This short story is an entry in the 2003 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Edge
Orchids for Mrs Blandish
By
Valerie Meilong <meilong@excite.com>
I cried at her crematorium service; but only because my dad was crying.
He'd bought her a wreath of orchids. Orchids for Mrs Blandish. Ha!
She was my stepmother; they'd been married only twelve months. My mother died when I was nine; twenty-five years ago.
The new bitch was the same age as me. Sexy too; I'll admit that. But brazen.
Her arrival changed my life. I was relegated to my own room; access to dad's bed was stopped. The bastard even stopped beating me.
He beat her, however. She seemed to like that. They never actually let me watch, but they used to leave the door slightly open knowing I was peaking through the crack listening to her shrieks when he used the cane.
Then they took to having sex on the sofa after the beatings. I think she wanted to call me in to watch. Perv! Maybe I should have suggested that she watched me and dad doing it, like we used to do before she came?
God! I hated her. Why was I dropped? I was still willing and available.
I remember the first night I slept with dad, a month after mother's funeral. I'd had a bad dream and I crept into the bed like I used to when mother was alive. He still slept in the nude and I remember the feel of his bare thigh between my legs, and the feel of his hand on my bottom. I didn't mind. Bottoms were allowed.
He was a lousy single-parent; often forgot the laundry. Many times I had to get into his bed naked because there was no clean nightdress.
I remember my first spanking, though I forget what for. Bare bottom too. That was OK. Bare bottoms are allowed. It hurt. I cried. But when we cuddled in bed afterwards it felt nice. All warmly.
From then on he always took down my knickers to beat me. Sexy! And I adored the pain.
At twelve I got my first caning. Painful but so exhilarating! Afterwards he kissed my bottom to =make it better==. Nice. Then he kissed me between my legs. I was frightened, but after all he was my dad. He was entitled to do that if he wanted to.
Shortly after, he started doing grown-up things to me, er...you know what. I liked that. But best of all I loved the beatings. I used to pretend they were in anticipation of our being naughty, and the pain was a penance before God.
I left school and got a job. I continued sharing his bed. Life was good.
Then he met the bitch, and they married. My life went downhill.
She liked Guinness, so she didn't notice the rat poison. I used small doses for three months and the doctor got bored with her complaining. Nobody realised why she died.
I hoped things would then get back to normal, but nothing I did or said roused him to even think of beating me.
I've decided. He'll be next.
The End
© Copyright Valerie Meilong 30 July 2003
Reviews
Kessily
Wow... yeah that was edgy all right. The subject matter squicks me...but the writing is powerful. In a way it's more powerful because the girl seems to be speaking in monotone...like she is completely calm and has simply made her choice.
It really goes to show you how much abuse can mess with a person's head. I found it very believable. Her attraction to the man who had abused her because he was giving her things she wanted. Attention, love (though twisted), pleasure, and pain that she craved. Even though it was sick and twisted for him to do those things to her she wanted him to continue. She wanted the abuse which is natural for some people...It was incredibly moving to picture her begging him to beat her, or rant jealously because he had found an adult to take her place.
Very squicky but very good
Sir Hal <janhal(at)midsouth(dot)rr(dot)com>
This is a well constructed story. I loved the twist at the end. I thought that the word pictures were clear and interesting. I wonder what type of Orchids they were. At times, I really enjoy a story like this because it allows me to suspend belief and just enjoy. I love to try and crawl into the writers head with this type of story. I know the feeling. Keep up the good work
Pablo <pablo(dot)stubbs(at)newsguy(dot)com>
There's a gleeful pulp-fiction amorality here, which is entirely appropriate given the borrowing in the title. The success of this sort of first-person account depends a lot on how the voice is carried off, though, and I'm not sure it quite works. It's neither eloquently brazen in a Chandler-esque mode, nor disturbing in a subtle and dreamy way. It's maybe a bit too matter-of-fact. Nevertheless, there's much here to crunch and chew on, and it has a strong taste.