On My Honor Ch. 04

Thank you to everyone who's been reading the story so far. I've loved reading your comments. This chapter begins at the end of the last one - Laetitia has just overheard Reuben, her rapist, asking her father for her hand in marriage. At the same time as asking for her hand, Reuben suggests her father takes her virginity on her wedding night.

This chapter is a slow burner - more psychological than sexual - but I hope you enjoy it.

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My father could hardly speak. A long moment lasted an eternity.

'Are... are you sure?' He finally mumbled. His voice was a reverent whisper, like a prayer. My heart leapt into my feet.

'Yes, sir. It's the right thing to do. She's your daughter.'

My father looked more moved than I had ever seen him, at the gift of my virginity. A single tear ran down his cheek, which he didn't bother to even brush away.

The two men, my father and my rapist and husband-to-be, locked eyes as though they had never seen each other before, as they sold me to each other, and an unspoken moment passed between them that sent a shiver down my spine.

'You're a true man of God, Reuben.' My father said, chokingly.

Reuben tried to hide his pride, but I could tell, even from my position behind the door, that he was very pleased. It was a real sacrifice he was making. And perhaps more importantly, there was no question that it sealed me as his bride.

'Well, that settles it. I'll marry Laetitia, and when the time comes, you can take her virginity.' My new fiancé said, as though it were nothing, but unable to stop himself from stealing another glimpse at my father's enraptured face.

'Thank you.' My father said humbly.

'So, let's talk some more about the wedding.' Reuben said, brushing the gift off, modestly. 'I was thinking perhaps August the 16th?'

Just two months' time. I looked down at my father's corduroy trousers and saw that familiar bulge. I felt sick to my stomach.

'How about July?' My father suggested. 'There's no need to wait so long, and it would still give the women ample time to make the arrangements.'

'Perfect, sir. July it is.'

'Very good. Laetitia and her mother can find a date in early July, then, and get about inviting the guests and whatever else it is they feel the need to do. You know what women are like.'

It wasn't the kind of comment Reuben found particularly funny, but he laughed anyway.

Sensing the end of the conversation, I crept away to my room before either of the men could discover me. There was still a chance, I told myself, that this wouldn't happen. If I didn't talk about it, I kept the only control I still had left over the situation: my own ability to remember or to suppress. If I kept the knowledge to myself, it could in some tiny way be made less real.

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Uncharacteristically, my father decided not to punish me that night for touching myself. I suppose he had more than enough to think about.

The next day, he barely spoke to me - even though it was a Sunday - and avoided eye contact until dinner. This Sunday, just like every Sunday, we held a family gathering with others in the commune, including two friends of mine. It was always a modest meal, but usually I enjoyed the chance to gather together. Women were of course not permitted to speak unless spoken to, but I enjoyed eating with my friends and laughing together as we cleared the dishes. In the kitchen, we often found some small way to poke fun at the conversation of our fathers, husbands and brothers, as much as we respected them. Today, though, although I tried, I was in no mood to laugh, and my stomach felt hard and angry. I didn't want to put anything in my mouth. Not even food.

After he said thanks, my father stood up and raised his glass.

'I have some excellent news.' He announced. 'Reuben has asked for Laetitia's hand in marriage. And I've accepted.'

The table took a collective breath. I reminded myself to be grateful I'd overheard the men's conversation the night before, or this would have been news to me as well. My mother's face was glowing.

A kinder family friend - a woman - looked over at me with sympathy. 'Did Reuben ask you too?'

I shook my head. She turned back, smiling at my mother but with a sad expression, and I felt a burst of love for this older woman. She had spoken out of turn, and could have been punished for it, but she'd done it anyway. It was more than my mother had done in my life.

My father continued on about Reuben's godliness and accomplishments, and after asking for permission, my friends, both already married to much younger men, leaned over to congratulate me. Their steady, eager faces were full of excitement for me, for the match. Did I think Reuben was handsome? What was he like, out of the prayer room? What did I think our children would look like? How old was he, anyway? Forty? Forty-five? My friends had parents who cared about them and protected them at all costs - even their fathers. I didn't have the heart to tell them that no-one had asked my consent for the match.

In truth, I was scarcely thinking about my marriage to Reuben. The prospect of my father raping me on my wedding night was too overwhelming. It dominated everything.

Surrounded by my friends' good wishes, my father looked over and smiled at me for the first time that day. It was a look of pure love. I smiled back, able at once to remember the conversation I'd overheard and to momentarily dismiss it as a dream.

It was better to live that way, as much as I could.

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After dinner, my father finally summoned me to his room. I went in with a sense of doom. I doubted he would reveal the plan to rape me, as he hated awkwardness, and I knew he also wouldn't rape me tonight - he respected Reuben too much for that. But the prospect of seeing him, being alone with him, was almost unbearable, knowing what was to come in less than a month.

He sat down on his bed, his legs wide apart, and motioned for me to stand in front of him.

'So, Laetitia, you're to be married. Finally.'

'Yes, father.'

He smiled. 'He's a good match.'

