(****, M/f, Severe, nc cropping)
A girl recollects a severe whipping with a crop. (Approximately 2,577 words. Originally published 2007-11.)
My name is Marla and the worst whipping in my life happened when I was fourteen.
It was fully deserved. My friend Kara and I were seriously into riding back then. We rode every weekend and several afternoons a week. We had all the outfits and accouterments -- knee-high leather boots, jodhpurs, riding jackets, and beautiful black leather riding crops. At the time I thought all that terribly sophisticated and was seriously thinking I might make a career of riding. (I did not. I'm a mortgage broker.)
I can barely remember what started the argument. It was about a boy, I know that. Josh Something. Isn't that funny I can't remember his name? But at the time, he was really important to me. Kara liked him also, and I guess he'd spoken to her and she thought that meant he liked her better than me. I remember burning with jealousy and being extremely angry with Kara. She didn't realize how upset I was and kept going on and on about Josh, while I just seethed.
We were out on the south course, which was one of my favorites. It had hills to climb and streams to jump and was slightly dangerous and only for advanced riders. I should have been paying more attention to Rubarb, my horse, but I was distracted by Kara's talking and more focused on my bitter feelings. We were going up a narrow trail of gravel, an old streambed, when Rubarb slipped. It wasn't anything as he immediately caught himself, but I wasn't paying attention and when jolted out of my dark thoughts I panicked and yelled sharply, causing Rubarb to bolt. That sent a shower of gravel backward which set off Black Lightning, Kara's horse, and suddenly both horses were out of control.
I almost fell off and felt an icy flood of genuine fear for my life. I clung to Rubarb's neck and managed to hold on until he calmed at the crest of the hill. Lightning was right on his heels. When both horses were finally relaxed, I leaped off Rubarb and whirled on Kara, who was pale-faced and trembling.
I was furious, and somehow blamed Kara for the whole mess. "You bitch!" I screamed, and I remember I pointed my riding crop at her face.
"What'd I do?" She looked startled at my attack.
I still feel awful about what happened next. It's painful to admit the truth, but I need to face it. The truth was that I didn't have any reason to attack Kara at all and I knew it. But I was angry at her and the startled horses and my fear had enraged me and I needed a scapegoat. Kara was convienently available.
When she posed me that question, it infuriated me because I didn't have a valid answer. So instead of answering, I struck her. With the crop in my hand. Across her face.
I was sorry I'd done it as soon as I'd done it. Maybe even while I was doing it. But it was too late. Kara stared at me, her blue eyes wide with terror and shock, her pretty face marred with a swelling red mark across her left cheek. She clutched at it and screamed.
It must have been horribly painful and I felt sick as I looked at her. "Oh my God, Kara, I'm sorry!" I cried, but she was having none of it. She was terribly frightened and naturally furious, and I suppose she was mostly in shock at what she felt was a betrayal. We'd had our occasional spats, but never anything violent. I'd certainly never hit her before, not intentionally.
Before I could plead my case she had leaped on Lightning and was racing back to the stables. In the commotion Rubarb had wandered a little so it was a moment before I could follow. My belly was aching and I felt dizzy and wanted to vomit. I was horrified at what I'd done. How could I have hit my best friend? And it wasn't just a slap, but a cruel blow to the face with a heavy riding crop. Criminal!
I hadn't really been thinking of the consequences of my action until I got back to the stables. I was long behind Kara and by the time I got there, the riding manager was waiting for me and his face was dark with fury. Suddenly it occurred to me this wasn't just between Kara and I -- this was serious trouble.
I didn't see Kara as she was getting some medical treatment inside. John didn't even talk to me, but merely stood and watched as I took care of Rubarb. It was like he was guarding me in case I made an escape attempt or attacked someone else. I didn't want to talk, either. I could hardly look at the man. I was stunned and dazed by the events. I could hardly believe this had happened.
