CHILDREN OF THE CHURCH

BY NAP

[ part 4 ]

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.

Choir Practice

The vicar was generally delighted with the consequence of his famous sermon. There was still some opposition in the village from what the vicar thought of as the namby-pamby faction, but the overwhelming majority of parents had taken a more robust view of his beliefs and had given his system of child discipline their enthusiastic and energetic backing. Having Colonel Dashforth on his side had been a help, of course, and so although the cadets idea had not been entirely to the vicar’s liking he had felt obliged to give the Colonel his reciprocal support. Consequently, when the vicar had heard about what he deemed to be Marcia’s ‘bad behaviour’ at the inaugural parade, he had invited Colonel Dashforth round to the vicarage so that he could witness the proper punishment of the twelve-year-old delinquent. Naturally, this had taken the form of the vicar giving Marcia a sound thrashing on her bare bottom. The old soldier had certainly seemed pleased with the performance. Marcia had been obliged to take off her skirt and knickers in front of the colonel, and then, naked from the waist down, had been bent across the well-stuffed arm of the sofa. Marcia’s bare bottom had still borne the marks of Laura’s swagger stick and the belt, but that did not deter the vicar who showed no mercy as he proceeded to give his daughter a very severe caning. The colonel had certainly enjoyed the episode, even if Marcia had not been so happy as her father’s rod of correction repeatedly cracked against her bared buttocks. She had thoroughly shamed herself, wildly kicking her legs and writhing outrageously, unable in her anguish to control her contortions despite being all too aware of the very open display she unwillingly gave the old soldier of the most intimate parts of her body. Afterwards she’d had to stand sobbing in the corner and endure listening to the colonel describe to her father how: “—every time the lad Noble stumbled into your daughter, he prodded her bum with his cock, which was as stiff as a poker, dammit – Ha! Poked her with his poker! What!”

The vicar primly ignored Colonel Dashforth’s suggestive wink. The vicar believed in baring young bodies for proper chastisement, but disliked any suggestion that there could be any ulterior, less righteous motive than conforming to God’s ordinance. The colonel’s earthy humour and vulgar vocabulary were not to his taste and he was not sure that such close bodily contact between youngsters of the opposite sex was altogether desirable.

“I’m pleased the Welkins have become involved with the church,” the vicar commented giving his thin-lipped smile as he deftly changed the subject. “They have enrolled their children in the choir.”

“Yes, Monody came round and recruited Rowena too,” said the colonel.

* * *

Mr Hubert Monody, organist and choirmaster of the church at Wormsford St Cuthbert, was deep in thought. From his seat in the organ loft, he had seen the vicar strip and beat his four children that fateful Sunday. That demonstration had set in motion all the changes in the village. Since then more than three quarters of the local parents had followed the vicar’s example and now regularly beat their children for the least offence – or often no offence at all. Now Mr Monody was thinking how the new ways could be put to use in his own sphere of responsibility – the choir.

Mr Monody was proud of the choir. He chose the children carefully – almost as much for their voices as their good looks. All the children – boys and girls – were aged between nine and thirteen. The senior choirboy was Paul Noble whose voice had not yet broken. Mr Monody was pleased about this as the boy had the voice of an angel as well as looking like one. He had heard of Paul’s humiliating and painful experiences at the cadets’ drill practice. The fastidious Mr Monody shuddered. He disliked all that noise and aggression – so vulgar. However, the idea of baring and spanking a few juvenile bottoms definitely had its appeal. He was sure the vicar would approve.

Mr Monody looked over his little band of children in the church hall, which was close by the vicarage. The vicar’s four children were normally members – they had been relieved from duty on the day of their public thrashings – but Matthew had recently left as his maturing voice had become unpredictable. But now Mr Monody had some new recruits as the Welkin children and Rowena Dashforth had been compelled to join. He was particularly pleased with these conscripts as they maintained – or even improved – the overall standard of good looks of the young choristers. Now he had to begin their training.

“The most important thing is to know how to breathe,” Mr Monody lectured, “so I’ll start with you three newcomers. David and Charlotte: take off everything you’re wearing above your waists.”

The brother and sister looked uncomfortable but obediently removed their shirts and jumpers, although Charlotte blushed as she bared her chest. At ten, she had very little to show, but she nonetheless disliked being made to expose her nipples to the boys and the choirmaster.

“Now,” Mr Monody said, putting his hand on David’s stomach, “breathe in – hold – and out. In – hold – out. Breathe from your tummy, boy, not your chest. Now you, Charlotte: In – hold – out.”

Charlotte was nervous as the choirmaster pressed his clammy hand on her rounded stomach. She twitched instinctively as his touch tickled her sensitive skin.

“Stop jumping about, child, and concentrate!” Mr Monody snapped.

