Belles of St. Mary's

Chapter 4. In The Beginning

Gulfcoaston, TX, Just Before The Millennium

Follow-Up Visit

Doc stood on Mr. Smith's front porch. It was about a week since his first visit assessing Risk Management of the rumor that he had gotten from Fr. LeBeaux. Doc now thought of this matter as the case of "The Belles of St. Mary's". Yes it appeared that Scouting was involved in whatever had happened there back in 1918 but several factors mitigated against there being any significant risk that the good name of Scouting should be impugned. So right now Doc's job would be to gather further information. Beside this was beginning to become interesting.

First, it involved Mr. Smith who was the oldest living Scouter in Southeast Texas. Hell, as far as he knew in all of Texas for that matter. He was a link to the founding of Scouting in this part of the country. Mr. Smith was one of the first Boy Scouts in Texas, he was as old as this Council and had continued to serve Scouting after turning eighteen. Doc had earned about as much recognition as any volunteer who ever served youth and yet he realized that Mr. Smith's contributions dwarfed his own. Mr. Smith was a living legend and any chance to pick his brain was fun. This short, balding man has been through the Klan wars of the twenties, the turmoil of the depression and the second World War and was the behind the scenes leader who prevent violence during the Civil Rights tumult of the late fifties and early sixties. But all the public really knew about him was that he was the first Black teacher at Sealy High School and that everyone who worked with him seemed to love him. And he had an incredible story to tell.

So once again Doc stood on the front porch and waited for Mr. Smith to unlatch the screen door. The weather was still comfortable but with mid May approaching they wouldn't have too many more days to sit on the back porch and chat in comfort. Soon enough it would be time to hermetically seal up in dark air-conditioned interiors not to emerge until October. Damn, more iced tea. Doc lusted after an ice-cold beer. But since this was still technically BSA business and they were both very senior BSA volunteers, they were meeting in uniform. So ANAB (absolutely no alcoholic beverages). Silly, but that was the way they both were. But Doc's compensation was the rolling tones and impeccable grammar heard only among the properly educated of the old Gulf Coast educated elite. To a transplanted Yankee, it was music to his ears.

Invisible Voices

"Damn and hell's afire. Mrs Mary is goin' to get her ass whupped" exclaimed Mabel Smith to her sister Bessie, "goin' to get her neked ass whupped but good!" Startled, her sister responded "Saywha? Saywha? Girl, sha yu mow. Yu knowed not wha yu yapping abou! She hi klas woman, she no get whupped like sum nigger girl." In the next room eleven year old John surreptitiously listened to the exchange between his mother and his aunt. Burying his head into the math homework he so loved, he let on not in the least that he was eavesdropping in on a conversation he had no business listening in on. His mother worked as 'the cook' for one of the five most prominent Catholic families on the Island and his aunt worked as a maid for one of the two most prominent Jewish families. So this would be dirt of the highest quality. The only better gossip would be overhearing a conversation between the chauffer for the Moody's and the gardener for the Greshams. "I tell yu, I wuz standin out da parlour door wid da liz fur da Saddy pardy en I heared dem 'disscuzzen' in dat way ah derz. Misses saz in dat way so hi of herz,'Me, beaten by you, naked. This is going just too far. This priest, this Fr. Kelly has gone too far. I am going to the Bishop.' Den sez he 'I wouldn't try that if I was you. His Excellency is completely in his dotage. Christopher Byrne has just been named by the Apostolic Nuncio as his successor and Chris and Tom are thicker than thieves. If you want to maintain your position at the top of the heap in this town, it behooves you to comply.' Das wa dey sez, das wha dey saz, I most peed me in my drawers. She waz whit lik a sheet and he was red lik a apple. But she sez 'Allright, have it your way'. So she gonna get her ass whupped, cum dis Friday. Her nekked ass whupped. Everybuddy in de hous knowed it now."

John despised the 'Coonass' argot of the huge Creole family he was part of and he made it a point to only use the accents that the Holy Spirit fathers taught him. But he loved his relatives and they were immensely proud of his impeccable 'masser speech'. Unlike so many of the 'cotton niggers' that the Creoles despised, the Holy Rosary parishioners were insanely jealous of the progress of their children. And nobody drew more adoration than that inseparable trio of eleven-year-olds, John Smith, Jean Lebeaux and Corey Williams. But no matter how much John was loved, snooping in on mammy's private conversation with her sister would have earned him a 'hiding' sure as the sun would rise in the morning. Packed in cheek by jowl in wretched conditions, the immigrants from Southern Louisiana maintained invisible barriers of privacy that children crossed only at their peril. It was only these invisible barriers that maintained civility in a society rife with brutality and antagonisms. The Creoles were invisible in the society of Gulfcoaston, it was as if they were stones or trees. They just didn't count, they might as well have not been there. But among the Irish they were prized as servants, particularly as cooks because their Cajun cuisine was everything that the wretched Irish cooking was not. And the Creoles were Catholic and they were discrete.

