, I nodded
my head yes or no when he prompted me with
questions, calmly laying out
the logic which lead, step by step,
inexorably, to my guilt.
Finally, I mustered all the courage I had
and placed my palms tenderly
on his chest and forced myself to look
directly into his steel grey eyes.
"But Daddy... I didn't do it... I
really really didn't!"
I said, keeping my eyes fixed imploringly on
his. A moment passed.
Then his confident expression wavered and it
was he who broke my gaze and
looked away. I was never a good
liar under any circumstance.
And lying while looking Daddy square in the
eye was more than I could think
of doing. And of course, Daddy knew
this quite well.
Could it be? Was Daddy actually going
to believe me?
Had God finally come to my rescue? My
heart lept and I caught my
breath as I awaited his next words.
to himself and looked downward, then back at
me, studying my face.
I lowered my eyes quickly, unable to meet
his probing gaze, though I knew
I ought to. Then he looked away
again. Several seconds passed.
His eyes closed and his breathing deepened,
and I realized he was asking
God for guidance. So I offered a
silent prayer of my own, begging
God, as the only One who knew I was
innocent, to please make Daddy
believe me - and to please, please
not make me have to get another
Daddy looked up
again. There was sadness in his eyes,
but the confidence had returned.
"Janet, in my heart I want to believe
you. But the facts speak for
themselves. I have never known you to
tell a fib so convincingly
as you did just now. And that is a
change in you which troubles me
very deeply." Ice fingers seized
my heart. Daddy didn't
believe me. I began to cry again but
he hushed me. He was not
finished speaking yet. "And even if
you hadn't lit those matches,
Janet, there is also the matter of your
behavior towards your mother.
When she attempted to chastise you, she says
you threw a tantrum and refused
to submit. Is this true?"
Miserably, I shut
my eyes, bit my lip, and silently nodded
yes. "I didn't mean it Daddy!
It just happened! I didn't mean it!" I
blurted. "Oh Daddy,"
I cried, "I'm so sorry!" And I really,
"But you did it,"
he said, with finality. "I love you
very much, Janet, far too much
to allow the kinds of faults you have
exhibited today to go uncorrected.
The Good Lord has commanded me to spank
you." As he lifted me off
his lap and laid me face down across the
side of the bed with my bottom
centered over his left thigh, I thought
numbly that God had caused someone
to light matches, caused me to be blamed,
commanded Mommy to spank me for
it, and He had just now commanded Daddy to
spank me also.
my wrists firmly against the small of my
back and clamped my legs into
position between his. Strangely, I
felt no fear, only desolation.
Mommy, Daddy, God - all had abandoned
me. I didn't understand
why this had happened, only that it must
somehow all be my fault, and that
I must be the most worthless little girl in
the world to deserve it.
As I felt Daddy's cool, dry hand tucking up
the skirts of my jumper and
petticoat to expose the seat of my panties,
I sincerely wished, for the
first time in my life, to die.
occasions, the urgent fear I experienced
when Daddy exposed my panties
to spank me was leavened with embarassment
at knowing that he was looking
under my dress, and seeing everything there
was to see. Our mother
placed a high value on ladylike deportment
on the part of Debby and me.
We were strictly admonished never to allow
our panties to show, especially
when a male could see them, even
Daddy. Yet whenever Daddy
spanked us, suddenly that rule didn't apply.
Up came your dress and down
came his big hard hand on the seat of your
plainly visible panties.
But that afternoon, as Daddy turned up my
skirts, I had already plummeted
to a level of misery beyond fear or
embarassment, a level of misery I had
never known existed. Daddy was saying
something. It was a question,
but I didn't know what he'd said so I didn't
know which answer to give.
And I felt too miserable to ask.
Daddy's palm across my pantied
bottom. The force of the smack
drove me into his thigh. His hand
continued to press against my backside,
as if pushing the spank deep into my
buttocks Daddy was stronger
than Mommy, and when he spanked you could
tell! He had always used
only his hand to spank us. He didn't
need anything else.
The pain came
a fraction of a second later, like hornets
stinging deep into my buttock
muscles, still tender from the
hairbrush. I shrieked and then sobbed
and sobbed deeply, desperately
drumming my feet against the floor,
helpless to escape the intense smarting from
It was normal for Daddy's spankings to hurt
this much, but not after only
the first swat! I didn't feel him
remove his hand from my bottom,
but about ten seconds later, just as the
sting was beginning to ease just
slightly, WAP! came another spank, like the
thunderclap on the Day of Judgement.
Oh, how it hurt! My mind cried out for
escape, my body tried to flee,
but all I could do was kick my legs against
the floor from the knees down
and wail into the coverlet.