Charlotte did her best, but being tense took short, shallow gasps.

“No, no, no!” Mr Monody shouted, making Charlotte jump nervously. “Keep still!” Mr Monody yelled again. “Breathe from low down, girl, as I am telling you.” To demonstrate his instruction he thrust his hand into the waistband of her skirt so that the palm pushed hard against her lower belly and her fingers curved over the front of her panties. As wide-eyed Charlotte felt Mr Monody’s, insistent fingers press against the line of her vulva through the crotch of her knickers she gave a shocked strong inhalation of breath.

“That’s more like it,” encouraged the choirmaster, as he continued to touch her through the thin material. “Let out all the air and breathe in deeply again.”

Desperately trying to stop herself from squirming in reaction to Mr Monody’s intimately rubbing fingers, Charlotte expelled all the air from her small lungs and took another long breath.

“Much better,” the choirmaster encouraged her, and much to her relief he removed his hand.

Poor Rowena had watched Charlotte’s ordeal anxiously. Ever since her Aunt Deirdre had bathed her, she had been denied a bra. If – or rather, as she knew in her heart, when – Mr Monody instructed her to take her top off she would be just as bare as little Charlotte, but she had more to show, being twelve and starting to be attractively developed. So as the choirmaster turned his attention to her she stammered desperately, “P-Please Mr Monody, don’t make me take my top things off.”

“Don’t be silly, Rowena, stop wasting time, unless you want me to smack your bottom,” Mr Monody said, his eyes gleaming.

Rowena was becoming used to recognising the inevitable and so she sniffed miserably as she shamefacedly slipped off her shirt to expose her bare chest. The boys shuffled their feet to get a better view and stared excitedly at Rowena’s small breasts. Marcia sneered spitefully and felt a thrill of satisfaction at seeing her rival twelve-year-old embarrassed. After her own recent humiliations, Marcia was glad to see someone else shamed. Mr Monody put a damp hand on Rowena’s tummy and she struggled against her revulsion. “Breathe in – hold – out,” he intoned, keeping a close eye on the rhythmic rise and fall of the twelve-year-old’s small breasts. Yet, despite the fascination of Rowena’s little tits, Mt Monody did not allow himself to become hypnotised by the delightful sight. Instead, he pretended to be dissatisfied by the girl’s steady respiration and used this as an excuse to further humiliate and abuse the girl. As he had done with little Charlotte, the choirmaster put the heel of his left hand below Rowena’s belly button and slipped his fingers below the waist of her skirt and extended them over the crotch of her knickers. But not content with this, he also brought up his right hand to cup her breast.

Unfortunately for Rowena, the recent rush of hormones that had initiated the current changes in her pubescent girl’s body had also made her ultra sensitive to the slightest stimulation. So that despite her abhorrence of the leering choirmaster’s handling of her fresh young body, she could not help herself reacting to his touch. He nipple rose stiffly and prodded its hard point into the choirmaster’s palm. Much worse was to follow though as she felt a thrill of unwanted pleasure shiver through her body as Mr Monody’s fingertips caressed her slit and she felt her juices start to flow.

Mr Monody was shocked as he felt the front of Rowena’s panties begin to dampen and his fingers slid more easily over the lubricated gusset of her knickers. He glanced at her lovely face glowing hotly and transfixed with horror at the reflex response of her treacherous body.

“You disgusting girl!” Mr Monody said severely, and emphasised his outrage by cruelly pinching Rowena’s erect, blood engorged and highly sensitive nipple.

“Ouch!” Rowena squealed in agony, but at least her tormentor let her alone after that.

“Now, let’s hear you beginners sing – no, leave your top things off, I want to see your chests to – um – to see you’re breathing properly. Rowena, you begin,” said Mr Monody, returning to his proper duty. He played a note on the piano. “Now sing,” he commanded, and by some miracle, the note came sweetly.

“Now you Charlotte: Ahhh,” Mr Monody demonstrated.

“Ahhh,” came Charlotte’s tuneful treble.

“Good. Now you, David: Ahhh.”

“Aough,” David moaned.

“No, no, no! You sound like a frog croaking.”

“It’s not my fault I can’t sing,” David protested.

“Be quiet, boy,”

“I never wanted to join the stupid choir anyway,” David muttered sullenly.

“That’s enough of your insolence,” Mr Monody snapped, seeing his chance. He grabbed the eleven-year-old boy and quickly undid his shorts and pulled them down, closely followed by his underpants. The girls snatched a glimpse of his penis before Mr Monody pulled him over his knee and began to give his bare bottom a sound spanking. The other boys and – especially – the girls watched wide-eyed as the choirmaster enthusiastically smacked the eleven-year-old’s upturned cheeks. It was not long before David was yipping at every smack as he squirmed helplessly across Mr Monody’s knees. Soon the yips turned to yells and he kicked his legs wildly as his bottom became super-heated from the repetitive slaps. The girls gazed at his jigging bag of balls between his threshing thighs and felt themselves go hot. Rowena’s damp panties became wetter.