So something exciting was going to be happening! John was a happy boy, life was good. He and his buddies did well in school. He excelled at mathematics – not arithmetic but mathematics as the fathers would say. And Jean was fantastic at Latin, nobody could conjugate verbs and decline nouns like Jean. And Corey, he was great at grammar and writing. And all three of them were athletic, could run like the wind, jump across the street and climb trees, well like monkeys. And most of all they really had not yet come to appreciate and understand the ethnic conflicts that swirled around them - the Anglo aristocracy that had fled the South versus the third generation Irish versus the stolid Germans versus newly immigrant Italians. Least of all did they understand the impoverished crackers, few on the Island but dominant up there on the mainland. And beneath them all, beneath contempt were the various communities of negroes. At this age and at this time the boys were truly invisible.

And primed for adventure as only boys at that turning of life are. Mr. Rosenberg had just given money to the Holy Spirit Fathers to start up a Boy Scout Troop. This was the opening of a whole world of adventure. Everybody, every church was starting up a Boy Scout Troop. The why of a Jew starting up a Troop of Black Catholic Boy Scouts never even occurred to them. But it was typical of this strange melting pot of a town. They were going to have adventures like everybody else. But different, and better and invisible. To the barely awaking sexuality of a eleven year old boy, the possibility of spying on naked women held a forbidden richness beyond imagining. And naked white women, wait until he told Cory and Jean. Better yet, he had best check things out further before he said anything to his cronies, lest things fall though and he be made a fool in front of them.

Invisible Eyes

John Smith began. "So that Friday, just before dusk, I put on my uniform, that really hideous color, not quite khaki brown and not really olive green mixed together, and off I went. The previous night I told my mom that I would be going to my Boy Scout Meeting at the church and would be getting home late. I knew she would be working late, cooking feverishly because of the big party on Saturday, and when she got home she would immediately collapse into bed and instantly fall asleep. So I just kind of hung out and made my way over to the alley between Sealy and Broadway and down to the back of the house where my mother worked. I knew the layout of the large lot in only the way that the son of the Creole cook knows the bosses' yard which is to say better than his own children did. I knew the trees that grew in the back yard, particularly the huge, dark magnolias with their glossy large leaves, having climbed them since about age six. I think that I was regarded by the family as a sort of semi-feral pet monkey. I ditched my staff and my rope in the alley and slipped in the back gate without the hinge even creaking. I silently made my way across the back yard, not really sneaking, just quietly walking. If I would have been spied making my way along, no one would have even thought about it. Just 'the boy'. It was fully dark as I sprung up the tree without a single leaf rustling. I knew the tree better than I knew my own narrow bed. When I was high up it, I could look down into both the upstairs sitting room in the middle of the house, the master bedroom on the corner, and through a small window into a bathroom the likes of which I never knew existed. That tree had always been part of my life but I never thought about it in the context of spying, until now. I guess that I should have felt guilt at the time. But sometimes at that age the sense of adventure is so overwhelming that any question of impropriety never arises. I waited there, for the longest time, although it was probably no more than an hour, my heart racing with excitement as I fantasized about what might be about to occur in the currently dark rooms on the second floor."

Doc looked at him, Mr. Smith, now old and wizened and imagined the excited slender eleven year old boy. "Mr. Smith, I guess that you never thought about the danger you were in, given the attitudes of the times." Mr. Smith chuckled, "Son, later when I was a few years older and I read in the Garbage Daily News about the lynchings in the South, I realized that if I had slipped and fallen from the tree that night I would have been dead. I wouldn't have been lynched, they just would have probably beaten me to death there on the spot. My body would have been tossed in the Bay and I would just have been one more dead nigger boy. But one never thinks of such things at that age."

