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Content Warning: spiritual abuse, Male Dominance/female submission, spanking, crying.

Quick definition: “courting” in this context refers to the parentally sanctioned dating period before (arranged) marriage.

***

“Hurry up, dear, he’ll be here any minute! Have you packed everything?”

“Yes, auntie. Be down in a sec!”

Today’s the big day; my aunt and I are moving in with her new husband, Mr. Grant. When she told me we were going to be living with my new stepdad I was cautiously optimistic. Sure it would be another change, but at this point I’m used to changes. I’d been living with my aunt for a few years now, ever since my drug-addict biological mother overdosed. Auntie quickly proved herself to be a much better caretaker than my actual mom, and I was grateful for her steady life.

Unlike my real mother, my aunt never dabbled in drugs or “sinful” activities. She and her sister were raised religious, but my mother had “veered off course.”

“I won’t let the same thing happen to you,” she’d assure me.

My aunt was much more passionate in her religious devotion than my mother and her new husband matched her fervor equally. As much as she strove to be the perfect (in their minds) Christian woman: obedient, subservient, at the will of Man; he strove to be the perfect Christian Man: master of his domain, humble servant of God. I’d only met Mr. Grant once or twice at meals and he seemed nice enough. Well, maybe not nice, but commanding and proud in his status as a high-ranking man of his church.

“Oh, dearie, he’s here! Let me fix you hair… perfect! You look lovely. And please, try to act sweet when you’re around him. He likes his girls like that. Do that for me, will you?”

I glanced around nervously after that cryptic comment as my aunt opened the door to usher in Mr. Grant, who looked quite dapper in his suit.

“Hello, my Husband,” auntie chirped in a rather deferential tone. She even did a little curtsy. Mr. Grant grinned as he watched her obsequious performance, but his smile dissolved after he looked me up and down.

“Why isn’t she in a skirt, Susie?” My aunt’s name is Susanne and I’d never heard anyone call her Susie.

“Oh, I’m so sorry dear I didn’t think-“

“Of course you didn’t. But that’s why I’m here. To think.” He patted my aunt’s head patronizingly then looked back at me.

“You, girl, go upstairs and put on one of your skirts. No woman will be stepping into my home in a pair of trousers! Blasphemy! If you’d been been doing your Bible readings you’d know this. Deuteronomy 22:5 A woman shall not wear a man’s garment, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the LORD! So get on up those stairs and change, little girl, then we can head out.”

Mr. Grant seemed to have settled slightly but his initial outrage still shook me. My aunt didn’t look too frightened, though; I could tell she was used to these outbursts. She took me aside.

“I’m sorry about his tone, darling, he really doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just a little… old-fashioned, shall we say. But please, dear, just go along with it for now. He’s so kind to take us in, and soon you’ll see his ways aren’t so bad. Plus, it should only be for the summer, you’ll probably be going to college in a few months. You think you can do this for me, sweetheart? Please, I love him with all my heart.”

My aunt pled with her puppy-dog eyes and I knew she really loved him so I didn’t complain and changed into a skirt. Our household wasn’t ‘modest’, though, and my options were sure to raise eyebrows. But I had no choice, so I put on a rather skimpy light pink pleated skirt. It was cute, but definitely not for the eyes of a Godly man. I went back downstairs and Mr. Grant smiled.

“Much better, sweetie, even if it is a bit… short. My son’s in town for the summer and I don’t want him near any heathens, but now you look perfect. See, girl, don’t you feel better wearing your feminine garments?”

“Um, yes, Mr. Grant. I guess so.”

I was swaying nervously and the skirt was swishing up and showing him more leg. Mr. Grant just kept grinning, clearly enjoying my new outfit, although it was hard to believe this tiny skirt made me more faithful to God than the jeans I had on before. Whatever his reasoning for making me wear it, I didn’t mind because I preferred him relaxed.

“Please, dear, call me Father. I think it’s appropriate now that I’m taking you under my roof.” He held a firm tone when he said “my” to remind me that he was in charge.

“Yes, Father,” I blushed. I didn’t know my real Dad so it felt weird to say for the first time.

Mr. Grant carried our bags and led us to the car. He opened the back door and my aunt and I got in; with him driving and us in the rear we both looked like his children. I was going to ask my aunt why she wasn’t sitting in the front but recalled her saying he’s “old-fashioned” and decided not to.