WAP! came Daddy's
punishing hand once more. And then my
heart swelled with hatred.
I hated God for
making this happen to me, all of it. I
hated Him for making a world
where things this awful, this unfair, this
monstrous, could happen to poor
little girls. My loathing filled all
space until even the pain from
my bottom was barely noticable. My
hatred ripped the earth
asunder and set fire to the sky - blasting
God, killing God, as Daddy's
tireless hand continued to swat the seat of
my panties. But as spank
after slow, measured spank landed on my
bottom and the pain grew and grew,
eventually it drove out even the hatred
until I was no longer shaking the
earth and igniting the sky. Suddenly I
was just a helpless, wailing
child, face drenched with tears, receiving a
very sound spanking from her
And at that moment,
Daddy stopped. The sound of my crying
must have changed, indicating
that my Will had broken and that my heart
was now prepared for Repentance.
He turned my skirts back down again to
preserve my modesty and released
my wrists, allowing me to rub my bottom
while I cried and cried across
his lap. Minutes passed before I
unsteadily managed to stand
up, still sniffling and crying softly,
but ready to listen to directions.
In a deep kindly voice, without anger, he
instructed me to stand facing
the corner and think about my sins. I
sniffled a timid "yes, Daddy"
and promptly obeyed him.
creaked as he rose from his seat. Then
came the sound of his footsteps.
Then the door closed behind him.
And in that moment,
alone in my room, came the terror.
Never had I sinned
so grievously as I had done just a minute
earlier: those awful, awful
I'd had about God! Surely there could
be no forgiveness for me, ever!
My soul was forfeit. In the corner of
her bedroom stood an obscenity,
an abomination in the eyes of the
Lord. I was falling, falling, falling
ever faster into a dark endless pit -
falling away from daylight and family
and friends and from all that there was to
love. In my mind I screamed
out for help, but there was no salvation for
a miserable, undeserving wretch
like me. There was only The Lake of
Fire which cannot be quenched,
in the Realm from which The Lord God hears
Daddy had taught Debby
and I to think of damnation as a spanking
which never ended, except that
the pain was all over your body instead of
just your bottom, and it was
much, much worse. And there was no
forgiveness and love afterwards
because there was no
"afterwards." But even the agony
of the flames was not the greatest torment
of Hell. Worst of all
was being cut off forever from Jesus, with
no hope of salvation.
And now, that was to be my fate.
Hatred welled up in my breast anew,
but not hatred of God. I hated
myself. I deserved to be in
Hell... belonged in Hell... forever
and ever and ever...
The door opened
and Daddy came across the room.
He placed his hand on my shoulder
and turned me to face him. Was I
ready to repent my sins?
I said yes. I said that I was a
terrible, terrible sinner, and that
God would never forgive me. Then I
began to cry - deep, heaving sobs
of despair. Daddy gathered me in his
arms and held me close as I
cried. As he comforted me he explained
that we are all sinners, that
we have all missed the mark and fallen short
of the glory of God.
He said that no matter how great our sins,
God will forgive them all, provided
we ask His forgiveness with a truly
Looking up into
his eyes, I asked, "Daddy, is there anything
so bad that God will never
forgive you no matter how much you repent?"
He smiled, and
tenderly brushed a stray wisp of hair from
my face. "No, Janet."
it felt as if Daddy's hand had reached down
into the pit and pulled me
back to the world of light. Without
another word, I knelt beside
my bed and prayed aloud, pouring my heart
out to God, telling him how much
I wanted to give myself over to Him, and
telling him how very, very, very
sorry I was for my sin. After awhile,
I actually began to feel as
if maybe God really had forgiven me for my
bad thoughts. And
for the first time in hours I felt almost
good inside. Still
kneeling, I looked up at Daddy. He was
beaming down at me with love
in his eyes. The fervor of my petition
to the Lord had clearly moved
him. Joy swept through me.
At last, now the world seemed
I sprung to my
feet and gave him a hug. He hugged me
back and told me he loved me
very much. It felt so wonderful to be
loved, so wonderful to be saved.
stood me in front of him, smiling, and said,
"Janet, I think it is time
for you to go downstairs and apologize to
your mother for telling her a
fib when she asked you about the matches."
I had forgotten all about the
matches! "But Daddy," I blurted
plaintively, "I didn't light them! I-"
on his face turned me to stone. Never
had I seen such wrath in his
eyes. He must have thought that my
whole prayer had been a charade,
that I was making a mockery of sacred
things, (although I didn't grasp
that at the time). All I knew was that
in the space of an instant,
everything had gone from being very, very
right to horribly, horribly wrong.
he barked, his eyes drilling into me, "ARE
GOING TO LEARN YOUR LESSON...