Prelude to Punishment

Mr. Smith continued. "Finally, a light came on in the upstairs sitting room. I was amazed the view that my perch gave me of the illuminated room. In walked Mrs. Kirwin, her lady's maid and her two daughters. With the windows closed I really couldn't hear what Mrs. Kirwin was saying but things soon became obvious. She had Sarah and Jane turn around and the girls undid the cuffs of their dresses and took their belts off. Mrs. Murphy started undoing the buttons on the back of Sarah's dress and then Jane's dress. My heart leaped up into my throat and started pounding. Boy I could get into trouble for this. But nothing had ever excited me so much in my life. The girls hoisted up their long skirts and untied the tapes of their fairly full petticoats and dropped their petticoats. Then they slipped their dresses off their shoulders, pulled them down and stepped out of them. They handed both their petticoats and the dresses to the lady's maid, Mrs. Murphy who took the clothes off out of sight. I have to admit that although I had imagined white girls undressing, I never thought I would live to see the day when my eyes actually witnessed it. There they were - standing in their white cotton bloomers, camisoles, stockings and pink slippers – quite a sight to behold. Then to my further excitement their mother gestured to the girls to remove their camisoles. Holy shit! I saw naked white girl titty! And although Jane's boobs were on the smallish side, Sarah's were nothing to sneeze at. Unfortunately, my view was soon spoiled when their mother handed them the shortest, tightest, nightgowns I had ever seen. When Sarah and Jane pulled their nightgowns on, the hems just barely covered the cheeks of their asses and the bodices molded to their breasts like a second skin. They didn't have the old fashioned kind of long, loose bloomers with a split crotch that tied in the back. They had the new-fangled, fancy, light weight kind of drawers that clung to the skin of their buttocks, were loose around the thighs and were held up by elastic. That was the first time I had ever seen "panties" and I was fascinated. My excitement increased when the girls removed their drawers and place them on top of their camisoles. Although they immediately pulled the hems of their gowns down, I had caught a brief glimpse of their pubic hair.

As a last bit of preparation, the girls took down their hair. Jane had fairly short blond hair. When undone her hair barely reached to her shoulders. Sarah on the other hand, had a magnificent head of curly flaming red hair that when unpinned reached all the way to the small of her back. The girls took a few minutes to brush their hair out, Sarah slowly and lovingly, Jane brusquely. Then, their mother made them kneel in front of a table to pray. They fidgeted and twisted uncomfortably. This allowed me to catch repeated flashes of red and blonde crotch hair alternating with peeks of bare buttocks bottoms of sneaking out from under the hem of their nightgowns. WOW!

If I thought the show of my lifetime was over, I was wrong. Mrs. Murphy reentered the sitting room and she and Mrs. Kirwin went into the master bedroom, just to my right. As the light came on, the next act started. Mrs. Murphy undid Mrs. Kirwin's dress and helped her out of it. The tall, red-headed matron was not wearing a petticoat. Rather she had on a very long shift that went from the straps that suspended it from her shoulders down to half way along her calves. I had never seen a silk "slip" before and I was fascinated. I was even more surprised when that slip got raised. The next thing that I saw was a set of magnificent breasts! They were big white breasts speckled with freckles. There were areolae that must have been two inches wide. There were nipples that must have been an inch and a half long. I gulped and swallowed hard. All of this was propped up by the most unusual corset I had ever seen flapping from a clothes line or heard of in my friends fevered stories. The corset was worn next to the skin rather than over a camisole or slip. As a regular corset did, this one narrowed the waist and propped up the boobs. But this corset exposed the nipples because there was no undergarment on underneath it. And it had suspenders attached that held up the stocking instead of the hose being fastened around her thighs with garters. I had just seen my first modern corset. In any case, Mrs. Kirwin first unfastened the stocking suspenders and then began undoing the hooks down the front of the corset. This released those fabulous breasts. Much to my amazement her bosom did not sag as much as I expected. I guess there had been no suckling of the girls when they were babies. With the corset off, next removed were the silk drawers, the most beautiful undergarment I had ever seen. I know that I never seen underwear like that hanging from a clothesline in our neighborhood. I bet tgat someone would have stolen it.

After Mrs. Kirwin removed her panties she stroked her pubic area right in front of Mrs. Murphy and scratched her pubic hair. Then Mrs. Kirwin sat down in front of her dressing table and Mrs. Murphy undid Mrs. Kirwin's hair and started brushing it out. I had heard from Jean and Cory, my buddies, that there was nothing sexier than brushing a woman's hair. Considering that they were almost twelve and I was just eleven, I assumed that they knew such things. But I have to admit that I found Mrs. Murphy brushing Mrs. Kirwin's hair to very sexy, Mrs. Kirwin being naked and all. She was sitting in front of her dressing table wearing nothing but her shoes and stockings. And the mirror reflected back her to me her front with the sexiest breasts I had ever seen. I thought I was going nuts! But little did I know that my education was just beginning.

