Sister Wife

By Imelda Stark

Welcome to the arcane world of Mormon Fundamentalism, where each man is entitled to multiple submissive wives to be enjoyed entirely at his discretion in whatever manner he chooses. It is a world where women are also subjected to strict discipline enforced by corporal punishment, administered to that bodyt part their Lord designed so perfectly to receive chastisement.

Our hero Jason is a large and handsome young man who is driven out of the Cult’s desert Compound and forced to survive by his wits in the Gentile world of Salt Lake City. There he discovers talents with computers and poker that eventually make him quite wealthy. He also forages online, seeking women interested in the kind of sex he seems to need. His seductress must endure a sound spanking before he gives her amazing sexual pleasure. A tall and lovely older woman becomes his lover and helps him to realize his dream of becoming a skilled Dom. Then later, he returns to his Father’s ranch, which he inherits following an accident. He’s assigned a lovely young second wife by the Patriarch, who turns out to enjoy painful pleasures just as much as her senior wife. Much randy fun ensues!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Flamingo Media LLC
• Release date: Feb 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781945648908

Imelda Stark

Imelda Stark is the nom de plume of a teacher and practitioner of psychotherapy at a major East Coast medical school (hence the need for a pseudonym). She has been exploring the psychologically complex realm of BDSM in many novels, and strives to combine the eroticism she feels around challenging things happening to willing bottoms with an exploration of how we aficionados of these painful pleasures got to be the way we are.

Book preview

Sister Wife

by Imelda Stark

ISBN: 978-1-945648-90-8

A Pink Flamingo Media Ebook

Copyright © 2019 Imelda Stark

Smashwords Edition

About the Author

Imelda Stark is the nom de plume of a teacher and practitioner of psychotherapy at a major East Coast medical school (hence the need for a pseudonym). She has been exploring the psychologically complex realm of BD/SM for over thirty novels now. Imelda strives to combine the eroticism she feels around challenging things happening to willing bottoms with an exploration of how we aficionados of these painful pleasures got to be the way we are. She welcomes and will respond to email at [e-mail].

Chapter One

Priscilla never intended to be difficult. Well, that wasn’t totally true. But if she was consciously rebellious against the many rules within which all of the denizens of the Compound lived, it was only for fleeting moments soon chased away by her very robust conscience. It was not possible to grow up as the nineteenth child of a prominent Elder in the Apostolic United Brethren of the Church of the Latter Day Saints without having a very powerful conscience rather literally beaten into one’s very bones. Pris, as she was called in the family, was the lowest on a very large totem pole, being the youngest daughter of the youngest wife of her very stern Father. That meant that just about anybody in the Compound could tell her what to do, and exact painful consequences from her if she wasn’t acceptably ‘sweet’.

Unfortunately for our heroine (whose isolation from the polluting secular influence of television meant that she could never have known that she was a spitting image of Amanda Seyfried, the blonde beauty who played a similar daughter in a polygamous family on HBO), she was born with a spirited intelligence and, apparently, a high pain tolerance. When her fierce spirit demanded that she stand up for her right to question commands that didn’t make sense or seem fair, her poor bottom’s ability to tolerate being spanked meant that she all too often chose defiance and its inevitable aftermath, corporal punishment. So from earliest memory, Pris literally never passed a single day when sitting down was entirely comfortable.

Domestic discipline was handled in a very carefully organized manner in the Compound. Males never openly punished females (though behind closed doors, many if not most wives ‘enjoyed’ a husbandly spanking when necessary from time to time), nor did females chastise even their own sons. It was thought that cross-gender spanking (since such attentions were required to be delivered to naked buttocks so that any damage to them in the service of their proper discipline could be accurately and immediately assessed) had too great a potential to awaken forbidden erotic feelings. So Pris received her just desserts for her mulish persistence in self-advocacy from the strong farm-wives’ right arms of any of her four Mothers.

Miscreant girls were taken over their stern punishers’ laps, their voluminous skirts drawn up over their torsos and heads (thereby muffling at least some of their expressions of remorse and distress). Then their demure cotton bloomers were briskly lowered to trap their knees to prevent too much kicking. If a girl was known for poor self control in resisting her urge to reach back with her left hand to try to protect her poor belabored bottom cheeks, her left wrist would be pinned by her Mother’s strong left hand against the small of her back. This served the additional helpful function of holding up her skirts, since lively bad girls squirmed and bucked ever so hard when taking their bitter medicine, sometimes knocking down their skirts and interrupting their punishment. As well, a bottom held in this way could wriggle substantially less, allowing its chastiser to aim her spanks much more precisely to more stationary targets.

