Strong Enough For Me?

I have displeased my father. Again. He warned me this would be the last time he tolerated such behavior. We live in a community were the Male is always in charge of the Women. Women have a voice, naturally, but ultimately, the Male decides all things. Our community has been described as a cross between Victorian and Domestic Discipline. Some have even said our Males abuse us. I don't agree. I love it here, despite my rebellious nature. And that nature is what has gotten me into this position. I have again refused to marry a man of my father's choosing. Brett is a good man and kind. I just don't think he has the strength to control me as I need and want to be controlled. Luckily, my mother agrees with me and she talked my father out of banishing me.

Instead, here I stand. Barely dressed and tied to the whipping post. A silky, sheer scarf is draped over my hips and another thin band of sheer material binds my breasts. Once I start to sweat, the moisture will make the material transparent. Despite my position here, I will not be whipped - at least not yet, although many other woman have endured a public whipping here at this very spot. I am on display for the members of our community to witness my shame. This is a rare punishment and a last effort on my father's part to find a suitable man for me. I will stay here until a man claims me. I cannot speak nor move. I am gagged and bound securely. I will not be allowed food and only sips of water through a straw provided by my mother. I will not be allowed privacy for any of my bodily needs. The community is free to taunt me, touch me, but not release me. Eventually, the people will tire of this and go about their business. The last man standing, so to speak, will have demonstrated his resolve in wanting me and his readiness to discipline me. He will claim me in spite of my wanton ways. He can wait as long as he chooses, forcing me to wait as well. The last time this type of arrangement happened was before I was born. The man held out for three days before claiming his woman. The couple had married while she was still tied to the post and had lived a rocky but happy life together. They were my grandparents. Whatever man keeps coming back for me, remains stoically impartial to my humiliation, will be the man my father will marry me off to.

I will have no say in the matter this time. I've used up all my chances. Yes, I could have left the community, but I love it here and feel accepted, despite my stubbornness. I'm not, after all, the only stubborn woman here! I see the love and respect the men have for their women. I see the pride in their eyes. The women have told me of their contentment. They have no fear of their husbands, only respect and love. I want that, I just haven't found the right person yet.

Twenty four hours have passed. I have wet myself three times and am smelly, dirty and exhausted. My face is streaked with tears. Obviously, the sheer scarves I wear now hide nothing. I would beg for release if I could speak. My arms ache, my legs quiver and my mouth has begun to bleed a bit where the rope chaffs my lips. My father has come to check on me. I am watched constantly either by my father, my brother, or one of my uncles.

"You've brought this on yourself, Elizabeth, and you know it. It hurts me to have to do this, but I'm determined. I know you're hungry and hurting and shamed, but this is the only way."

I looked down, accepting his words. This punishment has brought a new awareness of my place here. He is right. I do deserve this. I pray that a man accepts me soon.

Another five hours have passed. Sweat streaks my body. I see, though, only one man who keeps coming back to check on me along with about five other women. The others have all shaken their heads and walked away. I see sympathy in the women's eyes, but only sternness in the man's. He nods to me once as if he has made up his mind then walks to my father. They talk for a while then the minister is called. The ceremony is performed. I cannot answer when asked if I willingly take this man, but I give a small nod of acceptance. The man shakes hands with my father then pulls out a knife. Fear courses through me. He does not look at me directly, but goes to work cutting the ropes. My legs collapse and I would have fallen to the ground, but he grabs me and lifts me into his arms, despite my smell and appearance. He carries me a short distance and then sets me gently into the cool stream. I begin to sob quietly as the clear water washes away the dirt and stink of my ordeal. He tells me to remove my clothing since it too is disgusting. I hesitate, not wanting to be nude in public. He opens his knife again and cuts the clothing from my body, ignoring my objections. He again picks me up and carries me to his home, uncaring of my cries and humiliation at my public nudity.

Once in my new home, he places me on the bed, facing him.

"You're mine now. I will tolerate no disobedience, no back talk. You will never shame me. I waited 29 hours for you, and you will for that. For 29 days you will not leave this house. You will wear no clothing. You will cook and clean and mend. You will pray or read or sew. You will not leave and you will have no visitors but me. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Oh how I would miss my mother!

"In addition, you will learn to accept my hand, my power, my control. Each day, for 29 days, I will spank you. When I finish, I will fuck you. I will fuck your mouth, your ass, but not your pussy. You will learn to obey me."

I began to cry.

He lifted my chin and looked at me with penetrating blue eyes and smiled.

"And on the 30th day, if you have done well, I will reward you greatly. I will always protect you, love you, support you. I will be faithful to you and treat you like a Queen, but you will always remember that you are under the command of your King."

My womb contracts and my nipples harden. Yes, this man is strong enough to be my husband.