Once again I almost fell out of my perch in the Magnolia tree. Mrs. Kirwin stood up and embraced Mrs. Murphy who started kissing Mrs. Kirwin and rubbing her breasts. I could have died. Then Mrs. Murphy knelt down in front of Mrs. Kirwin and put her head into Mrs. Kirwin's crotch and started doing something I didn't understand until much later in my education. They went about this for about five minutes, although it seemed like an eternity to me. And Mrs. Kirwin was rubbing the back of Mrs. Murphy's head and staring straight ahead out the window right. Right at where I was perched in the tree. The only way she could have missed me would have been if her eyes weren't seeing. Or maybe they were not connected to her brain because of what was going on down in her pussy. She was really wrapping her thighs onto Mrs. Murphy's ears. Then Mrs. Kirwin started to shake and stood up straight. Mrs. Murphy wiped Mrs. Kirwin's pussy with a handkerchief and helped her into a black shiny nightgown that was just as short as the white ones Sarah and Jane wore. Mrs. Murphy wrapped up Mrs. Kirwin's hair and pinned it up on top of her heard. Mrs. Kirwin was quite a sight! She stood there, hair done up, rubbing her breasts, clad in a black gown that barely covered her ass and exposed the bottom of her red pubic thatch, with black silk stockings and black high button shoes. After gartering her stockings, Mrs. Murphy helped her on with a long black Oriental silk robe. End of act two. With the donning of the rob, I switched my glance back to the sitting room. The girls were still there, fidgeting and squirming.

The Girls Get Their Bottoms Tanned

Mrs. Kirwin and Mrs. Murphy next went into the sitting room and it looked like Mrs. Kirwin sent Mrs. Murphy downstairs. Probably to get Mr. Kirwin. She went over to the side of the table opposite to where the girls were kneeling, opened a drawer and pulled out the wickedest strap I had ever seen in my life. She stood there slapping the oiled leather business end in her hand while looking at the girls. Sarah and Jane's attention was instantly riveted on the implement and I know what was going through their minds. Oh Shit, you're not going to use that on me are you? They were no longer fidgeting, they were frozen, shock still with terror. I know I sure as hell would have been.

Just then Mr. Kirwin entered the sitting room, drink in hand. He appeared to call the girls to their feet. He had each go to one corner of the ornate table. Knowing what I now know, I suspect it was an antique Louis XIVth piece. He had them bend over the table, legs spread about two feet, and extend their arms, grasping the opposite side of the table with their hands. This had the effect of raising the hem of their nightgowns so that their buttocks were completely exposed and their pussies were pressed into the carved corner of the table. They were completely bare from the tops of their gartered white hose, an inch or two above the knees, to the hem of their nightgowns, currently riding up toward their waists. What A Sight! I couldn't see up their backsides as they were partially turned away from me, but I would bet that that Mr. Kirwin was probably getting a good view of their pussies peaking out from the back of their crotches. I swear I could see a bulge forming inside the front of his pants. At this point he appeared to call Mrs. Kirwin over to the girls side of the table.

Mr. Kirwin said something and the thrashing began. Mrs. Kirwin took a swing and hit Sarah squarely across the buttocks. It was a pretty good 'lick' because I could see that the force of the blow caused the flesh to ripple out through her buttocks and into her hips. Sarah gave a start, lifting her bosom up off the table and whipping her head back. But the red-headed girl's self control was sufficient that her hands did not let go of the far side of the table. I saw her knuckles whiten as she strengthened her grip, awaiting the next blow. She put her forehead down on the polished surface of the table. The second strike, aimed just below the first, appeared to be as stern as the first, but it elicited less of a reaction from Sarah. She only pressed her forehead harder onto the table. I could see the muscles in her forearms tense and her buttocks clench. The third blow landed just above the first and caused much the same restrained reaction as the second. Three swats from that great big strap pretty well colored up the globes of Sarah's butt with a pink color that was rapidly turning red.

I had to admit that those white folks knew how to tan an ass. I had had my share of "whuppins" from my mom. Not that I was a bad boy, but just on principle. In a Negro household of that era, when ever the mom got mad at anything she was primed to deliver a "whuppin". And if mom was primed, just about anything you did would set her off. And when the "boy" set her off, what ever was handy, a wooden spoon, a belt laying around, a broomstick, anything would suffice when momma was mad. Grab him by the arm or the shirt or the belt and Whack, Whack, Whack, Whack! Usually about four to eight, anywhere they landed was OK. The "Boy" screamed and ran around. Mom felt better. Not very organized. Nobody much the worse for wear. And the bruises didn't show much on the dark skin. If the bruises hurt, that was OK. These folks were different. They did it cold. Made the girls undress and assume an embarrassing position. There was no anger in that hitting. And there was no dodging or defending. Sarah bent over there and took it. And stayed bent over while the red marks developed and ripened. Wow!