Kara's parents arrived first, then mine. It was awful. I saw Kara's mom glaring at me with pure venom and I didn't want to be anywhere near the house. I hung out in the stables, petting Rubarb and feeding him carrots. I could sense doom and fury everywhere and I wondered what was going to happen.
It must have been an hour later when a posse emerged. Kara was with them, nestled tightly against her mother. She was still weeping a bit. I stared at her in sick horror: the red mark was now a thick, swollen welt, vividly colored with dark reds and purples. The mark stretched all the way from her chin to her ear. The flap on the end of the crop must have hit her there because her ear was swollen and red. I was in disbelief at what I'd done. I started to cry myself just looking at her.
My parents were looking at me like I was a murderer. I felt like shit. I wanted desperately to hide in my mom's arms. I felt like a young child. But I was fourteen, no longer a little girl, and my parents, it was clear from their grim expressions, were fully on Kara's side.
"We've made a decision," said my father. "I don't know why you hit Kara and I don't even care. It was wrong, cruelly wrong, and there is absolutely no way such an act could ever be justified."
I nodded, sniffing and wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop. Kara, I noticed, wouldn't look me in the eye.
"You are more than old enough to know better. What you did was disgusting, vile. You must be punished."
Again I nodded. I look at Kara. "I'm so sorry!" I cried, but my father shushed me.
"You'll have a chance in a moment to apologize. First I want to explain your punishment."
This did not have a good sound and I felt dread encompass me.
"Normally your mother and I aren't the biggest supporters of corporal punishment, especially for a girl of your age, but your actions today were childish, cruel, and unforgivable. Your mom and I feel you need a sharp shock. Because your actions caused extreme physical pain to Kara, it is only fair that your punishment cause you extreme physical pain."
I stared at the solemn group in disbelief. Surely I was misunderstanding. Dad couldn't seriously be talking about... about spanking me, could he?
But he was. "I'm going to use that same crop you hit Kara with, Marla. I'm going to whip your bottom raw. Steve and Diane have agreed to this and are going to watch to make sure your punishment is sufficient."
Oh God. Now my knees felt weak. Suddenly I was more concerned about my own skin instead of Kara's. "Oh Daddy, noooo!" I moaned, but I could see from their faces that the decision was out of my hands.
"Give me your crop." Dad's voice was low and as solid as brick furniture. I panicked.
"Now? Here? You can't!" I began to really cry now, terrified. This wasn't some distant, ominous event but harsh reality, bitterly tangible. Everything was happening way too fast.
In a daze I was led into the corral at the back part of the stable. It was deserted. The wide doors were closed for privacy and the sound felt final, like a prison gate slamming shut. It was just my parents, Kara and her parents, and John, the riding manager. Everyone looked grim and glared at me coldly.
"You will take down your pants," my father said.
"What? No! You can't be serious! You can't really be thinking of doing this! Kara, I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry. You know I didn't mean it. I was angry, I reacted. I blamed you, and you didn't do anything! I'm so sorry. Tell them, please!"
Again Kara wouldn't look at me. I tried to look at her parents, at my parents, at John, but got no sympathy from anyone. I looked at Kara again and saw that bloody welt glowing like a scar and there was a knife inside my belly trying to cut its way out. Something changed inside me at that moment. Perhaps that's when I first truly realized what I'd done. I know it occurred to me that the mark on her face would take a long time to heal. She'd have to wear it for weeks, maybe. Hopefully there wouldn't be any permanent damage. She was so pretty it would be awful to think I'd scarred her for life.
Thinking of it as a scar changed my perspective. It brought home the seriousness of what I'd done. I could have blinded her. I'd caught the lower part of her ear but a couple inches higher and it would have struck her left eye. Just a fraction off. It was horrible. I began to cry again.
But I also realized two things at that point. Not only did I realize that I fully deserved punishment, but more significantly, I realized I _needed_ punishment. Instinctively I realized that the horrible feelings I had churning in my belly would go away once I was punished. I needed to accept my punishment so Kara could accept my forgiveness.
