Children of the Church 1: Children Of The Church
by Nap
copyright 2002 by Nap, all rights reserved
* * * * *
Note This story is a fantasy for adults only. The
author utterly condemns any form of actual abuse
physical, sexual, psychological and emotional to any
person of any age.
* * * * *
The Reverend Daniel Shore, Vicar of Wormsford St
Cuthbert, took as his text the injunction "He who spares
the rod hates his own son [or daughter]", but rather than
preach a sermon, he had decided to give a practical
demonstration. Accordingly, he called to the front of
the church his own four children, Matthew, Marcia, Lucy
and Jonathan, aged respectively, 13, 12, 11, and 10. The
four had not had any warning of this sudden rise to
prominence, and looked embarrassed and bewildered as they
went before the congregation of the parish church of the
remote English village.
"Friends, you see standing before you my own beloved
children. Like all youngsters their moral behaviour is
not always as my wife and I would wish, and having their
welfare and ultimate salvation at the centre of our
being, we wield the rod of correction with a heavy heart,
but an equally heavy hand."
While the minister spoke these pious words, the
congregation eyed the four unfortunate children presented
to them. As was to be expected, all were well turned out
for the service. Ten-year-old Jon, who had a cheekily
round freckled face and a mop of light brown hair, was
wearing smart shorts, shirt and tie. Lucy's shoulder
length, honey blonde hair framed her pretty, fine
featured face. She wore a blue dress boldly patterned
with bright flowers. Her twelve-year-old sister, Marcia,
was a tall, bespectacled girl, proud and prim, and
looking every inch the minister's daughter. Her dark
brown hair hung in two tidy plaits and even now she
viewed the congregation with a snooty, supercilious
stare. She was dressed in a trim white blouse with a
bow, a burgundy skirt and white knee high socks. Lastly,
the teenage Matthew, had his thick dark hair brushed
neatly across his head and, as there was a girl named
Rowena in the congregation he had particularly wanted to
impress, he had dressed with care in a well ironed shirt,
tie and sharply pressed long trousers.
The vicar's voice droned on and the children, like the
rest of the congregation, largely ignored his words until
he came to, "...and so you four children shall now strip
to your underwear." Gasps, giggles and growls of
approval greeted these words as the congregation suddenly
woke up. The four children were horrified. Surely their
father could not intend them to undress in front of all
these people who they had to meet every day? He did.
With obvious reluctance the four began to take their
clothes off. Both boys loosened their ties. Lucy
started to take off her dress and Marcia unbuttoned her
blouse. Among the congregation necks were craned and
twisted. Many children stood to get a better view and
some of the younger ones tried climbing on the pews,
though most were crossly pulled down by their embarrassed
parents. The boys took off their shirts and unzipped
their flies. Lucy hauled her dress over her head and
stood in pink panties and top. Marcia reluctantly
removed her blouse and even more unwillingly unhooked her
skirt. The boys had to take off their shoes to get their
trousers over their feet. They both stood in their
underpants, one patterned with sharks and the other with
stripes. Red faced Marcia stepped out of her skirt. She
was wearing pure white bra and panties.
The Vicar of Wormsford St Cuthbert was ranting on about
the Ten Commandments and which of them his various
children had broken. No one was listening, but
presumably murder and adultery were not on his list.
Everyone in the church was far more interested in the
half clad kids and what ever was going to happen to them
next.
The minister walked back and forth behind his four
children who remained miserably facing the blatant stare
of the congregation. He patrolled a few times as he
continued to list their sins of commission and omission.
He paused in his speech as he stopped behind little Jon.
He stooped slightly, gripped his youngest child's
underpants and briskly drew them down to the little boy's
knees. More gasps, giggles and growls of approval. The
lad turned bright red and clapped his hands his hands
over his miniature willy and balls.
"Hands on your head," his dad commanded callously. His
face burning, the boy obeyed, revealing his immature
genitalia to the watching crowd. The father moved on to
his younger daughter. He whisked the little top over the
small girl's head. She had just the bumpy beginnings of
breasts on her chest and her tummy retained its childish
rotundity. Nonetheless, she was old enough not to want
to show her upper body in public. Worse was to come,
though, as her father quickly pulled her pink panties
down her legs. There was not much to see between the
little girl's thighs, but the congregation made sure they
got a good look at what there was and Lucy's slightly
bulging, bald vulva was examined keenly.