After three swats to Sarah's behind, Mrs. Kirwin moved over to the right and stood to Jane's immediate left. She wound up and delivered her first smack right onto the middle of the blond girl's naked buttocks. Jane's reaction was totally unlike Sarah's. I could hear her scream right through the closed window. She stood shock upright and grabbed the globes of her ass. She turned around, glaring at her mother and shouted. Again I could hear her through the glass, "No, you can't do that to me. I haven't done anything to deserve this. You can't do that to me. You can't spank me like this." Her mother obviously told her to turn around and again assume her position bent over the table, arms outstretched. Sullenly, the girl obeyed. She displayed no better self control at the second blow. After Mrs. Kirwin smacked her ass Jane bolted up screaming and began to dance! As they say down in 'The District', "she took her lickin' like a dancin nigger". I could see her father, Mr. Kirwin, starting to get red in the face. Finally, her mother talked her back into position. I could see Sarah, face turned to her right, taking the whole scene in. Finally, after what seemed five minutes, Jane got herself back into position and Mrs. Kirwin delivered her third blow, this time low onto the globe of her daughter's buttocks, just above where the thighs join the butt. Same result as after the second smack, Jane went into her dance and I could hear her caterwauling as clearly as if I was there in the room with them. I'll bet everybody in the neighborhood could hear it too.

At this point Mr. Kirwin lost his patience. He came over, grabbed her by the wrist and soundly slapped her face, jerking her blond head around. He grasped her nightgown by the hem and pulled it up over her head dragging it off her arms. The girl was now naked but for her white stockings and slippers. Mrs. Kirwin held Jane's hands behind her back by the wrists while Mr. Kirwin stuffed part of Jane's nightgown into her mouth, gagging the girl. Then he went over to the other side of the table and Mrs. Kirwin passed him Jane's forearms. In the blinking of an eye Jane was restrained across the table with her father holding her wrists. At this point Mrs. Kirwin went back to work on Jane's behind which was already red from the first three blows. As she administered another three blows Jane kicked wildly. At that point, undoubted under instructions from her parents, Sara got up, came over, knelt down behind Jane, and pinioned Jane's legs about the knees. With a now minimally moving target, Mrs. Kirwin finally delivered three measured, carefully delivered blows to Jane's behind from the girl's left side. Mr. Kirwin finally seemed satisfied that things were being done properly. He let go, walked back to the chair he had been sitting in previously, picked up his drink and took a very healthy swallow.

I took a deep breath. It was the first deep breath I had taken in what seemed like an eternity. I let it out slowly and carefully because I was afraid they would hear me. Not that they would, separated as we were by thick glass and they being preoccupied by what they were doing. But I felt as if I was naked as a blue jaybird up that tree. And I was having the first erection of my young life, which made me feel even more naked. But I was nowhere as naked as those two girls bent over the table. And their ordeal was just beginning. Having finally taken nine smacks to initiate Jane's punishment, Mrs. Kirwin returned to Sarah who had resumed her position at the left corner of the table. This time Mrs. Kirwin stood to the girl's right. She had to use a backhand stroke to deliver the blow. I had heard that she was a pretty good tennis player. And you have to remember that I ultimately became a fairly decent tennis player myself, Why I used to spot Coach Steig thirty years and still beat him regularly, so I know of what I speak. But at that time I didn't know jack about tennis but I was still impressed by the way that Mrs. Kirwin could whup those girl's naked asses backhanded. As expected, Sarah took her three with equanimity, hardly a jump or a start. Just kept trying to push her forehead through the table each time as her body stiffened from the blow. That girl could take her punishment. For reasons that escaped me then, but now I understand, Mrs. Kirwin did not seem to have learned her lesson with Jane. She just went over to the blonde girl, lying there unrestrained, and tried to spank her without any assistance. Well, when the stroke hit, Jane just pulled the cloth from her mouth, stood up, grabbed her ass and once again started into her dance. Over came father, stuffed her mouth, grabbed her wrists and bent her over the table. Another blow. And the legs started kicking again. Over comes Jane, grabs her around the knees, and then finally mom can administer the three swats from Jane's right side. I must have been some dumb darky at the time because it never occurred to me what Mrs. Kirwin was doing. Jane's out of control behavior was costing the girl heavily. By this time Jane had taken eleven swats to Sarah's six. And the struggles had resulted in harder blows and the squirming had spread the blows over a wider area. Jane's brat behavior was resulting in a far nastier beating than her father had ordered.

