Sister Wife by Imelda Stark
Welcome to the arcane world of Mormon Fundamentalism, where each man is entitled to multiple submissive wives to be enjoyed entirely at his discretion in whatever manner he chooses. It is a world where women are also subjected to strict discipline enforced by corporal punishment, administered to that bodyt part their Lord designed so perfectly to receive chastisement.
Our hero Jason is a large and handsome young man who is driven out of the Cult’s desert Compound and forced to survive by his wits in the Gentile world of Salt Lake City. There he discovers talents with computers and poker that eventually make him quite wealthy. He also forages online, seeking women interested in the kind of sex he seems to need. His seductress must endure a sound spanking before he gives her amazing sexual pleasure. A tall and lovely older woman becomes his lover and helps him to realize his dream of becoming a skilled Dom. Then later, he returns to his Father’s ranch, which he inherits following an accident. He’s assigned a lovely young second wife by the Patriarch, who turns out to enjoy painful pleasures just as much as her senior wife. Much randy fun ensues!
This book has Maledom, a little Femdom, a lot of Femsub, much spanking and breast play, along with some pussy punishment.
Priscilla never intended to be difficult. Well, that wasn’t totally true. But if she was consciously rebellious against the many rules within which all of the denizens of the Compound lived, it was only for fleeting moments soon chased away by her very robust conscience. It was not possible to grow up as the nineteenth child of a prominent Elder in the Apostolic United Brethren of the Church of the Latter Day Saints without having a very powerful conscience rather literally beaten into one’s very bones. Pris, as she was called in the family, was the lowest on a very large totem pole, being the youngest daughter of the youngest wife of her very stern Father. That meant that just about anybody in the Compound could tell her what to do, and exact painful consequences from her if she wasn’t acceptably ‘sweet’.
Unfortunately for our heroine (whose isolation from the polluting secular influence of television meant that she could never have known that she was a spitting image of Amanda Seyfried, the blonde beauty who played a similar daughter in a polygamous family on HBO), she was born with a spirited intelligence and, apparently, a high pain tolerance. When her fierce spirit demanded that she stand up for her right to question commands that didn’t make sense or seem fair, her poor bottom’s ability to tolerate being spanked meant that she all too often chose defiance and its inevitable aftermath, corporal punishment. So from earliest memory, Pris literally never passed a single day when sitting down was entirely comfortable.
Domestic discipline was handled in a very carefully organized manner in the Compound. Males never openly punished females (though behind closed doors, many if not most wives ‘enjoyed’ a husbandly spanking when necessary from time to time), nor did females chastise even their own sons. It was thought that cross-gender spanking (since such attentions were required to be delivered to naked buttocks so that any damage to them in the service of their proper discipline could be accurately and immediately assessed) had too great a potential to awaken forbidden erotic feelings. So Pris received her just desserts for her mulish persistence in self-advocacy from the strong farm-wives’ right arms of any of her four Mothers.
Miscreant girls were taken over their stern punishers’ laps, their voluminous skirts drawn up over their torsos and heads (thereby muffling at least some of their expressions of remorse and distress). Then their demure cotton bloomers were briskly lowered to trap their knees to prevent too much kicking. If a girl was known for poor self control in resisting her urge to reach back with her left hand to try to protect her poor belabored bottom cheeks, her left wrist would be pinned by her Mother’s strong left hand against the small of her back. This served the additional helpful function of holding up her skirts, since lively bad girls squirmed and bucked ever so hard when taking their bitter medicine, sometimes knocking down their skirts and interrupting their punishment. As well, a bottom held in this way could wriggle substantially less, allowing its chastiser to aim her spanks much more precisely to more stationary targets.
Pris prided herself from earliest memory in never requiring such restraint. No matter how badly her poor hiney throbbed, she would rather die than let her hands leave the floor. It was a matter of honor for the lanky young blonde: if a spanking was what her honest assertions of self earned her, then she was not going to lose her dignity by pleading or trying to wiggle out of one iota of what she had coming to her. If it was her Mother’s job to punish her for her rebellion, the stubborn daughter vowed it was her job to accept her plight with as much equanimity as she could muster. Since her chastisers tended to gauge the intensity and number of their spanks according to how fervently their subject expressed their distress, her lack of responsiveness often meant her spankings were by far the fiercest. She was okay with this: fair was fair and she knew the consequences when she did the crime.
So when our heroine was unable to repress her spirit, the Mother who objected would declare that ‘someone was in need of some sweetening’. Pris would be taken firmly by the arm and escorted to that Mother’s bedroom. The armless desk chair would be occupied by her punisher, and she would silently go over that worthy’s lap with none of the whining or struggle that her sisters might kick up. The stubborn blonde would allow herself to feel her fear only when her skirts hid her face and she wouldn’t be seen in that shameful state. And the fear was manageable: she had been through this drill countless times: it would hurt like Hell while it was going on, after which the pain would diminish and mostly stop and they would all get on with their lives.
Having her bloomers lowered was a different matter. Girls in the Compound were brought up to be extremely modest, as their Prophet railed against the sinful temptations that a female body had the wicked power to inflict on susceptible men. He reminded his followers that it was Eve’s irresistible urge to tempt Adam that resulted in humanity’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden. If current females had to bear some transitive guilt for their forebear’s wickedness, it was not as though all women didn’t have a great deal to atone for just in being so tempting. But in any case, the sheer badness attributed to women’s private areas meant that having their bottoms bared, even if just seen by a Mother, could not have been more mortifying. For many girls, the psychic anguish of having their panties lowered and the nether cheeks revealed made to wiggle uncontrollably under her Mother’s stern gaze was more of a punishment than the spankings themselves.
This was true of Pris, whose peaches and cream complexion broadcast her shame with as brilliant a red in her facial cheeks as was being produced in her buttocks. But she would bear her shaming every bit as stoically as she did her chastisement, embracing its anguish just as she did the terrible heat being generated in her derriere. The shame cleansed her just like the pain, annealing her repentance for the sinfulness of thought she knew herself to be so compulsively prone to. For the Lord surely knew how wicked her thoughts were every night after bedtime prayers and blessings…and how even more naughty her fingers could get between her legs in the place where those thoughts caused her to have very…powerful…feelings, quite…well…compelling, you might have to say. So maybe if a girl did something that bad every night and got away with it, she might sort of…arrange…to be punished for something a lot less embarrassing, and everything would be squared away.