NOW!" And then he reached down to his
waist and unfastened his belt.
The belt came free from the loops with a
swish. Then he grasped the
buckle end and began winding the belt around
and around his hand until
just the last 18 inches or so from the tip
was still hanging loose.
Daddy had never spanked either of us with a
belt before, but I knew at
once what was about to happen. Some
other kids' Daddies did this
and I had wondered what it would feel
like. Now I was about to find
"No Daddy No Daddy
Please No Please!" I wailed as he sat down
on my bed and turned me across
his knee. In a flash, my legs were secured
between his and my wrists were
pinned against the small of my back by his
left hand. There came
a gust of cool air against my bare thighs as
my skirts were whisked up
across my back. And then Daddy did
something he had not done since
I was in kindergarten.
He pulled down
Added to the horror
of the unfolding events, now came the utter
mortification of being unclothed
beneath my father's steely gaze. All
of my upbringing, all of the
maidenly modesty instilled in me from my
earliest recollections cried out
to hide myself. But I was helpless to
do anything except wither helplessly
beneath the ignominy of public nakedness.
And then, for
the third time that afternoon, I got
The minute which
followed was destined to be the most painful
experience I 'd ever had,
as Daddy whipped my bare buttocks, already
sore and swollen from two spankings,
again and again with the end of his
belt. I wasn't conscious of what
sounds I made, although Debby later said I'd
screamed and screamed.
I was only conscious of the pain. Red
hot iron bands were pressed
against my flesh, searing and blistering it
with intense heat. Each
time that cruel strip of leather lashed
across my bottom cheeks, a new
band of glowing iron scorched my skin.
I didn't count, but in the
next room, as I later learned, Debby did:
thirty eight licks.
Long before the
last lash of the strap, the pain of my
punishment had blotted out all else.
No private inner core of Me remained.
All had been utterly swept
away, broken, undone by pain.
Everything became simple.
I was ready to do anything, say anything, be
anything Daddy and
Mommy wanted me to. If I could
only be their good little
girl again, if the world could only be
made right again, nothing
else mattered. Nothing.
At some point,
I dimly became aware that my spanking had
stopped, although Daddy was still
holding me tightly in position and my
panties were still
After awhile as my cries began to soften, I
felt my panties being pulled
back across my throbbing bottom. The
soft cotton chafed and felt
itchy against my welted skin. Then my
skirts settled back down across
the backs of my thighs. Daddy released
my wrists and my hands shot
back to rub and rub my poor little
thrice-spanked behind as I continued
to sob. Dimly, I felt my shoes
unbuckled and removed, and then I
was lifted and tenderly tucked into bed,
fully clothed, the covers placed
Daddy must have
left the room, although I never noticed him
go. After a long cry,
limp with exhaustion, I sat up
in bed and looked around.
The sun hung low in the sky and its lovely
orange radiance streamed through
window onto the far wall. I felt
wonderously exalted. Was this
why God had caused today to happen to me...
so I could arrive at this inner
place of stillness? For an hour or
more, inutterable calm enveloped
me like a womb. As dusk slowly fell,
faint sounds of dinner being
served, and then cleared, floated up the
stairwell. I gave them no
more thought than to the easy whisper of the
wind in the tree outside my
window, or to the ebb and fall of my own
breath. No thoughts
or words flitted through my mind.
There was nothing which needed
thinking about. All was settled.
All was at peace. I
never wanted the feeling to end.
the mood finally passed. I became
aware that my backside now itched
most unpleasantly in addition to the dull,
throbbing, ache which hadn't
seemed to matter earlier, and also that I
was ravenously hungry.
But I knew better than to call for Mommy
or Daddy, much less leave my room.
In the Christensen family, when you were
spanked and put to bed, you stayed
there, and not a peep was expected from
you until the next morning or until
a grownup gave you permission to rejoin
Daddy had laid
out my pajamas for me at the foot of the
bed. After I'd changed into
them, I climbed out of bed and crept to the
full length mirror.
Gingerly slipping down my panties, I turned
and regarded my hindquarters
in the mirror. I had just gotten the
spanking of my life, and it
showed. My bottom was deep red from
the hairbrush and Daddy's hand,
and crisscrossed with welts from his
belt. On my right buttock small,
darker marks appeared where the tip of the
belt had licked me. Then
Daddy's footsteps began to mount the stairs,
and I hurried back under the
His face was still
grim as he walked in. For all he knew,
I might still not have a repentent
heart, and might need yet another
whipping. But I immediately told
him I was sorry I had lit the matches and
sorry I had denied it.