And so it continued for the remainder of the twelve specified strokes. Back to the left side for another three for Sarah who took them well. After nine swats, Sarah's backside was uniformly red and welts were forming where the strokes of the strap overlapped. But the seventeen year old girl had a reasonable large bottom and took her chastisement well. In Jane's case, on the other hand, the third series of blow saw her unrestrained for the first smack, then a song and dance, then restrained by her father for the second which was received with kicking and squirming and then finally three, gagged and held down by her father and sister. A total of sixteen to Sarah's nine. And Jane's thirteen-year-old, slender buttocks and thighs were much the worse for her beating. She had purple bruises developing in the areas where the tip of the strap would come curling around. The wheals where the strokes overlapped were beginning to also show nasty bruising. The blond girl would sit painfully for at least a week and would have marks that probably persisted for the better part of the month.

The fourth and last part of the girls' beating was the most painful. Their backsides were already tenderized by the earlier blows and the slow, alternating pace of the spanking had allowed time for effects of the blows to develop. That was pretty sore skin that was being hit by their mother's expert backhand. Even Sarah was having trouble handling it. When after the third series had been dealt to her sister and Sarah went back to her place and assumed her position, I could see that her face was flushed and tears were welling up in her eyes. Unlike the previous times, Sarah made no effort to smooth her slightly disheveled hair or to pull down her brief nightgown which had ridden up around her waist and was baring her most private parts. My eyes were riveted to catch any glimpse of that delta covered with thick orange-red hair. I could almost hear her sigh as she braced for the last three blows. At each one she started but always she kept her hands gripping the far edge of the table and her feet squarely on the floor. After the twelfth and final blow she released her grip on the table, lowered her head into her hands and cried quietly.

As expected, the fourth part of Jane's beating was rough. As Mrs. Kirwin moved over to the right side of the table, Jane stood up and ran for the door that led into the center hall of the upstairs. However, her dad was too quick for her. Mr. Kirwin grabbed the girl from behind by her blond hair, almost jerking her off her feet. As she swung around he grabbed Jane by her right hand and twisted her arm up behind her back. Thus pinioned, he walked Jane over to the corner of the table and forced her face down onto the center of the table. During this fracas, I was highly entertained by the sight of Jane's small breasts swinging back and force as she was corralled by her father. Equally stimulating were the sparkle of the golden hair on her public triangle and the flashing glimpses of her slit when her arm was twisted up behind her in a hammer lock which caused her to thrust her pelvis forward. I was getting far more of a show than I ever dreamed of in my pre-adolescent fantasies. Once again her mouth was stuffed with nightgown and she was forcibly stretched out over the table. Sarah came over to hold Jane's kicking legs. Mrs. Kirwin was merciless with her blows. First there were the last three swats of her regular punishment. Then I counted six more which I guess were extra punishment meted out for running and struggling. All in all, Jane must have taken twenty-five swats that night. It was the worst beating I had ever seen anyone take. After it was over Jane just laid there across the table and sobbed for at least five minutes as her buttocks and thighs turned a deep red-purple all over. About the only part of her that was moving, aside from the heaving of her flanks from her breathing, was a slight kicking of her white-stocking-clad feet. Eventually, Sarah took her naked, sobbing sister by the shoulders and the two of them headed off to their rooms on the other side of the hall. I was pretty sure that that night they slept on their bellies with only the lightest of covers over their behinds. At this point Mrs. Kirwin went into the master bedroom to the right. As Mr. Kirwin took his drink and went downstairs, Mrs. Murphy went through the sitting room and into the master bedroom turning off the sitting room light as she went. I breathed freely for the first time in what seemed like several hours.

Mommy's Turn

When Mrs. Kirwin entered the bedroom she went up to the bed and grabbed one of the massive posts at the foot of the four poster canopy bed and embraced it. Her body was shaking and I couldn't blame her. She had just administered what I thought was an incredibly vicious beating to her daughters and it looked likely that she was in for much of the same. Mrs. Murphy entered the room, went up behind her and clasped the matron tightly. This was more than a consoling hug, there was real passion to it and I could see Mrs. Murphy grinding her pelvis into Mrs. Kirwin's hip. Mrs. Kirwin gave Mrs. Murphy a brief but passionate kiss, stroked her hair and then whispered something into her ear. Mrs. Murphy removed Mrs. Kirwin's black oriental robe and hung it in the closet. Mrs. Kirwin sat before her dressing table in her incredibly short nightgown and unpinned her hair. Mrs. Murphy began to comb her lady's long curly red hair. After a few minutes, Mr. Kirwin entered, a gold colored drink in one hand and the strap in the other. Mrs. Murphy glared at him but when he nodded his head she hurried from the room. Then Mrs. Kirwin stood up and walked into the center of the room. She turned her back to me, bent over and grasped her ankles. This caused her black, all-too-brief nightdress to ride up. Her gown actually slid down a bit, being only arrested in its fall by the swell of her breasts. This presented the most spectacular target, a large set of bulging buttocks with heavy thighs swelling above black stockings. Since her feet were together, I could just see the faintest wisps of red hair poking out of the crux below the crack of her ass and above the junction of her thighs. An immense target for her husband. He set his drink down on her dressing table. And following the chastisement of the Kirwin daughters, all three of us, Mr. Kirwin, Mrs. Kirwin and I the invisible spy, knew what was coming next.