Marcia's heart was hammering with anxious anticipation as
she sensed her father shift to her. She felt his fingers
unhook her bra strap and with remarkable dexterity he
slipped it from her shoulders. Marcia had cute little
breasts, firm and pointed with prominent, dark pink
nipples. They had only recently grown and she was
understandably proud of their development, but not so
full of pride that she wished to display them to the
whole village as she was now doing. She was aware of her
father's hands taking hold of the elasticised waistband
of her panties. "Nooo!" she wailed as her knickers were
lowered to her ankles. Around the vertical slit between
her long thighs was a fine fringe of curly pubic hair.
Marcia twisted and turned trying to hide herself with her
own legs.
"Stand still with your hands on your head," ordered her
stern father.
The vicar moved on to his oldest offspring. He grasped
his son's underpants and hauled them down. The boy
squirmed with embarrassment. He was at the beginning of
puberty and his penis had lengthened considerably of
late, but as yet he had no pubic hair as some of his
friends did. He was not only ashamed to be exposed, but
feared that he would be seen as immature for his age. In
fact the audience admired his long, circumcised penis and
did not give the matter a thought.
The Vicar of Wormsford St Cuthbert walked around to stand
at the front of his congregation, but kept to the side of
his children so as not to spoil the view of the
parishioners. The two boys and two girls stood with
their hands on their heads and their underwear at various
heights around their legs. He seemed pleased enough with
matters, but then said, "Now take off everything else you
are wearing."
The children busied themselves removing shoes, socks and
underpants. When this humiliating task was completed
they stood as before. But their father was far from
pleased.
"Matthew, you are wearing a watch. Marcia, you still
have on your glasses and hair bands. Lucy, you have a
bead bracelet on your wrist."
The three oldest children took off the offending articles
and then their father turned again to his congregation:
"Now we can see these children as the Good Lord made them
without worldly frills and fancies. They are naked in
their sinfulness before Him and before us all, and in
this state of nature they shall be properly chastised for
their sins according to God's Holy Word!"
Many in the congregation murmured a pious "Amen", but
Colonel Dashforth forgot himself enough to shout an
enthusiastic "Hear! Hear!" and was shushed by his wife.
"But first they shall show every side of themselves,
hiding nothing, just as we must show every side of
ourselves to Almighty God, hiding nothing from Him,"
continued the vicar.
The embarrassed children were now obliged to turn slowly
around so that the congregation could examine their young
bodies. How those at the back wished they had sat at the
front! Those who did have the best view saw a sturdy ten
year old boy with a cheeky little bottom that just ached
to be spanked. Next to him, his eleven-year-old sister's
slender body had milk-white skin and a jutting little
rear. Moving on, the twelve-year-old's hips had recently
broadened and a fresh layer of fat beneath the pale skin
had filled and rounded her bottom. And lastly, the
athletic thirteen-year-old boy's well muscled cheeks
stood out firmly.
The Reverend Daniel Shore fetched a chair and placed it
side on to the congregation next to where his four
children stood. He selected ten-year-old Jon by gripping
the little lad's ear and marching him the few steps to
the seat. The minister sat and pulled his young son face
down over his knees so that the boy's bottom was towards
the congregation. The other three children, still facing
the public, turned their heads to watch their sibling
being spanked. And spanked he was! The minister raised
his hand high and brought it down hard. How many times?
Was anyone counting? The staccato smacks rang around the
old stone church like gunfire. Jonathan yelled and
kicked his legs almost from the first, entertaining the
viewers in the pews no end. His three watching siblings
were not so pleased. Whatever the littlest one of them
got, the others were sure to get more. The little boy's
bottom went, pink red crimson, but the spanking went
on until at last the merciful father dropped his heated
son onto the cold flagstones of the floor.
The sobbing child was led by the ear back to his place in
the line and little Lucy was chosen to take his place
across her father's knees. Lucy's small bottom was
narrow, but surprisingly prominent. Her father's hand
stretched right across both cheeks, but he slapped hard
all over, sides as well as top. Lucy behaved much as
her brother had, kicking her long, slender legs and
yelling her pretty little head off. Like him her
squirming bottom opened enough to reveal her puckered bum
hole, but whereas he had shown his scrotum between his
stretching thighs, Lucy showed a little slit like a
miniature replica bottom. Once Lucy's buttocks were
highly coloured, she too was dumped on the stone floor
before being led back to join her brothers as her sister
was taken by the ear to the seat of correction.