At last, Mr Monody let David go and the boy leapt to his feet and danced around the church hall clutching his bright red bottom despite the fascinated scrutiny of the gawking girls as his willy flapped and flopped. Hot tears of pain and shame coursed down his face. After a bit he thought to pull up his underpants, but Mr Monody callously told him to leave them where they were. “I may need to spank you again,” he threatened.

Mr Monody returned his attention to the other children. “Lucy,” he said to the vicar’s younger daughter, “you sing the note.” Lucy was usually a very good singer, but she was still quite breathless from all the excitement. She did quite well, but not well enough for Mr Monody. “Your breathing is all wrong, Lucy,” he frowned. I’d better look at your chest. Lucy blushed hotly. Although about a year older than her friend Charlotte, she had still little enough to show, but she still hated revealing it. But she knew better than to argue and meekly took off her dress. She was still too undeveloped for a bra, but she was very conscious of the boys staring at the twin bumps that marked her budding breasts. There she stood wearing nothing but shoes, socks and panties and feeling really stupid. She shuddered as she felt Mr Monody put his damp hand on her tummy. Once again, he went through the ritual breathing exercises, but being wary of the vicar’s reaction should he hear of it, did not touch young Lucy as intimately as he had Charlotte and Rowena. Nonetheless, Lucy remained tense and appeared to Mr Monody to be stubborn. “No, no, no,” he snapped, thoroughly exasperated, “Breathe from here!” And he poked his fingers sharply into the little girl’s tummy.

It was not Lucy’s fault that she had been given baked beans for breakfast. Neither was she to blame that her healthy digestive system had converted them partly into gas that now sat in a pocket in her colon, nor for the fact that Mr Monody prodded just this spot. But the consequence was that little Lucy now let rip with a ripe snorter that tore the silence and fouled the air.

Lucy was mortified; nice little girls did not fart in public. And as children of the church, she and her brothers and sister were expected to set a good example of proper behaviour.

Mr Monody wrinkled his refined nostrils in repugnance. “You disgusting little girl! How dare you be so insolent! You need a lesson in good manners and I am perfectly prepared to give it to you!”

As he had done with David, Mr Monody grasped Lucy’s arm, though in her case as she was already undressed he had only to pull down her panties before swinging her over his knees. This time it was the boys who strained their eyes for a glimpse of the little girl’s private part. Once Lucy was in position, Mr Monody began a speedy spanking of her little bottom. Sadly for the child, her wind filled bowel was pushed against the choirmaster’s leg and what with this and her distressed struggles, frequent blasts of breaking wing were a constant accompaniment to the rattling percussion of slaps and shrill soprano shrieks as the spanking continued.

Bella Minden was next. She was a plumply pretty nine-year-old with a cloud of auburn waves. She was often inclined to be giggly and now the nervous excitement engendered first by seeing a boy – A BOY – as good as naked and soundly spanked, followed by the vicar’s daughter farting furiously while she had her bare bottom tanned had set her off and she could no more sing the note played by the choirmaster than she could walk on water. Her round face burned bright red and her amiable features were contorted with effort. She desperately gasped for breath, but all that came from her mouth were uncontrollable giggles. Mr Monody bent Bella – still giggling – across his knees. He pushed back her skirt and pulled off her lime green knickers and spanked her chubby cheeks until the hilarity turned to squeals of pain and then wails of anguish. And still he kept spanking. Finally, he let the fat little girl roll off his lap onto the floor where she knelt holding her hot bottom and howling loudly.

“Get up!” ordered Mr Monody. The girl scrambled to her feet. Mr Monody quickly whipped off her skirt and Bella’s cries increased. “Go and stand over there next to David and Lucy,” Mr Monody told her, “and put your hands on your head.”

Mr Monody looked at the children he had so far dealt with. David Welkin stood naked apart from the bundle of clothes around his ankles. His sister Charlotte was bare-chested, as was Rowena. Lucy Shore was wearing only shoes, socks and panties around her knees and Bella Minden was pretty well bare from the waist down. So far so good.

Mr Monody turned to the grinning Tommy Treadle who had a cheeky face and an even cheekier bottom. The freckle-faced lad was always up to mischief and Mr Monody had often longed to spank the eleven-year-old’s roundly muscled bottom that stretched the seat of his shorts. “Tommy,” Mr Monody said, “Now you sing the note.”