Groups of three blows. That seemed to be the pattern they followed. Standing to her left, three blows he gave her, high, middle, low. And each sent ripples through the ample flesh of her ass. And with each she rocked forward a bit before recovering her balance and rocking back. And just as her backward swing was at its maximum the strap would make contact with the flesh. Smack! The blows were so heavy that I could hear the sound of leather striking flesh through the closed window. But no sound did she make. After three from the left he went over to her mahogany, mirrored dressing table and took another sip of his drink. Then he went over and stood by her right side to practice his back handed stroke. His backhand was not as smooth as hers but his powerful frame coupled with the large strap, none-the-less delivered a terrible blow. The beating was very slow and very remorseless. But although she flinched with every swat, throughout the twelve blows, she never released her grip on her ankles. Four groups of three first reddened her buttocks and upper thighs, then the red became darker and welts appeared. After the first dozen or so Mrs. Kirwin's legs began to shake a little. This she counteracted by tightly clutching her knees together. During the last three the clenching of her buttocks was obvious and her flesh ceased to ripple as much with every stroke. The pain appeared to be getting to her. Finally it stopped.

After twelve swats Mrs. Kirwin stood up and turned around to face him. Breathing hard, her large breasts bounced up and down beneath the thin silk. Her obviously pained behind caused her to thrust her pelvis forwards and backwards. Mr. Kirwin put the strap down and kissed her passionately. I wonder if he realized that Mrs. Kirwin's lips had just been sucked by her female lover? Mr. Kirwin started kneading her massive breasts through the thin black silken fabric of her nightgown. Then he grasped the hem of her gown and drew it up over her breasts and shoulders and stripped it off her arms. She now stood there naked, all her charms revealed as well as her backside with its ripening bruises.

After a couple of minutes of caressing and fondling her, he once again ordered her into a humiliating position. This time he took the low backed chair of her dressing table and positioned it in the center of the bedroom. She stood in front of it and straddled it, spreading her knees widely to accommodate the seat with her legs. Then she bent over the back grasping the back legs of the chair with her hands. Thus splayed out, I could glimpse her hairy pussy from the rear beneath her flaming red ass cheeks. Wow! I had never heard of anything like this before. Mr. Kirwin took another sip from his drink and then set it down. He unbuckled his belt and removed it from its loops. It was the belt of a businessman rather than a worker, a mere inch thick and perhaps forty-five inches long as befit his girth. Rather than looping it as one usually did when administering a 'beltin', he coiled the buckle end around his right hand leaving about three feet of the tongue end free. Then he started in on her. He aimed each blow for the center of a butt cheek so that the free end of the belt curled into her crack. He was aiming to have part of each blow strike her pussy. First her worked her from the left, then walked around and worked her from the right. Many of the blows were obviously landing where he intended, for when one did, she would let out a yelp and almost levitate off the chair, clasping her legs together. He would growl "Spread um bitch" and she would reposition her knees astraddle the seat of the chair. Their vocalizations were loud enough so that I could, straining, hear them through the closed window, although I doubt that the neighbors could hear something. I have no doubt that the girls in their bedrooms and probably Mrs. Murphy, could also detect that there had been a change in Mrs. Kirwin's chastisement. He alternated sides for about a dozen strikes with his belt when he went around to her head. He stood in front of her where she was bent over the chair. He swung his belt down from right above aiming between her legs. Mr. Kirwin was no longer maintaining the pretense that he was administering an ass-whipping and that part of the blow was just happening to land on her most tender part. Mr. Kirwin was administering a pussy whipping. After half a dozen of these, Mrs. Kirwin started to shake uncontrollably. At this point, Mr. Kirwin walked over and helped himself to another sip of his drink, finishing it off. When he returned, her shaking had slowed down a little. As Mr. Kirwin put his hand between her legs from the rear and started rubbing her, her shaking started up again with a vengeance. Then I guess he pinched Mrs. Kirwin, because she just rose vertically off the chair again. Then he gave her inflamed buttocks a couple of slaps and dropped his pants.