Pris prided herself from earliest memory in never requiring such restraint. No matter how badly her poor hiney throbbed, she would rather die than let her hands leave the floor. It was a matter of honor for the lanky young blonde: if a spanking was what her honest assertions of self earned her, then she was not going to lose her dignity by pleading or trying to wiggle out of one iota of what she had coming to her. If it was her Mother’s job to punish her for her rebellion, the stubborn daughter vowed it was her job to accept her plight with as much equanimity as she could muster. Since her chastisers tended to gauge the intensity and number of their spanks according to how fervently their subject expressed their distress, her lack of responsiveness often meant her spankings were by far the fiercest. She was okay with this: fair was fair and she knew the consequences when she did the crime.

So when our heroine was unable to repress her spirit, the Mother who objected would declare that ‘someone was in need of some sweetening’. Pris would be taken firmly by the arm and escorted to that Mother’s bedroom. The armless desk chair would be occupied by her punisher, and she would silently go over that worthy’s lap with none of the whining or struggle that her sisters might kick up. The stubborn blonde would allow herself to feel her fear only when her skirts hid her face and she wouldn’t be seen in that shameful state. And the fear was manageable: she had been through this drill countless times: it would hurt like Hell while it was going on, after which the pain would diminish and mostly stop and they would all get on with their lives.

Having her bloomers lowered was a different matter. Girls in the Compound were brought up to be extremely modest, as their Prophet railed against the sinful temptations that a female body had the wicked power to inflict on susceptible men. He reminded his followers that it was Eve’s irresistible urge to tempt Adam that resulted in humanity’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden. If current females had to bear some transitive guilt for their forebear’s wickedness, it was not as though all women didn’t have a great deal to atone for just in being so tempting. But in any case, the sheer badness attributed to women’s private areas meant that having their bottoms bared, even if just seen by a Mother, could not have been more mortifying. For many girls, the psychic anguish of having their panties lowered and the nether cheeks revealed made to wiggle uncontrollably under her Mother’s stern gaze was more of a punishment than the spankings themselves.

This was true of Pris, whose peaches and cream complexion broadcast her shame with as brilliant a red in her facial cheeks as was being produced in her buttocks. But she would bear her shaming every bit as stoically as she did her chastisement, embracing its anguish just as she did the terrible heat being generated in her derriere. The shame cleansed her just like the pain, annealing her repentance for the sinfulness of thought she knew herself to be so compulsively prone to. For the Lord surely knew how wicked her thoughts were every night after bedtime prayers and blessings...and how even more naughty her fingers could get between her legs in the place where those thoughts caused her to have very...powerful...feelings, quite...well...compelling, you might have to say. So maybe if a girl did something that bad every night and got away with it, she might sort of...arrange...to be punished for something a lot less embarrassing, and everything would be squared away.

One of the house rules of the Compound was that outside shoes were to be shed at the door and replaced by smooth leather soled house slippers. This was regarded to be a metaphor for the sloughing off of worldly contamination inevitably acquired when among the Gentiles and donning the clean indoor footwear that symbolized the holy purity of the Compound. How fitting that the Mothers tended to favor slipping off a house shoe and using its sole as a paddle to chastise miscreant female buttocks (Men punished their sons primarily with the leather belts they wore round their waists). After all, the evil possibilities inherent in a bare hand spanking a naked derriere were all too obvious and to be strictly avoided, so punishments were delivered via implements. Plus, if a frustrated Mother had a particularly recalcitrant blonde nineteenth daughter over her knee, she might be required to swing so hard as to cause her own hand to ache. No sense in that. But using one’s house slipper seemed to have almost the intimacy with none of the sting (for the punishment’s administrator, that is).

So our heroine would effectively invite daily conversations between a Mother’s slipper and her daughter’s clenching nether moons just to maintain a psychic balance. That would need to be struck between two fiercely opposing internal forces advocating quite opposite positions about her body, sex, and morality. The main part of her, she used to think, toed the party line regarding the intrinsic evil of sex and the ways women could flaunt themselves if they gave in one iota to that demon of lust. But there was this very fierce, tough, hidden part of her that believed and longed for the opposite.

She wanted to be naked in broad daylight and be seen to be beautiful. She wanted to be touched and shown her body’s erotic potential, one she could only dimly sense in her quiet furtive fingerings in her bed at night or in the bath. That terribly wicked part of her even wanted to see her man naked and find out about that intriguing bulge between men’s legs. And she would have been glad to stroke it...kiss it...suckle it...and put it where her own body was longing for it. Such evil thoughts and actions...no wonder she needed to be punished hard every single day.

But more or less covert rebellion wasn’t all there was to Pris, not by a long shoot. She rapidly outstripped the sophistication of mind and knowledge base of the Mother who took charge of home schooling duties. Just to get her out of her hair, the harried woman made the fatal mistake of encouraging the lanky blonde to take an online coding class. This led to increasingly sophisticated forays into the infinite world of the Internet, something that if discovered would earn her the spanking of a lifetime, she had no doubt. But she had to see and know...everything, especially about the things her heart and the Compound disagreed with so much more violently than anyone but her had the slightest idea.

