okay, this is not Chapter 2 of "Beth Likes It", this is a separate blog entry, and i will resome posting the very long story "Beth Likes It" later.

 this funny episode from my life, which i will call "My Origin Story", just popped out of me a few hours ago, while i was writing a letter to a very dear friend. this is, by the way, pretty much true, and the memories are flooding back to me as i write them down, and i am trying to capture every horrific detail, but i am a little fuzzy on certain things, and i'm not sure whether i might be leaving things out, or even possibly embellishing the story inadvertantly. i'm actually a little confused by all this!

My Origin Story 

for my only male friend,"Furdegree"

> Why do you think you need to be mistreated so badly? I don’t want to get all psychoanalytical, but what happened to you?

i know exactly what happened to me, and it might be a bit psychoanalytical, but i'd actually love to write it down, which i never have.  

i remember that i felt extremely guilty sometimes as a child, and i wanted to be spanked, and it was incredibly embarrassing. i felt i really needed to be spanked, because i had done something really rotten, like cheating in a game or telling a lie. and the only thing that would make me feel less guilty was getting a spanking, but it was almost impossible to get the words out, both to admit what i had done but even more to admit what i thought should happen, that i should be punished with a spanking. 

when i first remembered this, i thought it had happened only once, but now i realize that it happened a lot of times. i really can't remember how often, or exactly what age i was when it started, but i remember my daddy spanking me right through high school, which was a family policy, and it was the same for my brothers (although of course none of them ever asked for a spanking!). and because it was so embarrassing, i couldn't bare the idea of my brothers finding out about it, and so my daddy, trying to protect my dignity, would keep it private... it became a thing we did privately, when no one else was around. i think part of it was that i liked the attention, and the intimacy of it. but he would really make it hurt! he spanked me harder than he spanked any of the boys!

i really, really, cannot blame him, even to this day. i don't want to explain why i feel this way, but i do. he was old fashioned, and he was very Christian, and he genuinely believed he was doing the right thing. he thought i was brave, for admitting my "sins" to him, and for requesting what he felt was an appropriate punishment, which he called a "penance".

but things became more crazy as i grew older, and i started to develop and got my period and everything.

you see, i had three older brothers, and they shared a bedroom, with bunk beds. and this was a very Christian household, and there was a lot of tattling, and Benjamin, my middle brother, apparently had a masturbation problem. and the others would tell on him if they heard him do it at night, in his bunk. no one ever discussed this with me, or even in front of me, but i overheard, or maybe one of my brothers explained it to me, or both. i can't remember exactly, but by the time i was twelve i knew that touching yourself was a sin, and that it was punishable by a spanking, and that it could also result in a life of debauchery, and the possibility of going to hell, or "eternal separation from God" as my daddy put it. 

so from the age of twelve on, i tried really hard not to masturbate, even though i had my own room and could get away with it easily, and no one suspected me of it. but i was obsessed with it! it felt soooo good, and i felt soooo guilty about it! it was way worse in my mind than lying, or cheating in a game, or cheating in school even. it was more on par with getting an abortion or something... you know, murdering a baby! so i was really, truly against it... i really wanted to be a good girl. but i just couldn't help it... instead of stopping, i started masturbating all the time, even sometimes at school, hidden behind the bungalows where nobody went.

so... and i remember this clearly now... i think i had just turned thirteen, and i did something that was so shameful and difficult i remember being so nervous about it that i couldn't talk for three days. I told my dad about it. 

and my dad had a very peculiar reaction, one that baffled and worried me to the extreme. he just became very quiet, and i couldn't read his expression at all, which made me think he was incredibly mad at me. he stood up, as if he was about to yell at me, and then he sat back down. but i don't think he was, i don't think he was mad at me at all, just terribly embarrassed, and tongue-tied just like i was.

and both him and mom were committed to treating me just like the boys, especially where punishments were concerned. they felt they should be very consistent about punishments, it was only fair. so without saying a word, and with a very stern expression on his face, my daddy led me immediately to his (and mom's) bedroom, and sat down on the bed, and looked at me with an awful, unreadable expression which caused me to shiver and shake, it worried me so. would he ever forgive me? but i knew what i was supposed to do... i just removed my skirt and panties as usual, and i lay myself across daddy's lap. and he spanked me very hard that day, harder than ever, and for way longer, until i was in so much pain it actually started to feel good. (i know this is strange but that's how my body reacts). and when it was over, he told me in a raspy, severe whisper, that i must never, ever "rub myself" in that way again. and i promised i wouldn't.

but i broke that promise immediately! i just couldn't stop myself. in fact, right after he spanked me, i ran into my room and masturbated, and i remember lowering myself onto the big, knobby bedpost so there would be something inside me, and whacking my tiny clit with my hairbrush as hard as i could, because i wanted it to hurt, i felt soooo guilty and ashamed. but those orgasms! they were like intricate explosions, they were insane. it was all i could do to keep from screaming in ecstasy. but of course i could not risk being heard, because this was by far the worst, most sinful, and most embarrassing thing i had ever done.

and at that very moment, that very afternoon as i slowly pushed myself up and down on the hard, wooden bedpost, who's bulbous, ornamental head-piece barely fit into my virgin, 13 year old vagina... that was when i started fantasizing about worse things happening to me than a spanking. i realized then that of course a spanking wasn't enough for a sinner like me, that i should be punished in other, more severe and painful ways. because obviously a mere spanking was not nearly enough to deter me, i was just such a filthy, disgusting whore. 