Holy Fucking Hell

Up until this point in my life, I had, believe it or not, never seen the naked erect sexual member of a white man. I had heard rumors that white men had small cocks, however, together with warnings that whites were very sensitive about their small penises. I had been told that if I ever saw a white man's tally-wacker to avert my eyes. Black boys had been killed for lesser sins than staring at white cocks, this much I knew. Well, there was a white cock before me, not fifteen feet away in a brightly lit bedroom. And I stared. Honestly, I didn't know jack about cocks then and this was the biggest cod I had ever seen. I gulped and stared again. And then Mr. Kirwin took his cock and stuck it into her pussy from behind. So this is what they called doggy style. I had seen dogs go at it in the street but I was always puzzled at what they meant by doggy style. Now I attained enlightenment. If you want, the wisdom that is obtained only by eleven year old boys. And Mrs. Kirwin made noises that I previously only associated with mating dogs. That and moans that I could hear through the closed window. This was the first time I had ever seen people making love in the bright lights where you could see everything going on. My education in the ways of the world was taking a big step forward that night and my knowledge of the tree of good and evil was never the same. As the years and decades went by I came to understand more and more of the nuances of what they were doing but I never had the quantum jump in carnal knowledge that I got that night. That was really what was meant by fucking. Holy Hell.

I sat in that Magnolia tree watching them go at it. As I sat up there, growing colder and stiffer and suffering from my first erection, unrequited I might add, I learned about the birds and the bees. And doggy style, and sodomy and fellatio, and finally about the missionary position. And the things that white women scream and moan while doing the dirty deed. And finally things quieted down. Mr. Kirwin lay there in bed on his back, unmoving. And soon the window began to shake with his snoring. Mrs. Kirwin lay on her back naked, her legs spread and rubbed her pussy until her body shook. Then turned out the lights. That part of my education was over. A part that the Holy Spirit Fathers never talked about. But I would be able to hold my head high among my peers and knowledgably discuss that which I had no direct experience of, as though I had done it myself. Which, if you are short and slight of build, is a great thing in your middle school years.

Home

How I made it down that tree I will never know. I was chilled to the bone from the March cold and cramped from sitting so still in that tree. It must have been well after midnight before I made it to the ground. As silent as a ferret, I made it out the back and retrieved my Scout staff and my twenty feet of quarter inch rope from where I had cached them in the alley.

It was almost three quarters of a mile from the back of the Kirwin house on Broadway to my mom's house in "The District". My mom was in bed but still awake as any Negro mother would be with an eleven year old son out roaming the streets, Boy Scouts or no Boy Scouts. If the colored had telephones in those days I am sure the jig would have been up for me for momma would have called Jean's mother and Cory's mother. But fortunately we were too poor and nobody went around selling telephone service to blacks. So when I came tip-toeing in and she said, "Child, where HAVE you been", I was able to convincingly reply, "After the regular part of the Scout meeting, Jean and Cory and I practiced 'Infiltrating'. We pretended that we were Baden-Powell's scouts sneaking through the Boer lines during the 'Siege of Maefing' and we succeeded and the Boers didn't catch us, because if they would have caught us they would have skinned us alive, and we ran all the way to the relieve column and told Lord Kitchner about the situation inside the siege lines, and he gave us all a medal for being so brave and so skillful." My mother sighed, a deep sigh. She was too tired to get up and give me the whuppin' I so richly deserved and she had to get up early to cook for the Kirwins' Saturday party the next day. Or actually later that day, for it was now already Saturday. So she breathed a good sigh, her son, her only child was safe. "Child, if you don't get right to bed I AM GOING to skin you alive, Boy Scouts or no Boy Scouts. I will have to talk to Father about you." Her voice, the voice of a relieved mother tailed off as I snuck into my bed. Home, safe, warm.

Memento

The chin of the old, black Scout leader had once again sunk onto his chest as the sun was sinking into the West. He started up, smacked his lips and burped. Doc gazed at him intently. Mr. Smith said, "I'll bet you think that I am making this all up, aren't you." Doc looked at him puzzled, "Mr. Smith, I have heard too many stories about this Island that were not readily believable and that later turned out to be true, and more than true. And someday I will find out the truth about the 'Battle of Broadway'. But I know too much to not believe you, no matter how outrageous it seems." The elderly man nodded and said, "Sit down, you can pee in a minute." A few minutes later he returned with a box, a box blackened with age. He said to Doc "Perhaps, I wasn't clear enough. I probably should have said I sold most of the contents of the box to the Rev. Norcod. I still have the box." Opening the lid carefully he extracted a leaf, a brown magnolia leaf. Grasping it by the twig end he twirled the leaf between his thumb and forefinger. "When I got home that night I found that in climbing that tree, a leaf had gotten lodged in my shirt pocket. I kept it. That leaf was the first thing that went into the box. The box that contained the memorabilia of the 'Belles of St. Mary's'."