This was a huge step into adulthood, though I didn't know it at the time. Back then, I had never felt more childish. But I bravely stepped forward and began to unfasten my jodhpurs. I tried not to think about then men watching -- Kara's dad, John, my own father -- and concentrated instead on reminding myself why I deserved this punishment. I slid my pants down, standing there nervously in my white panties.
Then my dad shocked me again. "Those too," he said, and I didn't have to ask to know what he meant. I wanted desperately to argue, to protest, to beg and plead and come up with excuses, but all I saw in my head was that red scar across Kara's face and I had no excuses, no valid argument. I drew my panties down also, my face flushing furiously with embarrassment.
Then came the pain. I had no idea a crop hurt that much. It literally felt like a hot metal rod had been seared into my ass. The cut was full across both cheeks and dad didn't hold anything back. It hurt like blazes and I couldn't help but scream in agony.
I have no idea how much time passed until the second cut. It was probably a long while, but it felt like seconds. The pain was even worse, the lash a little lower this time, and I could feel the two weals throbbing independently of each other. After the third my whole ass seemed afire. It was all I could do not to reach back and grab my ass but somehow I resisted. I don't know if I thought that would get me in more trouble or if I just thought it'd be more humiliating to reveal that I couldn't take my proper punishment, but for whatever reason I was determined to take this whipping in as dignified manner as I could.
That doesn't mean I didn't scream. I yelled at every stroke, howling and writhing and struggling to stay in position.
Four cuts, five. Then six. I was in agony. The pain was flowing through my body like a river. I could sense different aspects of the pain from the different strokes. The first stroke was dimmer, the pain more of an aching throb, while the recent cuts were like liquid fire, a sharp burning.
Nine, ten, eleven. My buttocks were well-wealed now, the strokes overlapping, and the pain was unspeakable. I was out of tears and out of breath. I felt exhausted and could only pant and grip and hold on and pray it would end soon.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Oh this was horrible. Would it never end? How much longer would it go on?
The fifteenth was a doozy, really low and deep into my bottom. I gritted my teeth and howled. I danced in place, realizing this made a show of my quivering ass, but I couldn't help it.
But it turned out, blissfully, that my punishment was over. I pulled up my panties over my swollen, welted bottom and suddenly there was Kara hugging me, crying, and I was crying and apologizing and hugging her back. I finally got my pants back on, though they were horribly tight and I couldn't wait to change.
That's when I saw the adults. Kara's parents looked somber but relieved, and my parents looked pleased. I later found out they were proud of me. John also seemed pleased, but in thinking about it years later, it was probably more because of my naked butt than anything I'd accomplished.
I knew just from the atmosphere of the room, which had gone from dreadfully grim to relaxed, that I'd been forgiven, and I felt a zillion times better. I was still really sore, but I was oddly pleased. I felt I'd paid a debt and I was infinitely relieved that Kara was okay and had forgiven me. She later told me she hadn't been in favor of my whipping, but her parents had insisted.
"It's okay," I told her. "I fully deserved it."
In addition to the cropping I was given a three month riding bane. Kara had protested but my parents were adamant. Initially, with my ass so sore, it didn't bother me that much, but later I missed it terribly. It did sort of take the polish of a professional riding career for me, however. After what I'd endured, such a thing seemed more something of fantasy, not reality. I got involved in other things and eventually forgot about riding.
Kara's face healed just fine. Within a week the welt was merely a red mark. You could still see it for another week after that, but then it was pretty much gone. My bottom went through a similar process, though my marks lasted longer than Kara's.
In the end, it was a deserved punishment that worked well. I never lost my temper again after that, though a few times I was tempted. I grew up a lot that day. Kara and I remained friends, though she moved away a few years ago and we don't keep in as much contact as we'd like.