“Ahhh,” Tommy sang, irritatingly perfect, but then spoilt his success by grinning triumphantly, pushing both thumbs in the air and yelling “Yeah!” while jubilantly swaying his hips.

This was just too much provocation for Mr Monody who shouted, “How dare you! You are not on the football field now! Take those shorts down. No, take them right off.”

With an air of bravado, Tommy took off his shorts.

“And your underpants, you stupid boy,” the choirmaster ordered sharply, disguising his excitement as irritation.

Tommy’s tee shirt only came to the top of his hips so after he had obeyed he stood with his dick plainly displayed. The other kids looked at it. It was hairless, of course, but remarkably thick and long for so young a boy. Despite his undignified semi-nudity, Tommy did his best to look composed. This coolness exasperated Mr Monody; the boy needed shaking up. He had an idea.

“Marcia, go over to the vicarage and present my compliments to your father and ask if I may borrow a cane.”

The snooty girl eagerly obeyed the instruction. She hurried the short distance to the vicarage. Tommy Treadle was going to get his bare bottom caned. What fun! Marcia thought, enjoying herself. She knew she could sing more than well enough to keep out of trouble and was certainly not going to misbehave. Meanwhile the other kids were getting what for! She went into the house and followed the sound of her father’s voice to the drawing room and went in.

Marcia gasped with delighted surprise at the scene inside. Mr and Mrs Hill were sitting on the sofa with their eight-year-old daughter between them. In two other armchairs were Mr and Mrs Beadle. On another chair, next to her father, lay one of his canes. In the corner of the room, crying loudly, was her brother, Matthew. His wrists were strapped together and he stood on tiptoe, stretched from where his bound hands were attached to an S hook that was clipped over the wooden picture rail. He was without his trousers or underpants and his shirt was rolled up under his armpits so that he was bare from his shoulder blades to his ankle socks. His bottom and the backs of his legs were laced with a web of weals. Clearly, he had been given a very sound thrashing. “Well, better him than me,” thought Marcia, whose day seemed to be improving by the minute. She wondered what he had done to deserve it.

* * *

Earlier in the day, Matthew had been wandering around the village when he passed the Beadles’ garden. He thoroughly disliked the sanctimonious old couple who were pillars of his father’s congregation, and had been eager onlookers on the Sunday of the children’s famous naked caning. A few minutes earlier he had seen the pair walking to the pillar box to post a letter, so now, knowing the Beadles were out, Matthew decided on some mischievous revenge. On the patio was a table on which stood a jug of water with ice cubes and slices of lemon floating in it awaiting the Beadles’ return. Matthew glanced around to check the coast was clear before he scrambled over the fence and ran across to the table. He emptied about half the water onto a flowerbed then unzipped his trousers, took out his recently lengthened cock, hooked the round circumcised head over the rim of the jug and pissed into it until the level was restored. He popped his willy back into his trousers and looked at his concoction. It was rather more yellow than before, but he hoped the lemon would disguise that. With a satisfied grin, he quickly retreated from the scene of his crime.

Matthew was unlucky on two counts: first that Annie Hill was sitting in a leafy tree overlooking the Beadle’s garden and second that the 8-year-old was just the sort of child to tell tales. Annie was one of the minority of children in the village who were not spanked. “Our Annie’s much to good,” declared her indulgent parents. “She always reports any wrongdoing among the other children.” Little Annie justified their smug confidence now when she informed on Matthew’s disgusting prank to her parents, who told the Beadles, who thus avoided the stomach-churning brew. Then all five went up to the vicarage to report Matthew to his father. There they were comfortably seated in the drawing room until Matthew’s return when he was called in. He was tried, convicted and sentenced in about seven seconds.

“Take your trousers and underpants off,” the vicar ordered furiously, “You are going to get a real beating, you disgusting boy.”

Matthew glared daggers at Annie, then, somehow managing to be both hot with shame and cold with dread, he quickly pulled off his trousers; moments later he slid off his underpants.

“Tuck your shirt right up,” commanded the vicar.

Matthew obeyed so that the vital area around his middle was utterly exposed. The starchy Mrs Beadle poked her beaky nose towards Matthews’s groin in surprisingly obvious attention exceeded only by the goggle-eyed, open-mouthed stare of Annie. She had enjoyed seeing Matthew’s willy from the distance as he had peed into the jug, but this close up view was even better. Mrs Hill smiled at the young boy’s penis, remembering her own brothers when they had been spanked and she had been her father’s spoilt pet. Even the two men looked on with interest.

“Fetch across that chair,“ ordered the stern father. Matthew obeyed, carrying the heavy, high-backed upright chair to the centre of the room. “I am going to give you eight strokes—” the vicar informed him. Matthew felt a rush of surprise and relief. Eight would hurt, but he had expected at least a dozen for his foul crime. But his father had not yet finished, “—after which Mr and Mrs Beadle will each give you another eight. Now bend over the back and put your head on the seat.”