It didn't even feel like a lie. I
could actually see myself, vividly,
standing in my room earlier that day playing
with matches. I could
"remember" gazing raptly at the luminous
blue halo around the wood, and
the brillant yellow of the flame and its
ragged, flickering, rim of orange.
I "remembered" shaking the flame away as it
burned perilously close to
my finger, tossing the spent match into the
wastebasket, and lighting a
new one - and another, and another.
These images filled my mind as
I knelt beside my bed and asked God to
forgive me for breaking Mommy and
Daddy's rule about never playing with
matches. Praying aloud, I told
God that I had been a very, very bad girl
and that I had deserved to be
spanked for it. And I thanked God for
loving me enough to command
Mommy and Daddy to apply the Rod of
Correction when I needed it.
Next, Daddy and
I went down to the kitchen where Mommy was
finishing washing the dishes.
Hanging my head with genuine shame, I
apologized for being defiant when
she tried to spank me the second time.
I also apologized for being
disobedient and dishonest, and I promised
never to play with matches
ever again. By this point three
quarters of me believed I really
had lit the matches, and I had no wish to
heed that stubborn one quarter
which still knew I hadn't.
Then, at my own
insistence, we went up to Debby's
room. She had obviously been crying
earlier although her eyes were now
dry. At first she looked pale
when Daddy and I entered her room. But
the fright faded from her
countenance as soon as I began to
speak. Debby regarded me with wide
solemn eyes as I explained how very sorry I
was for playing with matches
because children should never play with
matches because the house could
burn down and everyone could die. I
apologized for putting her in
danger and told her I never wanted anything
bad to happen to her because
I loved her so.
And that was that.
The matter was never spoken of again.
Mommy forgave me. Daddy
forgave me. God forgave me. I
was given a soft cushion to sit
on at breakfast the next morning. The
swelling in my bottom was gone
by the next day, although the belt marks
were still visible. A few
days later, only the marks on my right
buttock where the tip of Daddy's
belt had landed still remained. And
before too long, even those disappeared,
leaving my little rump just as pale and
creamy as it had ever been.
The case of
the mystery matches was closed... or was it?
months went by, I very nearly convinced
myself that I had lit the
matches. But for several years
afterwards, sometimes, when I had
trouble sleeping and lay awake late into the
night, the part of me that
remembered the truth returned uninvited,
still wanting to know what had
Someone had lit
Perhaps the perpetrator
climbed up the garden trellis and into my
window? But who?
Someone who wanted to get me in trouble,
obviously. I could think
of two girls mean enough to play such a
horrible trick. But why go
to such ends and why take such risks merely
to leave clues which my parents
could very easily have missed? And
neither girl gloated afterwards
or gave even the vaguest teasing hint that
they knew anything about it.
Around and around my thoughts would go,
never settling onto an idea which
made sense. I didn't like these
thoughts. When I told
the truth about the matches, bad things
happened. When I took the
blame for something I didn't do, everything
became good again. It
was better not to think about
it. Eventually sleep overtook
me, and by morning the dark wonderings had
vanished once again... until
the next time.
As a child, I
imagined I understood what God had wanted me
to learn - that some
things are more important than always
telling the truth no matter what
- things like always being the girl Mommy
and Daddy and God wanted me to
be, no matter what the cost.
But a decade later,
when Debby was a freshman in college, she
wrote me an anguished letter.
It was she who
had lit the matches.
had been canceled so she came straight home
to find the house empty, and
seized the opportunity to do something
forbidden. She chose my room
for her experiment with matches, knowing
that if Mommy came home, she would
be likely to go to almost any other room
before that one. Debby had
meant to replace the matchbox in the kitchen
when she finished playing,
but our Mother came home before Debby had
the chance. So Debby stashed
it under my bed and escaped out my window
and down the trellis.
Debby came back
home again at her usual time, hoping the
matches hadn't been missed and
planning to put them back in the kitchen at
a time no one would see her.
But as soon as she got in, the first thing
Mommy told her was not to disturb
her big sister, who had been a very naughty
girl, who had been soundly
spanked for playing with matches, and who
had A Spanking From Daddy coming
when Daddy got home. Debby knew she
should confess, but she simply
couldn't find the courage. And she was
afraid that I would hate her
forever for getting me into so much
trouble. As she lay on her bed
in tears that afternoon, counting each
terrible stroke of Daddy's belt
across my bottom, guilt and fear pulled her
heart in opposite directions.
And for the next ten years, that tug of war
Between two sisters,
I wonder which of us the events of that day
traumatized the most?