We drove in silence for a while and I remembered that Mr. Grant’s son, James, bahis firmaları would be living with us. I hadn’t met him before but knew he was a lot older than me; I think 30. I’d never lived with a guy, let alone two, and was thinking about how weird it was going to be when the crackling radio broke my thought, followed by a woman citing scripture.

“Can you believe this, girls? A woman! Preaching! This country, I tell you, it’s going to hell! The whole place! Isn’t it just terrible, Susie? Tell me woman, what does the Bible have to say about this?”

“Timothy 2:12 But I do not allow a woman to teach or exercise authority over a man, but to remain quiet,” she replied confidently.

“Good girl, Susie, at least one woman on this God-forsaken earth knows her scripture. And that’s why I married you, darling.” He smiled at her from the rearview mirror. She smiled back.

“Yes, dear, if only she knew her place. Please, will you change the channel? Go to your favorite station.” My aunt used her feminine charm to defuse the situation and he switched to a man droning about the sanctity of marriage.

“A woman preaching…” he grumbled to himself throughout the rest of the ride.

We arrived at his house and it was definitely an upgrade from my aunt’s; I could tell why she wanted to move in. It had two stories, a white picket fence, and a picturesque garden: the quintessential suburban home. After grabbing our bags, Mr. Grant came to let us out of the car. I noticed when he put his key in the door that there was no way for auntie and I to unlock it ourselves from the inside. It was strange and unnerving, but that was only the first of many bizarre things to come.

Upon entering, my aunt practically sprinted to gather her husband’s coat and hat. She placed them on a rack and hanger in the closet while Mr. Grant took a seat on a leather ottoman. Once his coat was dealt with my aunt rushed over to kneel in front of him. She untied his laces, took off each shoe, and replaced it with a soft slipper. Auntie stowed the shoes away neatly then stood at attention.

“Do you need anything else, my Husband?”

“Some tea, please. And you better start on dinner soon, James will be home in an hour.”

My aunt flew to the kitchen to attend to her new chores giving her no time to explain her bizarre behavior. Why was she being so servile? It’s like she was his… slave! I know, I know, “old-fashioned”, but this is a little much, right? Mr. Grant turned to me.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go upstairs and settle into your new room. Don’t dally, though, girl, you need to help your aunt prepare dinner. With you and James living here there’ll be double the chores and I expect you to do your share. Off you go, and remember, a woman’s work is never done!”

He playfully smacked my butt as he shooed me up and it made my cheeks flare. Walking up the stairs I could sense him easily peeking up the short skirt he’d made me put on. Dirty perv. Is this what it’s going to be like living under a man’s roof? Is he going to set arbitrary rules for me to benefit himself sexually under the guise of religious virtuousness? Of course he is.

I showered and shaved all over since I was now required to show skin. I glided downstairs feeling cute in my tight pink sweater and white skirt. Entering the kitchen I saw auntie.

“Oh you look so beautiful, sweetheart! You’re making such a wonderful impression on my Husband and I’m sure James will love you the same. Don’t you just adore the house, honey? I love it and feel so at home here.”

My aunt seemed to be over the moon about everything that was happening and I really didn’t want to rain on her parade, especially since I would only be here for a few months.

“Yes, auntie, it’s so big! And Mr. Grant seems like a very respectable man. You must reeeaallly respect him, huh?”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry about that. I should have explained more when I said he’s… old-fashioned. What I mean, sweetheart, is that Mr. Grant and the men of his church follow the literal word of the Bible as law, and guide their lives through its passages. To your Father, one of the most important lines is

Corinthians 11:9 For indeed Man was not created for the woman’s sake, but woman for the Man’s sake.

In our church, women are the servants of Men; we are their helpmeets. I took a vow to love, honor, respect, and obey my Husband, so everything you see me do is out of my devotion to him and to God. But please, honey, know that I’m doing this out of my own desires. I love him dearly, I love my church, and I love my role as a woman. I choose to do this, and I hope one day you’ll see that it’s a righteous path.”

