CHAPTER ONE. IRISH BEGINNINGS
Well, hello there.
My name is Katelyn and I’m Irish.
I imagine you could guess that from my accent and my name anyway. Couldn’t you?
Katelyn is an old Irish name and it means "pure" in our Gaelic tongue.
But pure am I not.
Because I was a bad girl.
I’m an adult now, so I’m not a little girl any more. But bad I am. And I need and
deserve to be punished.
* * * *
My daddy enjoyed giving me the spankings I deserved when I was a tot.
I could tell that it pleased him to punish me because of the tent he made in his pants
when he did it.
He always took me over his knee and his thing rose up in his pants and quivered. I
asked him about that and he told me that only showed that he loved me very much. And that
it was an indication that he loved me enough to teach me a good lesson not to do bad,
wicked things ever again.
* * * *
The way it happened was always the same.
Mommy or Daddy would find me playing an innocent game with a playmate. Most of the
time, they chose to guess that I had done some evil deed. Although such was never the
case I always agreed that I had done so.
I had learned the kinds of things Daddy and Mommy liked to hear and I confessed to one
of those things each time they "caught" me.
Then Daddy would take me into his den and say: "Katelyn, you have been a naughty
little girl, haven’t you?"
And whether I had actually been caught doing something bad or not, I always said, "Yes,
Daddy."
Then he said, "Confess to me what it was you did."
And I’d have to guess what sinful thing they thought I’d been doing and confess to it.
Then Daddy always said, "What do you say now, Katelyn?"
And I would always answer, "I am a wicked child, and I’m sorry. I need to be
punished."
Even though I knew I had not done anything wrong, that’s what my parents wanted me to
say.
Then I could tell Daddy was pleased with my answer because of that tenting thing he
did in his pants. After his tenting he always beat me.
Oh, my goodness how Daddy could wallop.
He always began with his bare hand on my bare bottom. He spanked me until both his
palm and my ass were bright red and stinging.
Then, because his hand got sore, he picked up his wooden paddle and spanked me until I
was crying real hard.
Then, I got off his lap, bent over and grabbed my ankles with my bare butt exposed as
he picked up either his bamboo cane, his riding crop, or his razor strop and laid into me
until he raised welts on me or even drew blood.
When Daddy said I could let go of my ankles and stand up he told me: "That hurt me
more than it did you, Katelyn. Let that be a lesson to you. Never do (whatever I had
confessed to) again."
And I answered through my sobs, wailings and tears, "I won’t Daddy."
I’m sure both of us knew I was lying. But that was the game we played.
And I knew that he really loved me. Because after my beating, he still had that
throbbing thing going on inside his pants.
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