Pris was eighteen by now, an age where most of her sisters were long since promised or married off at the Prophet’s command. Within the Compound, our heroine took on increasingly useful roles around IT, her cool mind seeming to grasp computer complexities as a true natural for that arcane world. She had been making herself steadily more necessary to the online businesses selling Compound-Made crafts and clothing on the internet. Her AA degree in computer science made her proud, even if it was all online and she would never be allowed to attend a profane ceremony like that. And most secret of all, her investigations into how to cloak her own illicit explorations led our heroine to develop a set of skills that might be most accurately described as hacking. The benign kind, where you use your cleverness to get somewhere someone really wants to protect, and then leave a secret message taunting them...just a bit.

It’s hard to reconstruct just what tipped the Elders off that their in-house computer genius was using her powers for selfish purposes. Of course, none of them could have caught her, their cyber sleuthing skills being nonexistent. But the Prophet’s network reached out widely, and netted a consultant who it was promised would get to the bottom of things. Subtle traps were set, and within a few days, the evidence of Pris’ gallivanting was in hard copy in the hands of the Council. Pris and her Mothers were called up, and the case for the extent of her machinations was methodically built until there was no doubt of her sinfulness and her shameless use of Compound resources (and trust). She was to be married off, and it would be to Jason Thompson.

Chapter Two

A non-initiate would have to have lived in some other pressure-cooker emotional world to understand how much of an echo chamber a Cult could become when a finite number of people had to pair up with each other. When options for a mate are limited, the competition grows fiercer, and the value of intelligence gathering begins to grow. So an old hand like Pris who had been waiting to be assigned a husband for years knew a great deal from her personal grapevine about her newly-announced fiancée. Nonetheless Jason was perhaps the most enigmatic member of the congregation. He had been the only son of a powerful Elder who often spoke quite grumpily about the burdens of so many daughters to dowry and find matches for.

Young Jase had run into his share of the trouble active boys could get into in their highly structured society and found himself exiled from the Compound for a time shortly after he turned 18. The sociologists termed them as ‘lost boys’ when studying the ‘surplus’ young men effectively driven out of polygamous groups because available young women were married off as sister wives to older men. Most of them struggled to survive in the margins of society in the West’s larger cities like Salt Lake City.

But our Jason was anything but lost. During the ensuing six year hiatus from the Compound he worked several odd jobs at once to support himself while earning a BS and an MBA at Utah State. Granted, by his junior year his education and livelihood was entirely funded by his substantial winnings at Texas Hold ‘Em (which also left him with a substantial nest egg for his investment career). It seemed his rare combination of a cool analytical mind with an uncanny ability to read other people made him almost unbeatable at a game relying substantially on both capacities. After finishing school and largely hanging up his poker career, he delighted his aging Father by returning to the fold (and the family businesses) at age 24 with a big shiny new toolset of well-developed business and financial skills. In the following decade the Father-son duo turned several sputtering online crafts stores into a burgeoning commercial empire with a worldwide sales reach. As well, they developed several highly profitable casinos in neighboring states. The Prophet himself gladly invested his own as well as Compound funds in the Thompson conglomerate, and gleefully counted profits far exceeding his best results with previous investment advisors.

During this productive period Jase lived in his Father’s family Compound and maintained his laser focus on business success. His work required him to travel extensively, leaving his Father to stay in his own comfort zone of managing workers from their sect in fulfilling the endless stream of orders (increasingly IT related) his expert salesman of a son generated. Many of these trips were to their growing group of ‘Indian’ casinos, businesses that the old man was uncomfortable involving himself with, though he was happy to harvest the profits by fleecing the foolish Gentiles. As a result, Jason was a total free agent when not in his Father’s strict house, just as he had been from when he left home until his prodigal return. After the Branch Davidian fiasco in Waco and the Federal vendetta against some of the polygamous sects, the Old Man ran a very tight ship on their land along the Utah-New Mexico border. Although he owed fealty to the Prophet and paid the largest tithes by far to the Compound’s coffers, Jason’s Father had always lived independently on his own family land. Their well-watered box canyon was a small hidden paradise in a very forbidding part of the desert. The only way in was heavily gated, and over a thousand acres of fields and orchards produced everything he and his four wives needed. As long as their miraculous spring fed by aquifers in faraway snowy mountains continued to produce a thousand gallons a minute of clear cool water as it had for the century the family had owned it, they needed nothing from anyone and liked it just fine that way.

Jason played the part of a dutiful son in the Cult in every way save one. He attended services when not traveling on business, was quietly deferential to his Father, the Elders, and the Prophet, and plowed his profits (after generous tithing) back into the family businesses without diverting a dime to personal use. His personal success as a young man in the poker world meant that he had a certain reputation even though he no longer played in public casinos. As a result, when on business trips he could put out the word and be informed of high stakes private games in whatever Southwest city he was visiting. This generated private income that he kept secret and