She looked at me earnestly so I just soaked in her backwards, anti-feminist diatribe and let it marinate as I literally began marinating tonight’s dinner. Who am I to judge my aunt for doing what she wants? It was a bit weird seeing her take off his shoes and coat like a 1950’s sitcom, but I guess that’s just old-fashioned. kaçak iddaa What was weirder, though, was the tingling sensation I got when she was kneeling in front of him. He sat so stoically, so proud of having his woman do his bidding. It was quite erotic. And I don’t really blame my aunt for wanting to serve Mr. Grant…

He’s reallllyyy handsome: your classic bearded DILF pastor who you fantasize about getting ravished by while he preaches the benefits of chastity. He’s tall, too, and pretty buff. He’s always wearing polos, flannels, suits, anything with buttons and collars. He says those are men’s garments and he definitely looks all man when he’s filling out his sleeves. I could feel drool forming at both ends as I dreamed about Mr. Grant. How naughty of me, he’s my Father now! My insides were simmering thinking about his previous ass-smack when my fantasy was cut short by the man himself.

“Isabella, come meet your new brother.”

I looked up from the cutting board to see a carbon copy of Mr. Grant standing next to him. Well, a bit younger, but just as handsome. His frame was equally large, but his posture had the vigor of a man in his 30s and he looked quite intimidating.

“I thought you said these pretty little girls just moved in an hour ago, Dad, but I see you already have them working hard in the kitchen. You never change do you?” James jested.

“Never, son, nor should I. It’s a good sight, isn’t it? My girls doing their duties under my roof. Makes me a proud man! Now girls, come say hi to James.”

I was already so embarrassed by their back and forth about our inferior position that when auntie curtsied with her hello I wanted to disappear entirely. I thought the curtsy was odd since she’s older than him and is technically his mom now, but I guess she treats him with the same respect she gives her Husband. I couldn’t meet James’ eyes as I reached for a handshake. He appreciated my timid nature, and his scratchy beard made me flutter when he kissed my hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Bella.”

I twinkled shyly at his nickname then James nodded to let me know I could return to cooking. I caught myself doing a half curtsy before turning back. I don’t know why I did it; it was humiliating. The men chuckled pleasantly then went to the other room.

“He’s quite handsome isn’t he, dear.”

“Auntie that’s gross! He’s my brother now!”

“Oh hush, dear, I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that you’re 18 now; you’re a woman and it’s not a bad time to start thinking about finding yourself a Husband. I wish I’d found a good man like Mr. Grant at your age so I could’ve given him babies and loved him for longer. I can’t now, but you still have that chance girl, and you shouldn’t ruin it. Think about it when we’re out at church this summer, and maybe you’ll find there are paths outside of college…”

My aunt and I had talked about college before and she wasn’t too keen on me going. She didn’t know why I needed an education if I was going to be a mother and wife later, and she wouldn’t listen when I said maybe I didn’t want that.

“You will one day, girl, you will.”

She’d remind me constantly about purity and a girl’s duty to save her virginity for her husband. Fortunately I still had mine so I wasn’t afraid of that, but the thought of getting married right now seemed ridiculous. I wanted to counter her comment about me not going to college but Mr. Grant called her to get the men some drinks. Of course she rushed out immediately.

Dinner was prepared and the guys came to the table. They’d rolled up their sleeves and taken off their ties to avoid getting them dirty, and now their dark, flowing chest and arm hair had revealed itself. I rubbed my thighs subconsciously, wetness forming as two of the hunkiest men I’d ever been around were about to eat the dinner I’d prepared. I was nervous and hoped they’d like it. James pulled out my chair for me which made me swoon even more.

We ate quietly with my aunt getting up a few times to fill glasses, grab sauces, and perform various tasks as they arose. My Father (it still feels weird calling him that) was quite content knowing he could request anything and it would be done in an instant. His son watched with admiration at how well his Father had mastered my aunt, how easily he’d bent her to his will. And she did it all with a smile.

James got bold at one point, probably out of masculine jealousy, and asked me to get him butter from the fridge. My aunt and Father grinned, so with much embarrassment I did as was commanded. Thankfully, James didn’t look smug when I handed him the butter. Instead he nodded with pride and satisfaction and it made me feel good inside.

“Thank you, darling.”

“Of course, sir.” I don’t know why I said that but it just felt natural and everyone around me approved. I curtsied lightly and returned to my seat.

“Her mother may not have been a saint, but she’s a very good girl.” Father was talking to everyone but kaçak bahis me. It made me feel so small when he and James did that.