Matthew’s heart lurched into his stomach. Eighteen! And in that position! The high back of the mahogany chair meant that even though Matthew had recently grown taller, his feet would still have to leave the floor when he bent over it in the way his unforgiving father instructed. He heaved himself up and tipped forward until his head touched the flat seat then reached for the bar joining the front legs of the chair. The vicar took his son’s wrists and positioned them either side of the bar, after which he strapped them together so that the boy could not pull away when in the extreme throes of his punishment.

Matthew’s feet hung about eighteen inches from the floor. It was a horribly uncomfortable position with the top bar of the back of the chair pressing against his tummy. It also left him utterly helpless and exposed — especially once he started kicking his legs, as he knew he would.

The vicar took up his position alongside his son. The five members of the audience were suitably arranged so that they could see the boy’s bare buttocks and legs. The vicar raised his arm and the cane swooped down to land with a ferocious “CRACK” across the middle of the lad’s roundly muscular cheeks. Matthew tried to stifle a yell. There was a longish pause while the pain sank in, then the cane flashed down again.

Little Annie stared transfixed as the red weals flared across Matthew’s pale bottom. The flesh pinched and rippled under the impact of the rattan rod. Despite himself, the boy jumped and jerked with every blow. Annie felt an excitement greater than she had ever known as she watched wide-eyed. A scorching heat pressed against her, seeming almost to suffocate and she gasped for air, suddenly short of breath. Sweat sprang from every pore, sticking her clothes to her plump little body. She squirmed in her seat.

Sitting next to Annie her mother was aware of the child’s excitement. She didn’t blame the girl for she too was aroused. As the cane continued to crack down Matthew cried out and wildly kicked his legs, exposing his scrotum and dangling penis. Both mother and daughter felt a new surge of stimulation. Mrs Hill remembered her brothers behaving in the same way as she had viewed them through the years, their little naked willies maturing into long, thick, hairy pricks. But even then, they had yelled and struggled under her father’s cane. Young Matthew didn’t yet have any hair, she had noted with interest when he had undressed his lower half, though he was advanced enough for his cock to be a respectable length. Circumcised too, she had observed, which neither of her brothers had been.

The Reverend Daniel Shore finished his allotment of eight and passed the cane on to Mr Beadle. That gentleman, stoutly self-important, moved into position beside the unlucky lad. “Let this be a lesson to you, my boy,” he said pompously before thrashing the cane across Matthew’s already well-striped rear. Matthew yelled and kept on yelling as the sweating, red-faced churchwarden beat his buttocks and frenziedly flailing legs. Marjory Hill, watching the show, felt her panties dampening. She would have to send Annie to a friend’s house when this was over, she decided, so that her husband, Mike, could urgently satisfy the erotic lust the display had aroused.

Mr Beadle completed his eight and passed the rattan on to his wife, who in contrast to her portly husband was tall and stick thin. She took the cane in her claw-like hand. “You disgusting boy,” she said contemptuously, “You thoroughly deserve this for your venomous escapade and I shall show you no mercy.” True to her word, Mrs Beadle swung her skinny arm with surprising vigour, lashing the lad’s inflamed cheeks and thighs with obvious enjoyment.

Eight-year-old Annie squirmed her fat little bottom more frenetically against the cushions of the sofa. What she really wanted to do was sit astride the arm and madly rub herself along it to somehow cure this overpowering itch that now seemed to possess her apparently swollen private parts, but she realised that such rude behaviour would be unacceptable in the vicar’s drawing room.

At last, Mrs Beadles’ enthusiastic task ended and it seemed the active part of Matthew’s punishment seemed over, although the pain would continue for much, much longer. But at this point Mrs Hill intervened on behalf of her daughter. “Vicar, as Annie was responsible for saving Mr and Mrs Beadle from your son’s noxious brew and bringing him to justice, surely she too should be entitled to administer some punishment.”

The vicar frowned. He liked to be in control of events and objected to others challenging his authority with ideas of their own. Also, he disapproved of the spoilt Annie Hill and of what he considered her parents’ leniency. In his view, all children were the better for frequent chastisement. Nonetheless, the idea had its attractions, and when Mrs Beadle chirped up in support, he accepted it. “But she shall give Matthew only four strokes,” he decided, though this seemingly merciful stipulation was only to re-establish his authority, not to protect his son’s hide.

