I keep saying it, over and over again. And each time he smacks my burning cunt with the belt. I can't stop saying it and I don't know why.I don't know...how many times it happens, but all I know is he wants it and that is enough.Finally, I am whimpering, saying the words, "Bad girl, dirty girl," over and over again. The pain continues, but it is different now. It is soothing somehow, a soft touch, a gentle touch. A hand. But it isn't his. I can't see, I can't turn enough to look. But I know the. " As usual, Marcia was wearing a short skirt and a pair of tan pantyhose. Carol knelt down in front of Marcia and took her leg into her hands. She slid off Marcia's shoe and told her to straighten her foot out. Carol was not prepared for the effect that Marcia's nylon covered calf would have on her. Nor did she expect the thrill that ran through her body as she stared at Marcia's pantyhose covered toes. Carol began to slowly massage Marcia's calf. The feel of the smooth nylon against Marcia's. (I always had misgivings about the psychology of a God who feels it necessary that such insignificant beings as us should spend our time worshipping Him, but maybe that’s just me …) What He created was, in all likelihood, pretty much what the standard Christian vision of Heaven looks like: eternal joy and goodness for all, following God’s law. God also created the angels, as general assistants and dogsbodies, to do the scut work of administering His eternally nice world. But one of those. Was that what she was afraid of?Once, a couple of weeks ago, she had really surprised him. They were at the cinema, like every Saturday, and just like every Saturday they were making out in the back row more than watching the film. It was an older film that had been on a few weeks already, so they knew it would be nearly an empty house. They had been in luck. There were only 3 others there that day. A couple of teenagers down in the front row making a lot of noise, and an older guy about.