“Yes, our little Isabella is just precious,” my aunt beamed.

“Splendid meal, girls. But there’s still much to be done so get back in the kitchen. James and I are going to Mr. Cornish’s for a Fraternal Assembly and won’t be home til late. I’m expecting this place to be spotless when we get back, but you know that already girls.” There was a clear threat underlying his jovial delivery.

“I’ve left some scripture for you to read, Bella, to help with your spiritual guidance. It’ll do you good to absorb those lines, especially the ones I’ve highlighted. Okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Wonderful. Such a good girl, and with a little work you’re only going to get better.”

Father went back to the ottoman and my aunt put on and tied his shoes. James looked very impressed.

“See, son, this is what you can look forward to once you’ve courted and married. I can’t wait to give you a nice bride and finally turn you into a true Man.”

“I can’t wait either, Father. God’s been telling me that I’ll find and take my wife this summer. And soon I won’t have to tie my own shoes like a chump!” The men shared a hearty laugh. My aunt placed Father’s coat on him then he and James headed out.

“I’ll lock up, Susie, I know you’re so forgetful. And you two beautiful girls are the perfect targets for a robbery.”

“I know, my Husband, I do get nervous when you’re not around. Thank you for locking up, dear.”

The men left the house and I heard Father turn the key from outside; I didn’t know they meant trapping us in when they said locking up!

Cleaning was a bore; my aunt was never the most fun person to chat with. She’s so engrossed in the church and being pious that I found it better just to clean in peace and quiet. After scrubbing for nearly 2 hours I finally settled down to check my phone and laptop, but when I got in my room I discovered they were both gone. Instead, on my desk was a Bible with dozens of sticky notes bursting out. There was a letter on it.

“Read this, Bella, it’ll do you better than those electronics. We’re going to keep you pure.” It was signed ‘Father and James’.

I guess this summer was going to be a lot shittier than I expected. I let out a huge sigh and was about to ask my aunt to get my phone back, but when I walked in her room I saw her in serene prayer and decided to just let her be. I relented and read my passages. I’d done bible study growing up and knew it was boring as hell but something about James and Father wanting me to do it made it more tolerable. I read the first highlighted passage:

Genesis 2:18 It is not good that the Man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.

Genesis, Adam and Eve, I knew this stuff. But I’d never really thought about it like that before. That God made Eve for Adam, solely to be his helper. His servant. No wonder Father treats auntie like that, God is telling him to. I continued.

Peter 3:7 Likewise, Husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel.

He highlighted and circled “woman as the weaker vessel”.

Ephesians 5:22 Wives, submit to your own Husbands, as to the Lord. For the Husband is the head of the wife.

He highlighted and underlined “submit to your Husband”. I flushed thinking about James and Father picking these lines specifically for me and my finger went down to my skirt out of naughty habit. I pushed aside my lacy panties that were definitely not chaste, and felt delicate honey drops trickling down my virgin slit. I pictured James and Father looking so handsome at dinner. I wish they’d unbuttoned their shirts a little more, or just taken the damn things off! Then taken my skirt off, then pushed me up against the table… then… then…

I was rubbing my finger all around the rim of my smooth, wet mound, careful not to dip it in. I took my aunt’s word to heart about saving my virginity and didn’t want anything to ruin it. I didn’t even wear tampons, terrified that any small insertion might rupture my purity for life. I ripped my finger away from my throbbing pussy and returned to my passages, I’m a Godly girl now. The next line did everything but cool me down, though.

Leviticus 21:13 And he shall take a wife in her virginity.

“Mmmmmmmmm” I exhaled with pent up hunger, a feeling unlike anything I knew. This deep, carnal lust that drove me to do insane things, like not even be mad at Father for taking my phone and making me read the Bible. No, I almost respected him for it; his no nonsense approach to running his household. He commands so much authority and makes me feel so weak. Just like the Bible said, the woman is the weaker vessel. Maybe there is some truth to this stuff…

This mix of religious guilt, confusion, lust, and anxiety wore me out and I fell asleep with my Bible open on my chest, one hand dangerously close to my needy cunt.

The next morning I was awoken by a soft, “Bella girl, time to get up. You need to start on my breakfast.”

I jumped up and gasped! Did I pass out with my hand in my panties!

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