So stout little Annie, her chubby face red and shining from excitement and stage fright, stepped forward and was handed the cane. Her fat little arm swung rather wildly, but she managed to strike more or less on target. Normally Matthew could have easily withstood the small girl’s puny assault, but now with his bottom already severely welted from the canings he had endured even the lightest touch was agony. So the boy yelled loudly at the swat. Encouraged by this success, Annie’s eyes sparkled as she swept the cane down twice more. After this, sobbing Matthew was made to stand facing his judges for a further lecture from his father before being ordered to stand in the corner.

So it was that Marcia arrived on the scene and saw her soundly thrashed brother standing bare-bottomed in the corner while her father, four rather flushed adults and an obviously over-excited little girl looked on. Immediately the reverend Daniel Shore turned his attention to his daughter.

“Marcia! What are you doing here?” he demanded, checking his watch, “You should still be at choir practice with Mr Monody.”

“Yes, Father,” Marcia replied primly with a smug little smirk, “but Mr Monody sent me over to ask if he might borrow a cane.”

“What!” bellowed the vicar, “Another child of mine misbehaving? How dare you girl! Your brother has just had a good beating and now you shall have the same!”

“N—no, Father,” Marcia stammered in protest, horrified at the sudden unexpected turn of events

“No! How dare you! I’ll teach you to argue with me, girl. Take your skirt and knickers off this instant.”

A lifetime of twelve years of fearful submission to her father’s commands made Marcia instantly obey. Her fingers unzipped her skirt and seconds later she was sliding her panties down her bare legs.

The audience leaned forward as Marcia bared her bottom and groin. Mr Hill and Mr Beadle eagerly eyed the girl's pubis. Although a year younger than her brother, the girl’s naturally speedier development meant she had recently grown a small patch of crinkly hair in this area, though not enough really to conceal the vertical slit. Little Annie looked with interest here too. She knew that older girls and women had hair down there, of course, but had never seen anyone as her mother liked her privacy, so to be able to view the intimate parts of the vicar’s priggish daughter was very exciting. But all, men, women and child, also stared at Marcia’s plumply prominent bottom.

The reverend Daniel Shore picked up the cane and cut the air with a swish. The violent action and fearsome sound shook Marcia from her trance like compliance.

“P-please Father,” she said sputtered urgently, “the cane is not for me. Mr Monody wanted it for Tommy Treadle.”

The audience of four adults and a child felt definitely deflated at this news. But the reverend Daniel Shore was not a man to be thwarted by such a minor thing as his child’s innocence.

“What!” he exclaimed angrily. “Why didn’t you say so at once, you stupid girl, instead of making an exhibition of yourself in front of all these people. I’ve a good mind to thrash you for your idiotic behaviour. In fact, I shall. Perhaps a few sharp strokes of the cane will cure your nonsense. Come here, bend over and touch your toes!”

The spectators stirred with renewed interest. When Marcia had blurted out her defence it had seemed she was going to be let off, but now the girl was miserably moving in front of where they sat. They saw her normally conceited features now burn bright red from shame before she turned to bend her bottom over towards them.

Marcia could have wept with vexation. Why should she be in this humiliating posture awaiting painful punishment when she had done nothing wrong? She could almost feel the hot eyes of the onlookers burning into her. But then reality blazed as the first searing slash of agony burst across her buttocks. Her whole body spasmed, but she managed to stay in position with her fingertips to her toes. She did not want to antagonise her irascible parent further. A second streak of pain flashed across her taut cheeks. She yelped sharply and jumped again. She knew her bent bottom must be jerking and could imaginer the smiles of the spectators. How she hated them! Especially that little brat Annie Hill— Ouch! A third line of fire flared against Marcia’s bottom. Tears stung her eyes, but she knew she must not cry or the other kids in the choir would know she’d been beaten. But now her father was speaking – telling her to stand up. Relief flooded her – she’d got off lightly. Lightly! What was she thinking of? She had a sore bottom when she had done nothing wrong!

Marcia turned to face her father for the inevitable lecture. Despite wanting to gently rub her bottom and cover her crotch, she kept her hands strictly to her sides while her father delivered his homily. She could feel the gaze of the five privileged guests boring into her body, but there was nothing to be done about that.

At last, her father told her to get dressed. Gingerly, she pulled on her knickers, easing them over her sore buttocks as Mr Hill chuckled at her discomfort. Then she hooked and zipped her skirt. Nervously, she asked her father for the cane and he passed it over. She hurried back to the church hall, screwing up her face against the pain as her bottom cheeks jostled, but determinedly composing her features as she went through the door.

“Where on earth have you been?” Mr Monody demanded angrily

“Sorry, sir,” Marcia answered in her most polite manner, “But my father was busy. Mr and Mrs Beadle were there.” This had the benefit of being the truth, just in case he checked, but she did not want anyone to know she had been caned again.