I was silent. He straightened himself and assumed the voice he used when he taught in church. All the men preached, and it was my duty as a woman to listen to whatever they said, asking questions only afterwards, at home, in accordance with 1 Corinthians. I'd never particularly liked my father's sermons. But he was my father. His words were important.

'Now it's very important - and your mother will tell you this too - it's very important that you're obedient to your husband, Laetitia. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.' I already understood too well.

'If he tells you to do something, you must never question his authority. He will be your head, and he's a man of considerable learning, Titia. God has given him to you to serve him in all things. And I'll be extremely disappointed in you if I hear he's ever unhappy with you.'

I shuddered. Did he think I didn't already know these things?

He paused. 'Which is why I was very disappointed to hear something Reuben told me last night.' He looked at me with disgust and fascination. 'Would you like to tell me what you did?'

His trousers had already become tent-like at the front.

'I...' My face must have been bright red. I couldn't get the words out.

'Well?' My father said impatiently.

I shook my head.

'Don't be coy with me, Laetitia. You know what you did. Say it.'

There was nothing I was more ashamed of.

'I... I touched myself.' I finally whispered, mortified.

'You touched yourself.' My father said vindictively.

'Yes, father.' I rushed. 'I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking.'

I had been thinking about being raped.

'Oh, I know what you were thinking. You were thinking of yourself. You never think about your future husband, do you, or the shame you bring on me? Come closer.'

Any closer than I was standing would be much too close. But I stepped forward. He moved his hand up. I sensed where it was going, but I couldn't believe it until it was there.

My father cupped the place between my legs. His big, short hand was over my skirt, but with nothing else in between I could feel its heat. He looked me in the eye.

'This belongs to your future husband.' He said, with some satisfaction. 'Do you understand?'

He had made his point, but he couldn't seem to move his hand away.

I should have started crying, but the brutality of the moment numbed me. 'Yes, sir.'

Rather than moving it then, my father pulsed his hand very slightly against me. Over my skirt, it might have been possible for him to imagine that what he was doing wasn't wrong, that I wouldn't notice. That it was still within the bounds of fatherly protection. Still, I knew he would never have dared this before his conversation with Reuben. I was now more glad than ever that he didn't know I'd overheard it.

'You must never touch yourself again, Laetitia. Women were never meant to do... that. You'll ruin yourself. This is for your husband to enjoy. You don't want him not to like you on your wedding night, do you?'

He licked his lips. Despite all my training to be obedient, I couldn't bring myself to respond.

'Laetitia?' His hand was still pulsing, greedily.

'I...' I mumbled and looked down. 'Do I have to marry Reuben, sir?'

He took his hand away and looked at me with amused gentleness. 'Oh Titia.'

I was embarrassed to have asked, but although I knew I wouldn't like it, I felt grateful that he seemed inclined to give me an answer.

He thought for a second. 'Come here and sit on my knee.'

I numbed myself and shuffled forward. Closing my eyes as I got close to him, I perched myself on his left leg. It felt warm.

He smiled, fitting his arm naturally around me. He laid his right hand gently on my skirts again, as though it were normal, pressing just below my waist.

'What's the fifth commandment?'

I gulped. 'Honor thy father and mother, that thy days may be... long upon the land which the Lord thy God... giveth thee.'

I had known it by heart almost since I was old enough to speak, but he'd started to move his hand slightly downwards again.

'That's right, Laetitia. God has given you to us, and he wants you to do what pleases us. I know it might not be what you think you want...'

He started to rub his hand very slowly over my skirt.

'But you'll find great satisfaction in being Reuben's wife. Especially when you can start to bear him children.'

He smiled at me. 'It's a woman's greatest gift. Her purpose. You don't want to spoil yourself for your husband, do you?'

I stared at him.

'You're not going to touch this...' his hand was now rubbing my vulva through my skirt with unmistakable precision '... again?'

I could do nothing but stare and freeze, my body rooted to his leg. His hand felt good.

'You mustn't touch what isn't yours, Laetitia. I know it feels nice, but God will find it difficult to forgive you for something so disgusting.'

'No, sir.' I mumbled, guilt burning my face.

'That's right. Now what do you say?'

'Sorry, sir.'

'And?'

'I'll never touch myself again.'

'Good.' He finally stopped rubbing me. 'Go and get my switch so I can make sure you remember.'

My emotions were necessarily absent. I was going to get married to Reuben, my rapist, and my father was going to rape me on my wedding night. There was no way out. They were men. Poised, I went to the corner to reach that favourite switch of his and passed it humbly back into his hands. I was twenty-one, and my father was still beating me. It was as though I were his wife.

'You know what to do.' He said, his voice choking up with something.

I did. I hiked my skirts up to my waist. Since Reuben had stopped allowing me to wear underwear, there was no need for my father to ask me to pull it down.

My father breathed shallow breaths as he eyed up my front parts, which he would soon be allowed to dominate. But not yet. The only act of resistance I had at my disposal was to not give him the satisfaction of looking at it for too long, but to bend myself quickly over his legs so he could beat me.