Marcia had watched her little brother and sister getting
soundly spanked and the apprehension of her own
punishment was making her sob already. Her previously
neat hair now hung like a straggly shawl over her
shoulders. She went over her father's knees with moan of
misery and promises of repentance. Neither benefited
her as the Reverend Daniel Shore raised his hand and
began to spank his pubertal daughter's fat little bottom.
How poor Marcia kicked and struggled! How she wept and
wailed! What entertainment she gave the people in the
pews. What fun it was to see the priggish twelve year
old utterly naked and having her bottom soundly spanked
while she wriggled wildly and threw her legs about
without concern for the intimate views she gave her
audience, until at last she was discarded onto the
flagstones.
Finally, once Marcia was returned to the minister's
flock, it was the turn of Matthew. The teenage lad tried
to be brave as he was led towards the chair, but his long
hairless cock swung as his knees wobbled. He went across
his father's knees knowing that his tough exterior pose
hid the true terror inside. He was not so much
frightened of the pain bad though he knew that would be
but the humiliating exhibition he was about to make of
himself. Matthew was a sporty lad, and so well used to
the bumps and bruises of the rugby and soccer fields, but
the sustained spanking of his boyishly muscular cheeks by
his father's heavy hand soon had him contorting his body
in agony as the burning pain spread through his buttocks.
His strong legs flailed the air and before long the
congregation had the chance to compare his developing bag
of balls with his young brother's immature sac. And, try
as he might, the growing lad could not contain his yells
still shamefully high pitched as the spanking went on
and on. After a horribly long time, Matthew too was
dumped on the cold floor.
Once again the Reverend Daniel Shore made his children
show themselves from every side to the enthusiastic
congregation. Most of the parents were now so fascinated
by what was going on before their astonished eyes that
they had ceased to notice their own kids were clambering
on the pews to get a better view of their unfortunate
schoolfellows. These four crying children rotated slowly
showing off every side of their bare bodies while the
public compared the redness of their bottoms and how the
depth of colour related their ages and physical
development. Meanwhile, their father returned to the
pulpit where he continued to rant about sin and
retribution to the deaf ears of his congregation.
However, when the Reverend Daniel Shore produced a curly-
handled length of whippy rattan from behind the
panelling, the non-listeners sat up and took notice.
"The Bible speaks to us of a rod, and so this must be the
major implement of correction for our recalcitrant
children," he boomed wrathfully. "Thus, by way of
further example, I shall now thrash my own unruly
offspring with this cane."
With these words the minister descended the steps from
his high and mighty pulpit to the level of a stern father
confronting his own naughty kids. These watched his doom
laden approach with wide and wet eyed misery as he cut
the air with a swish and a whoosh. He placed the chair
so that the seat was now towards the congregation and
said to his youngest child:
"Jonathan, you shall approach this chair and rest your
forearms on either side of the seat, gripping the
backrest with your hands. You shall then put your head
on the seat between your arms. Make sure you keep your
legs straight."
The little boy took up this position, which he had on
occasion assumed before, though then always in the
privacy of the vicarage. His bottom was now bent, with
the skin tightly stretched, towards the audience. His
father announced. "I shall give this boy six strokes of
the rod."
The vicar swung his arm and the cane whistled down to
land with a sharp CRACK across the boy's tight bottom.
Jonathan yelled loudly as the stick struck his already
hot sore bottom. For an instant a white line appeared on
the red skin but this was immediately replaced by a
purple-red weal across the small cheeks. Five more times
the cane sang down. Five more times came the sound of
stick striking skin. Five more times the boy screamed in
pain as five more red lines sprang upon his tender flesh.
Jonathan was replaced at the chair by his sister Lucy.
She assumed the same position with which she too was all
too familiar. "This girl," her father announced, as
though she had nothing to do with him, "was to have
received eight strokes of the rod. However, because she
failed to remove all she was wearing when instructed to
do so, but deliberately kept on a gaudy bracelet, I shall
add one stroke more."