“Hm,” grunted Mr Monody, exasperated by the delay. But he was more interested in thrashing Tommy Treadle than in investigating Marcia’s uncharacteristic tardiness. He took the cane from Marcia and turned towards the boy. Tommy put on a ‘tough kid’ face, but could not quite hide his apprehension. “Right, boy, bend over and touch your toes,” instructed the choirmaster.

Tommy bent, stretching his leg muscles. Although the classic pose for a caning, it is difficult and uncomfortable to maintain for any length of time and so another level was added to Tommy’s torment. Mr Monody tapped Tommy’s roundly muscular cheeks and drew back his arm. The cane swooped down with a whirring whistle and cracked loudly against the youngster’s unprotected flesh. He jerked slightly and gasped. Mr Monody kept his face straight, but smiled inwardly. He would break this boy’s defiance before he’d finished!

The cane flashed down again, leaving a second crimson weal alongside the first. Some of the watching children winced, but most watched avidly as their fellow chorister was beaten. Among the keenest eyes were those of Marcia who despite the soreness of her own bottom felt not a shred of sympathy for the suffering boy and was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of seeing him soundly thrashed.

A third, fourth, fifth and sixth stroke thwacked across Tommy’s bottom cheeks. By now his buttocks were well covered with red lines some of which overlaid each other, and Tommy’s response to each new cut of the cane demonstrated his ever more obvious distress. His gasps had given way to sharp yelps of agony and his body jumped desperately at every sizzling stroke. But Mr Monody was not stopping yet. The cane continued to strike the boy’s sorely inflamed flesh, pounding battered nerve endings that already screamed their messages of agony to Tommy’s overloaded brain.

Eight – Nine – Ten: Tommy was yelling unrestrainedly now, all attempt at putting on a brave face overcome by the repeated lines of fire being branded on his bum. He was crying too: real tears pouring from his eyes and dripping onto the dusty floor. The other choristers were shocked as well as excited by the performance. If Mr Monody could make Tommy Treadle cry what hope was there for the rest of them?

Mr Monody put down the cane and told Tommy he could stand up. The howling boy obeyed, delicately clutching his well-striped bottom as he hopped in agony from foot to foot, his precociously long, thick cock swinging from side to side. The other choristers stared open-mouthed, but their director had already lost interest in Tommy and was looking for fresh victims. First of these was David Welkin whom Mr Monody told to bend over in place of Tommy.

But sir,” David protested indignantly, “You’ve already spanked me!”

“And now I’m going to cane you, boy! Stop your insolent arguing and bend over.”

Miserably, David took up the required position, bending his bright red bum towards the other children. Mr Monody gave him ‘only’ six strokes and did not lay them on so hard as he had done for Tommy, but on an already tender bottom they hurt horrendously and David was yelling and crying well before the final stroke.

“Lucy, come over here and bend over,” Mr Monody instructed as David did his jig of pain. The vicar’s pretty younger daughter obeyed without question and presented her cute crimson bottom to the rod of correction. Six swishy strokes later, she too was wailing loudly and skipping in anguish without a thought to how her antics entertained the lucky spectators.

Poor Bella was already crying, knowing that she was next feel the yard of rattan beat against her bottom. But tears were not going to soften the choirmaster’s heart – far from it! Rather the nine-year-old girl’s distress inspired him. The fat little girl had to bend her hot bottom for his determined attentions and he thrashed her soundly regardless of her howls. Then she too was allowed up to do her dance of pain.

Marcia continued to enjoy watching the canings. She had taken particular pleasure in seeing Lucy thrashed. She had no sisterly sympathy for the little girl, who she knew to be both prettier and more popular than she, and was glad to see her sibling rival beaten and howling with pain.

“Right, you four can stop your silly crying; it is time for singing, ” Mr Monody said briskly. Desperately the punished quartet struggled to stifle their tears, knowing that to continue was to invite further chastisement. And so, after a few minutes they were more or less dry-eyed although still very definitely sore-bottomed.

Beating the four children had raised Mr Monody’s spirits to the point of elation. He felt inspired. So now, he separated the choristers into two groups, girls to one side of the hall and boys to the other. Once this division was completed, Mr Monody dropped his bombshell.

“Pay attention,” he announced. “I want to make certain that you are all maintaining the correct posture while you are singing and the best way to see that is for you to be naked. So all of you take off your clothes – now!”

The children looked at their choirmaster in shocked horror, but none more so than Marcia. For not only did she not want to expose herself in front of the others, but as her throbbing bottom constantly reminded her, she had the marks of her recent caning on her buttocks. So, knowing there was no escape from taking her clothes off, she backed up towards the wall, hoping to hide her welted rear. Some hope! Mr Monody’s eyes ran keenly over all the children, but he paid even closer attention to bare bodies of the girls, and of these, he stared hardest at nude forms of Rowena and Marcia.

