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Moira's Tale
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The following is a true story as I over-
heard it told to my then-girlfriend by Moira's
older sister.
The only writer's embellishments concern
Moira's feelings (obviously known only to her)
and certain easily guessable details. The
embellishments should be readily obvious to the
discerning reader. The family's last name and
Moira's cousin's name have also been
fictionalized (the former because I wouldn't
want to embarrass them, the latter because I
don't know it). Moira is the girl's real name.
I've never known the relatives' surname, so
they are referred to simply as "the relatives."
MOIRA'S TALE
It was the winter of 1967, and Moira's
family was breaking up.
At least it looked that way at the time.
Moira's father had a serious drinking
problem and Moira's mother, a neurotic wreck
at the best of times, could take it no longer.
The parents were seriously discussing
divorce and were in counselling. Dad had
recently enrolled in AA, but times were tough.
Too tough, in fact, for the O'Briens to
deal with a rebellious 18-year-old child-
woman who was getting in trouble in her last
year of high school, experimenting with
drugs and apparently beyond her parents'
control.
Moira's older sister was already out of
the house and on her own and her brother was
16 and, for the moment, presenting no problem
to the beleaguered family.
In the winter of 1967, therefore, the
O'Briens decided to send Moira to live
temporarily with her aunt and uncle in
Winnipeg. The aunt was the sister of Moira's
mother who had married a man who then held
the position of psychology professor at a
Winnipeg university. They were stable and
well-to-do and, the O'Briens figured, very
capable of dealing with their errant daughter.
They were more right than they knew.
Moira was not thrilled about being sent
off to live with family she didn't know all
that well, but in 1967 her choices were
limited, and she went.
Arriving in Winnipeg from Boston, she
found herself welcomed into the family,
and quickly settled into a routine of high
school, domestic chores and dating. For
several months, she stayed out of trouble
and got on fine with her surrogate parents.
If there was anything to give Moira pause
for thought it was what she considered the
excessively respectful attitude her cousin
took towards her father.
Moira couldn't help but notice that her
cousin, a girl only a couple of months younger
than herself, practically jumped whenever her
father told her to do something, answering
"yes, Dad," at her father's mildest suggestions.
Quite a difference from the informal, free-
wheeling and often raucus conversational style
of her own family, Moira thought.
Moira was slim and tall for her age, with
brown hair that contained an attractive tinge of
red and dreamy green eyes. From almost her first
day at school she found herself the object of
much attention from the boys, and the recipient
of numerous invitations to go out.
Her uncle and aunt had told her early on that
she was free to go out on Friday and Saturday
nights, but that she was expected to be back home
by midnight.
"No excuses accepted," her uncle told her.
Things went smoothly for a while. Then....
One Friday night, Moira went out on a
date with a boy from school and, being used to
the virtually nonexistent rules of her parents'
home, lingered until past midnight.
At 12:45, Moira let herself in the front door
of the spacious suburban house and found her uncle
sitting on the sofa, reading a newspaper.
Uncle put the paper down and folded his arms
as Moira hung up her coat.
"Do you know what time it is?"
"No," Moira answered, stepping into the living
room.
"It's 45 minutes after you were supposed to be
home, Moira," her uncle said.
Moira said something about having forgotten
about the time, but her uncle was not to be
assuaged.
"You know, Moira," he said, "We have certain
rules in this house and we expect them to be
obeyed. We explained that to you. Since you chose
to disregard those rules, there have to be
consequences, and so I am going to have to punish
you."
Moira couldn't believe her ears. In all her
18 years, no one had ever used the words "I am
going to punish you" to her. Sure, there had been
times when she had run, wailing, from the flailing
fists of her drunken father, but the icy
deliberation of her uncle's words sent a chill down
her spine.
Moira began to mumble an excuse, but uncle
stopped her dead.
"Moira," he said, taking a step towards her,
"you are 45 minutes late, and so I am going to
punish you so you will remember to be on time
next time.
"Now I want you to take off your jeans and
come over here."
Moira stood there stunned for a moment,
unwilling to credit what she had heard.
"Hey, wait a min..." she began, but was
stopped by a shock of pain as uncle's palm
crashed across her left cheek.