and i wanted so much just to be a good girl! i knew God was watching me, i could feel his eyes on me, judging me, and i knew i would have to tell my dad i did this, and that i did it right after he spanked me. and the thought of that was so embarrassing, and so degrading i started to cry, but that didn't stop the pleasure. in fact it only served to fuel my crazy fire, and i started humping the bedpost harder and harder, so that i'm sure i was bruising myself on the inside. all while thinking obsessively about the inevitability of having to tell my daddy exactly what i had done, what i was doing right now, right after today's spanking, right after i promised daddy i would never rub myself in "that way" again.

and that was when i looked down between my legs, and the bedpost was bloody, because my hymen was of course ripped to shreds. and i didn't really know what had happened, because nobody had ever explained to me about the bleeding that happens when you lose your verginity. i thought i had really hurt myself! but i didn't care, i only rammed my poor little pussy down harder on the huge wooden bulb, pushing right down until the square post itself started to enter me, which really hurt. but i didn't stop, and i didn't stop whacking my sensitive little clit either, in fact i redoubled my efforts.

because i still thought it was possible to redeem myself, and somehow i thought that if i hurt myself "down there" and imagined scary enough punishments, and if i promised God that i would someday, somehow make all the nightmare scenes that were running through my head come true, and that if somehow i could get someone (or someones, plural) to punish me in all the horrible ways that i could imagine, i would somehow, still have a chance to be saved, to redeem myself in the eyes of God.

so i started thinking of things that were severe enough that God would be impressed, and understand that i felt true remorse and contrition. and yes, later, just as i knew i should, i told my daddy exactly what i had done after he spanked me, and that i didn't think an ordinary spanking was punishment enough.

and he did not understand what i was saying, that i wanted other kinds of painful punishments, but he took me seriously alright, and i could see his face turn red, and he clled me a whore.

so from that moment forward he stopped giving me hand spankings and used his belt. instead of crawling across his lap like i always had done, he would take me downstairs to his shop and drape me over his workbench, speading my legs out on either side of it. and now he really swung that belt hard, as hard as he possibly could. because he was, in fact, very disappointed in me, and as he explained again and again in raspy, breathless whispers, he was without doubt that i would become a whore and probably be fucked by whole rooms full of dirty, brutal men. and he would ask me, directly in my ear, "wouldn't you like that?" and then he's lay into me passionately, spreading blows all over my my ass and thighs, sometimes even hitting me right in between my legs or vertically right in the crack of my ass. and he's ask, "wouldn't you like to have your nasty vagina and anus fucked by so many men?" and of course i had to admit that i would, because it was true and i just had to tell him, i just had to be totally honest with him, even though i knew he thought i was utterly disgusting. and sometimes he became so angry that he put down the belt and used something else to hit me with, like a length of threaded rod or a loop of bare wire. so now my daily "whippings" raised severe welts, and i could barely sit down all through high school, or i could but it really hurt to sit dawn, and i couldn't concentrate at all. so i got the reputation of not only being slutty, but dumb as well. and at some point some of the rowdier guys figured out that i would jump out of my my fuzzy socks if they were to pinch my ass, and this too became a daily routine for them. and for me of course, and i didn't even resist, in fact every time it happened my little pussy would juice up, and sometimes, when the guys lifted the back of my skirt, they could see the wetness between my legs. and they could also see the welts from my daily whippings, and that became the subject of many a cruel joke at my expense.

but i knew that none of this was enough to appease God, not by a long shot. so as i sat in class, my panties a wet mess between my legs and my buns burning like they were on fire, i'd imagine punishments even more terrible and severe than anything that had so far happened to me, and i would devise ways that i could hopefully, actually make them happen someday if i set my mind to it.

one of my best ideas revolved around going to foreign countries and deliberately getting in trouble with the police there. i thought of going to arab nations where the ladies were supposed to wear veils, and getting arrested as a foreign whore, wearing disgusting whore clothes. and i would not tell them i was from the united states, i would not contact the embassy, and i would not have a lawyer to protect me from their primitive and corrupt prison system. instead i would deliberately put myself in the most helpless position possible. and i would continue to tempt and provoke each of them, all the police, the judges, and the guards, until finally they would haul me off to their prison camp and throw away the key. i had somehow read about the tortures the sultans enacted upon the women in their harems, such as setting them on iron stoves shaped as  peaked rooftops, with their legs dangling on either side and their vulvas straddling the wedge shaped apex, labia split with their full weight pressing down upon the sharp iron, dildoes like fat chimneys, also made of iron, protruding up into their aching, gaping vaginas. then the "stoves" would be stoked with coal, the iron would heat until it turned a glowing orange hue, and the unlucky ladies would have their pussies cooked like ham as they wailed in unimaginable agony.

i imagined such things vividly as i sat at my desk, failing algebra for the third time. and i hoped that some of those arabian traditions were still alive, and put into practice on deserving, foreign whores who would never see freedom again, and therefore present zero risk of exposing their barbaric practices. 

and when i arose to scrmble between classes my panties would be drenched, and the boys could easily smell me. and their pinching fingers would grab at my labia through my drenched panties, and they would whoop and holler at my expense, showing each other their slick fingers, wet with my copious secretions. and they would corner me against the wall and force me to show off my welts from the night before, and tell them all about how my daddy whipped me with a length of barbed wire because i am such a bad, bad girl. 

 "and what did you do to make your daddy punish you like that?" the boys would ask me. "I couldn't stop rubbing my pussy" I would admit, because i had to tell them the truth, i just had to, if i were ever to make it right with God. and the boys would swarm me, their pinching fingers and swatting hands dispensing quickly with my skirt and soiled panties, relentlessly shoving and scratching their brutal way into every fold of my exposed, dripping vagina.