So for little Lucy the cane whistled down nine times,
completely covering her tiny bottom with weals while she
cried and stamped her feet, but it was remarkable that at
no time did she leave go of the chair back or bend her
knees to dodge the full force of a blow. Clearly these
were well trained children.
Marcia was next to approach the chair. She seemed almost
to have forgotten her humiliating state of public nudity
in her fear of physical punishment. She bent and
stretched her broad bottom for a beating. Her father
pronounced sentence, "This girl was to have been given
ten strokes of the rod for her sins, but as she did not
take off her glasses or hair bands I shall increase this
to twelve."
So a dozen times the cane cut across the priggish
schoolgirl's already inflamed cheeks except this was a
baker's dozen as her father was dissatisfied with one
stroke, claiming his daughter had tried to pull her
bottom forward at the crucial moment of impact, and so
had another whack. By the time he had finished his
bawling daughter's bottom was a mass of swelling ridges,
some of which crossed.
When Marcia was allowed to join the other two caned
children to cavort around clutching their well-wealed
bottoms, it was the turn of Matthew. But now the
Reverend Daniel Shore had new reason for outrage.
Whether it was from the heat generated by his own
spanking; or the sight of his siblings being caned; or
the nervous tension created by the imminence of his own
thrashing; but Matthew's circumcised cock slowly raised
its bulbous head and stretched a few inches closer to the
hammer-beamed roof of the medieval church
"What is this?" demanded his father, painfully tapping
the offending erection with his cane. "How dare you be
in such a state within the house of God!"
Half the congregation guiltily squirmed on their pews at
this denunciation as nearly all the males in the church
from eight to eighty-eight - and below and beyond - had a
similar stiffness hidden in their trousers.
The poor boy marched towards the seat with his stiff cock
wagging like a wand in front of him. He wished the
flagstones would slide apart and the earth swallow him
up. Whatever would pretty Rowena think of him now? He
bent over like his brother and sisters and his father
said, "This boy was to have had twelve strokes, plus
three for not removing his watch, but to this I now add
another five because of his disgraceful lack of control."
Twenty! Even Colonel Dashforth flinched at this,
remembering his own beatings at Eton. But it was to be.
The strokes were delivered by the resolute arm of the
Reverend Daniel Shore in blocks of five strokes and long
before the end Matthew was howling loudly, all thoughts
of trying to impress the lovely Rowena by his courage at
least banished from his mind by the severity of the pain.
Curiously, when Matthew was allowed up at last and was
able to hop, skip and jump around the church yelling loud
enough to awaken the dead in the churchyard beyond, his
erection had not diminished one little bit.
After the children's bawling had been reduced to mere
sobs, the congregation sang a final hymn "All Things
Bright and Beautiful" and received the blessing from
the vicar along with the injunction to follow his
example. The people streamed outside to the watery
spring sunshine. There a shock awaited some of the
juvenile part of the churchgoers who had so enjoyed that
day's service.
"Just wait till I get you home," announced a mother to
her sons of ten and twelve.
"You are going to be feeling my hairbrush on your little
bottom." another promised her eight-year old daughter.
"I wonder where we can get a cane like the vicar's?"
mused a husband to his wife while their three children
a thirteen-year-old girl and boys of eleven and nine
looked at each other in shocked disbelief.
There were a few dissenting voices of course.
"Shocking!" and "Disgraceful!" were heard here and there,
but the majority seemed to support the vicar's stance on
spanking. Some, indeed, took his example absolutely to
heart.
One mother quickly stripped her children, snapped a
switch from the hedge and whipped her eleven-year-old son
while her naked nine-year-old daughter stood by shivering
with cold and fear.
A burly father tucked his seven-year-old daughter under
his left arm, pushed up her skirt and pulled down her
knickers. Then he spanked her bare bottom as he walked
home while she screamed and kicked and her mother looked
on approvingly.
A struggling fourteen-year-old girl stood in the grip of
her father while her mother calmly removed her skirt and
then took off her tights and panties to leave her bare
from the waist down with the promise of plenty of
spanking to come.
And finally there was Rowena Dashforth, in the care of
her grandparents while her own mother and father were
abroad. What was to happen to her?