"I'm not fooling, Moira," uncle said, his
voice calm but with a terrifying menace to it.
"I am going to paddle you. Once for every minute
you were late. Now take off those jeans."
A sob broke from the girl's throat as she
realized she was entirely at her uncle's mercy.
Except for the living room, the house was dark
and quiet. No one could help her. She knew her
uncle could do whatever he wanted, and suddenly
she realized she didn't know him at all.
Trembling, her fingers reached for the
button of her jeans and undid the fastener.
"Please..." she began, but uncle raised his
right hand again and just glared at her.
The jeans were unzipped and pulled down.
"Step out of them, please," uncle said.
Moira did as she was told, and seconds later
was standing in front of her uncle in only her
black blouse and white cotton panties.
Uncle turned around and picked up an object
from the coffee table beside the sofa, then
turned back to Moira.
What uncle held in his right hand, Moira saw
with her eyes wide, was a wooden paddle with a
rectangular blade about eight inches long and
five inches wide and a short handle wrapped in
black tape. Attached in some way to the front
of the blade was a thick black rubber strap
about 10 inches long.
Uncle held the paddle by the handle, letting
the strap dangle, and walked up to Moira so that
he stood only inches away from her.
"Moira," he said, "This is what I use to
punish Patty when she misbehaves. Patty has a
high pain threshold, so she gets the strap as
well as the paddle, but for your first session
I'm only going to paddle you.
"We'll see what happens next time."
So saying, he folded the strap backwards
and gripped the end in the same hand that held
the handle. He then took the terrified teenager
by the arm and led her to the sofa.
Uncle sat down, then pulled Moira over his
lap. For several moments, he let his paddle
hand rest on the girl's upturned, pantied
bottom while he spoke softly to her.
"Now Moira, I'm going to give you one
good smack for every minute you were late
tonight, and I want you to control yourself,"
he said. "No screaming or fighting, and
just keep your hands in front of you.
Whatever you feel back here is just what you
deserve and I don't want to struggle with you.
"Give me a hard time, and you will get
the strap yet tonight, do you understand?"
Shocked beyond words, Moira could only nod
her head.
A moment later, a horrified Moira felt her
uncle's hand tugging at the waistband of her
undies, then slipping them down over her bottom
and down to her ankles.
"OK, Moira," uncle said, "bare bottom,
forty-five minutes, 45 smacks."
Pain suddenly shot through Moira's body
as the paddle crashed against her buttocks,
and a cry broke from her throat as fire
erupted in her naked backside.
"Now Moira," her uncle said in nearly a
whisper, "remember, keep it quiet. We don't
want to wake up the whole house just because
you've been a bad girl."
A slight whoosh reached Moira's ears,
then her bare backside once again exploded in
pain as the paddle connected with her upturned
bottom cheeks. Before she could react, the
paddle struck again, and again - three quick
smacks all over her quivering rear end.
The paddling went on for what seemed like
an eternity to the sobbing teenager. Uncle had
a method. He would deliver three or four hard
smacks, then let Moira sob while he told her
in a voice that was almost kind that she was
getting punished because she had flouted the
rules and that he hoped he would not have to
do this again.
Then, without warning, the paddle would
connect again, sometimes right across the
crack of her reddening bottom, sometimes on
one cheek only, sometimes at that most
sensitive spot where her thighs met her rear
end.
There was no regularity to the punishment,
either. Sometimes only one smack would be
followed by her uncle's droning admonition to
be more careful about the time in the future;
other times, his scolding would be followed
by three or four explosive blows that seemed
to rocket from Moira's backside to her brain.
Shortly before the paddling ended, the
pretty 18-year-old lost control and urinated
on her uncle's lap. He didn't seem to notice,
but finished off her punishment with half a
dozen blistering smacks that had Moira jerking
over his lap in spasmodic convulsions of pain.
Then it was over, and Moira was permitted to
run upstairs and sob herself to sleep.
It was not the last time Moira was punished
by her uncle during her stay in Winnipeg. Her
parents eventually reconciled and sent for the
girl to come home.
But before that happened, Moira got to witness
Patty getting a whipping that made her own
punishments seem gentle by comparison.
That, however, is another story
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