He sighed. He shifted my body so my behind lay perfectly between his legs, giving him the best view of it. The one advantage of being raped so many times in this place was that I was now used to having this part of me stared at and prodded. My hole, which must have been staring up at my father, had had worse. My father wouldn't touch it. Before Reuben, though, I had been innocent of the sexual potential of this area. My father's interest in it seemed dirtier than before.

'You must never disobey me again.'

His voice was rough. 'Do you understand?

'Yes, sir.'

He owned me.

He brought his cane down on me harder than he ever had before. I juddered and his breath quickened.

Another hard crack.

He brought me closer towards him and I felt his thing press up against my thigh. I felt a sudden pang of resentment towards my mother. Was she not giving him what he wanted?

I moved my thigh very slightly closer towards him, settling it on his cock. I was curious to feel his shape.

'Stay, Laetitia.' He ordered, as though I were a dog.

He beat down on me again, getting into a regular rhythm.

No, I shouldn't blame my mother for this. I felt sick that I'd had such a thought. She shouldn't have to satisfy him. Despite everything I'd ever been taught, I felt very strongly that that was wrong. Besides, I was well equipped to handle my father's desire. I could take it for both of us, if that was what she needed.

'You're a sinful little girl, aren't you?'

My father was making it clear with his switch that he wouldn't tolerate any disobedience from me again. The thought of me thinking I had the right to touch myself disgusted him. I understood. It was important to him that I was pure, just as it was important that I took the full shame of my body and the attention it brought - including his - on myself.

My father's cock was stiff beneath my thigh. No, it wasn't my mother's fault that he liked me. And yet a part of me, deep down, uncontrollable, wanted to blame her for this rather than completely blaming myself. Did she know what he wanted from me? Did she offer me up in her place and turn a blind eye to his attraction, preferring not to think about it? If I ever became a mother, I promised myself I would never be so weak. I would take everything. Just as I was taking everything now.

Although he meant every switch of the cane, my father was also enjoying beating me. I knew enough to be sure of that now. But it was okay. I could clench my teeth. Deep inside me, there was a part of me that he could never get to. Neither he nor Reuben.

He shifted my pelvis again, this time backwards so my private bits rubbed against his right leg. He could no longer feel me rubbing against his cock, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was waiting to feel me rub myself helplessly against him. He wanted to show me how much I needed him.

Or perhaps it was incidental. Maybe he just wanted to get me into a position where he could hit me harder.

Either way, I was sure he was thinking about my wedding night. I felt his eyes forcing themselves on my body as he wacked me with a passion. He needed to punish me for what he was feeling. His switch had already built up sore lines of pain on my backside, but it didn't stop. He was relentless. My muscles began to relax and I felt myself becoming softer, more pliant.

My father wanted me. I should give him what he wanted. It was better to be obedient and to serve him.

Every time the cane hit me, I was pressed into his leg. But it wasn't enough. Suddenly I felt a wild compulsion to touch myself. It was all I could do to keep my hands from darting down to his lap to do it.

I thought of Reuben owning me, and of my father's desire. I let out a tiny hum. Very slightly, I rocked myself against his leg.

When he noticed, his breathing became rough. He signed, hard.

'You're a little slut, Laetitia.' He finally said, with something in his voice. It sounded like sadness, and yet the words came out strong and clear.

There was a loud pause. Then for the first time ever, my father set down his cane and instead, hit me with his bare hand. It was relatively soft. Unlike Reuben, he wasn't used to using this as his implement.

He tried again. I could tell this time was much more to his liking.

He held his hand there for a second. The feeling of my naked skin and my roundness seemed to stun him as he touched it for the first time with his hand with no clothing in between. I felt a change come over the air and touch his body and mine. He couldn't speak or move. Then, to my surprise, he moved his hand back down to his side.

'Get up. That's enough now.' His voice was hoarse and he sounded almost sick.

Quickly I got up from his lap and brushed down my skirts. I looked at him for my next command, but none came.

His eyes were downcast. His shoulders seemed to heave. I sensed this was my moment to go.

I crept away but couldn't stop looking back at him. The tension was palpable.

As soon as I had passed out of his bedroom, I heard a scramble of zippers and buttons. I couldn't stop myself from waiting a moment to listen.

His breaths were fervent. Short. For several seconds I heard them build, along with other quiet but unmistakable sounds.

In a matter of seconds, he was silent.

I wondered what he would do about his ejaculate. Reuben had always finished inside of me, in my mouth or in my behind. But I couldn't wait to hear him clean himself and do up his trousers. Instead I ran. I ran to my room, and shut the door fast behind me. My chest pounding, I flung myself on my bed and frantically moved my hands up between my skirts to do the thing I was forbidden. I felt guilty that my father had been forced to ejaculate into the air, rather than into something warm and tight. But right now, the future was more compelling than the past. For the first time, I let myself feel the full, terrible weight of what I now felt for certain was true. I was going to marry Reuben. And when I did, I was going to belong more fully to my father too.