“What’s this?” he demanded angrily, pulling Marcia from her illusory concealment.

The vicar’s daughter yelped in alarm and despair as Mr Monody grabbed her arm and pulled her into the middle of the room. He twisted and turned the struggling girl so that she could be seen from all sides, but he was paying particular heed to her backside.

“So this is why you were late returning from your father!” he exclaimed. “You misbehaved and he had to punish you!”

“No!” Marcia protested, “It wasn’t like that I—”

“Liar!” Mr Monody shouted, slapping Marcia’s sore bottom so that she cried out with pain. “These are fresh weals on your buttocks – are you trying to tell me that your father did not cane you?”

“No, but—”

“Exactly,” the choirmaster declared in triumph, “not only did you keep me waiting, but you lied about it just as you are trying to lie now. Well perhaps another six of the best across your naughty bottom will improve your behaviour!”

“Ooooh” Marcia groaned in misery. How could this be happening to her? She was a good girl. How could life be so unfair! Desperately she turned her eyes left and right as if seeking support from her companions, but all she saw on their faces was sadistic glee. And to add to her horror she saw that Tommy Treadle, David Welkin and even little Malcolm Langley, who was only nine, had erections at the sight of her nudity and the prospect of her beating.

“Still trying to be tardy!” Mr Monody declared scornfully. “Bend over now!”

Sobbing with fear and frustration, Marcia bent over for second time in half an hour for an undeserved caning. But to have the young girl touching her toes was not enough now for Mr Monody.

“Stretch your legs and put your hands on the floor,” he ordered.

Hot blood flooded Marcia’s face as she obeyed this mortifying command, but even this was still not sufficient humiliation for the cruel choirmaster.

“Wider than that,” he insisted, “I want your palms flat to the floor.

Weeping with shame, Marcia opened her legs further and stretched forward so that the weight of her upper body rested on her hands and her body made an arch with the nipples of her small breasts pointing towards the floorboards and her already striped bottom stuck humiliatingly high up in the air.

Mr Monody was delighted with ignominious pose adopted under duress by the vicar’s haughty daughter. He turned to the other children who were staring in open-mouthed wonder at the customarily conceited choirgirl now brought so low. He saw that all the boys now sported stiff willies – even Marcia’s brother Jonathan and the refined and virtuous Paul Noble. He smiled and turned back to his victim. He extended the cane like a pointer and ran the length of rattan along the line of Marcia’s lightly thatched labia. The horrified girl shivered in disgust at this intimately intrusive assault on her personal modesty, but she was in no position to protest and so was forced to suffer in silence.

Mr Monody removed the cane from touching Marcia’s sexual groove and instead waved it at the awestruck audience of children. “This will be the position you shall take up whenever I have to cane any of you in future,” he announced, “ so mark it well.” Then, unusually for him, the choirmaster ventured a joke. “Just as I am now going to mark this naughty girl’s bottom well!”

The watching children tittered nervously in response and Mr Monody turned his full attention to Marcia. He drew back his arm so that the tip of the cane pointed back over his right shoulder, and then brought his hand swiftly forward and down so that the business end of the length of rattan, having to move a greater distance through an arc, travelled at a much increased speed and cracked viciously across the stretched cheeks of the helplessly positioned choirgirl. Marcia screamed in agony as the rod thwacked across one of the weals that already marked her bottom from her father’s earlier caning. Mr Monody smiled with sadistic satisfaction and after a long cruel pause; he raised his hand high again before bringing the whippy stick flashing down once more to whack against the girl’s quivering buttocks. Marcia screamed again. And kept on screaming as the choirmaster continued to crack the cane across her cringing cheeks.

At last, when Mr Monody had laid on the full half dozen strokes, he ordered the howling girl to get up. Marcia struggled to her feet and skipped inelegantly as she tried to ease the anguish of her bruised and battered bottom. This caused her companions some cruel amusement. But then, because Marcia was making such a racket and Mr Monody wanted to continue the singing lesson, he tied her hands behind her back and instructed her to go and stand outside in the porch. And there poor Marcia stayed for the remainder of the choir practice. The verger, who happened to be passing on his duties, decided to stay and tidy the porch and had the most enjoyable hour’s work of his career.

But all was not finished yet. At the end of the choir practice, Mr Monody wrote notes that he handed to the children he had punished, to be passed on to their parents. So all five children found themselves in trouble again when they got home. Tommy Treadle was beaten with his father’s belt; David Welkin got a lengthy leathering from his mother’s strap; Bella Minden spent ten minutes over her mum’s lap being spanked with a hairbrush; and Marcia and Lucy Shore were both given another six strokes of their father’s cane.

Remember: Real children are precious and fragile. Please always treat them with kindness and respect.