| Subject: FATHER GERALD |
Author:
Ozzy
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Date Posted: 09:55:32 05/30/09 Sat
My name is William, I'm sixteen. I live in Nottingham (England)with my Mum, stepdad and sister, Gina.
I'm very ashamed of myself for what I do Friday nights after Gina goes out.
I sneak into her room and get a pair of her panties. I know people would say I'm kinky for doing it, but I can't seem to help myself. I lie in my bedroom thinking about it and longing for it, while she's taking for ever making up and getting dressed to go out.
At last, when she's gone through the front door, I quickly fetch a pair of her knickers back to my own bedroom. I just love the feeling of having girls' briefs tight against my bum. I look in the mirror and see myself wearing them - especially I like to see the rear view. I stand facing away from the mirror and twist my head around so I can see my bare, smooth legs and where the panties curve tight around my bum.
I get very excited and you can imagine how I have to relieve my arousal in front of the mirror.
Afterwards I feel ashamed. I clean up the dressing table, pull my own boxers back on and put the panties back where they belong.
I feel so ashamed about my kinky problem that I decided to confide in one of my old junior school teachers - Father Gerald. When my class went up to senior school he told us we could always go back to him with our problems.
Father Gerald is a strict but friendly Irish priest in charge of a small parish near here, and also a part-time teacher. He said I was a bad boy for playing with myself, and a very bad boy for wearing girls' pants. He said I should have a good hiding for it, but he couldn't do it himself because teachers can't use the cane any more. He told me to pray every night and try to stop doing it.
But I didn't pray hard enough and I still kept doing the bad things every Friday night. I went to Father Gerald again and he said he would try to cure me another way. He called it humiliation. He told me to wear the panties under my school trousers for a week and to visit him after school every day.
When I got to his classroom in the junior school after everybody had gone home, Father Gerald made me stand on a chair facing the corner of the room, with my hands on my head. Then he undid my belt and pulled my trousers down to my ankles. He made me stand like that for twenty minutes as he sat at his desk marking classwork. He asked me whether I felt ashamed and humiliated with my trousers down and wearing girls' pants. I said I was glad no-one else could see me. To make it more humiliating for me he eventually pulled the panties down as well, just as far as my thighs, and made me stay standing on the chair with my bare bum on view. Some nights he made me turn to face the room, which was more shaming still - standing on a chair facing Father Gerald with Gina's pants around my thighs, trying not to get aroused. But I know he did it for my own good.
Despite all the shame and humiliation through the week, when Friday came around I still couldn't resist the urgent temptation to do it again, wearing Gina's silkiest pants.
Feeling very down about it, I confessed to Father Gerald what I had done despite his endeavours. He told me only a good hiding would help me, but only private schools can still use the cane. He suggested I should ask my Dad to give me a good thrashing. But of course I did not want to tell my Dad what I'd been doing on Friday nights - I knew I needed a thrashing and my stepdad would give me a good one, but Mum and Gina would get to know.
Father Gerald decided what to do. He enrolled me for the private Bible lessons he gives at his parish presbytery on Saturday afternoons. Mum and Dad were pleased and I enjoyed learning more about the Bible. I almost forgot why I was there, that first time. But after the lesson when the other students had gone, Father Gerald placed a chair by the wall and showed me the cane. He said it was twenty years since he'd used it.
"As this is to be your first caning, William, you'll have the first six across your trousers," Father Gerald informed me.
I bent myself over the back of the chair, which had obviously been put there for the purpose, and tightly gripped the seat. I've had a few hidings off my stepdad's belt, but this was to be my first taste of the cane. Father Gerald knew how to make it hurt. I gasped in pain every time he lashed it across my bottom. After six strokes I was told to get up and take my trousers down, and my pants. Father Gerald said he would wait until I was ready to bend over for more punishment. I was glad of that, but I knew I was there for a well-deserved beating so I soon decided to bend over again.
Father Gerald lifted the tails of my white, school shirt up over my back to expose my naked bottom. The next six strokes across my bare bum were much more painful. It was a struggle to keep composed.
"You've much more punishment to come," announced the Father, "but I want you to stand up and face me for the next six."
I felt ashamed standing there with my trousers and pants around my ankles, and my white school shirt hardly covering me at the front, while Father Gerald explained I was to get three whacks of the cane across each hand.
"If I can make your hands sting badly enough you may learn not to use them for your ungodly amusement."
I had to hold each hand out in turn for three sharp cracks of Father Gerald's cane: each one almost bringing me to tears.
"Now," said the teacher, "will you be putting those hands down where they don't belong?"
I promised I would not.
"Well I've another way to remind you, so pull your shirt right up at the front so I can give you three good welts right at the top of your legs."
I didn't know which was the worse - the shame of exposing myself like that, or the three searing lashes of the cane across the front of my thighs, as far up as Father Gerald could cane me without catching my exposed private parts.
"Was that a good lesson for you?" asked Father Gerald. "You've three good, red welts across your legs to encourage you to keep your caned hands away from that area for a while, at least. But let's see what you need for that backside of yours."
I was glad to be over the chair again. At least it was only my bum on display.
"Now let's put some really good weals across your backside, so you won't want to pull any frilly knickers over it for a while."
I got six more, much harder than before. Father Gerald was keeping his promise to welt me as hard as he could.
* * * * * *
I continue to enjoy the Bible lessons, learning the Psalms and the Gospels. But I still find it very hard to resist my kinky temptations. So I've had a few more beatings - almost one a month.
After a sound caning from the Father I do honestly try very hard to keep away from Gina's underwear drawer. But when the weals and pain are fading away over the weeks, the temptation gets stronger and stronger. And eventually I just have to do it. I feel so guilty when I pull those knickers on yet again, but I just can't help myself. When I'm working away in front of the mirror with my right hand inside my sister's tight silky briefs, I try to remember what I promised Father Gerald. I try to think of the lashes of the cane I will get the next day in the presbytery - across my bum, my hands and especially my poor thighs. I can even see in the mirror the fading red lines on my legs just below the panties, from the last caning.
But I can also feel those lovely, pink satin briefs tight against my bum and I just can't stop my "ungodly amusement" until it's done.
And I feel so ashamed.
(Names have been changed from the real ones.)
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