Spanked in Church Ch. 04

The names, characters, places and events in this story are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Spanked in Church Ch. 04

Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby. Hebrews Chapter 12, verse 11.

George Vasilakis put down the buff file onto his desktop when he heard the knock at his door.

"C'mon in," he called out. Immediately, his door opened and two of his field agents entered his office. He gestured at the shabby leather chairs positioned in front of his desk.

"Coffee?" he asked with a smile.

The woman placed a cardboard tray onto his desk. It held three large coffees in Styrofoam cups together with a selection of donuts and sachets of sugar. Working for the government, the office coffee was too lousy to drink so most people picked up coffee from the deli on the other side of the square. It did a roaring trade.

Vasilakis pushed himself away from his desk and wheeled himself over to the window where he adjusted the blinds against the morning sun before returning but sadly shutting out Philadelphia's magnificent skyline. He'd never worked with this couple before but their evaluations had both been excellent and they were assessed and trained for undercover ops.

As he wheeled his chair back to his desk, he saw them both watching him. They were doing their best not to let their faces reveal anything.

"Whatever you've heard about me, it's all true," Vasilakis said with a grin. "Well, except the one about me being a professional cage fighter!"

The couple smiled, looking a trifle more relaxed. They saw a big Greek in his late thirties with a shaved head and intelligent brown eyes twinkling behind his glasses. He wore a white shirt and dark pants over his wasted legs.

"If you're wondering how I got this chair, I was part of a raid on a cartel's compound down in Oaxaca. There were us ATF, DEA, bunch of army Ranger guys for the muscle, a suit from the CIA as well as the usual Mex police and army. We were gonna clear out that compound; take control of a huge amount of drugs and money and loads of firearms smuggled from the states. It was supposed to be a slam-dunk but some rat must've tipped off the cartel so they were ready and waiting for us. It all got noisy real fast. In the firefight, I took a bullet to the spine so that was that for active service. However, I'm still good for desk duties."

"I'm sorry," the woman said. Her mouth turned down.

"Don't be. Sure, I was cut up about it at first, felt really low and even thought of biting the bullet but then God showed me his purpose. One of the other guys at rehab was into wheelchair basketball and suggested I give it a go. So I thought I had nothing to lose so went along and, well, look at me now. It's like I found my true calling..."

Vasilakis gestured at one wall of his office. It was covered with photographs and framed newspaper stories of Vasilakis's wheelchair basketball team. There were several pictures of him grinning widely holding aloft various trophies for his league's as well as the state's wheelchair basketball team. Pride of place was one photo showing him shaking hands with the Vice President.

"Could've maybe gone to the Olympics but my job here takes up too much time and I couldn't afford the time away. My job here with ATF is too important; the bad guys don't give us a minute's rest."

He smiled again and the couple felt themselves warming to their new supervisor. "It's like God gave me a left-handed compliment. He took away my legs but gave me so much more in return. Praise the Lord."

The couple nodded assent but Vasilakis could tell their hearts weren't really right with God. He hoped that wouldn't be a problem. Since his accident he'd become closer to God and went with his family to the Orthodox Church every Sunday.

He'd read their files earlier and thought this pair would be suitable for a tricky but hopefully not too difficult undercover operation.

The woman was Laura Schulten, 26, from a small town outside of Milwaukee. Physically, she would fit in perfectly looking like a typical corn-fed Mid-West girl who'd been raised in a small town in the country. She was, if not chubby, then pleasantly rounded with full breasts and childbearing hips. Vasilakis thought she was the kind of woman who would have difficulty losing any baby weight after she had one. He had a sudden vision of her in her sixties, plump with gray hair, baking in her kitchen surrounded by noisy grandchildren. But now her hair was a light brown with maybe a hint of auburn. She had clear gray eyes and smiling lips. She would fit the demographic of the target area to a T.

Her undercover partner was to be a man called John Leandro, also 26, from Cincinnati. Despite his surname, there was little Italian in him except for his dark brown eyes and hair and a tendency to tan deeply. Although only of average height, he was broad shouldered and had been a decent middleweight boxer at University. He wore a brown sports jacket and slacks.

"As you can imagine, I've got lots of plates spinning in the air. And the plate I'm focusing on most is this one. I don't want to be known as a Greek plate-smasher so, let's get down to business, folks. This is your target and I want you to get close to him and his operation so we can get enough evidence to shut it down. We have it on good authority that he's running guns down from those white supremacists up in Washington State to anyone with the cash to buy. He's the middleman so the neo-Nazis don't have to dirty their hands dealing with their so-called racial inferiors. So he sells not just other Ku Klux Klan types but to black gangs, the Mexican cartels as well as ordinary stick-'em-up men."

Vasilakis passed over a manila file holding several photographs.

"Here he is. Deacon Jedediah Stearns. Ex-biker, done some serious times in some serious jails. Used to run with the Aryans but claims to have found God in the slammer. As so many assert they do. Picked up some mail-order certificate to call himself 'Deacon' then founded his own church in the back of beyond in Adams County, Ohio."

The photos showed that Stearns was a big, broad shouldered man of about fifty with tattoos snaking up both muscular arms and a biker's mustache. Even in the photo, his gray eyes seemed to pierce them through. Laura shivered slightly.

Vasilakis went onto explain that Stearns seemed to be using his church as a front for picking up and dropping off weapons and money. "And it's a perfect front for money laundering. All those handy cash donations." he added. "Also, from a courier caught in a motel with a load of gear who we got to flip, we're sure he's linked into the Russian Mob out of New York."

Laura frowned. "Wasn't there something really odd about that bust? I seem to remember reading something..."

Vasilakis nodded in agreement. "It's all in the file. Have a read later." (*)

"Anyway, what I want you to do is join his congregation, see what's going down out there in Adams County; get close to him and become trusted by him so that he will involve you in his less than legal activities. Then -- bang -- we'll close him down." With that, Vasilakis slammed his palm onto his desktop making Laura flinch.

They nodded.

"We can do that," Leandro said, showing confidence in their abilities.

"There is one problem, though," Vasilakis admitted. "Which will mostly affect you, Laura."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Stearns calls his church 'The Church of the Loving Holy Rebuke'. They believe in old-time religion..."

"They're not snake-handlers are they? I don't do snakes," Laura said. She gasped with fear.

"... No. No snakes. Not as far as I know. However, they believe women are subservient to men and have twisted some Bible verses to support that. I hear they also have some odd customs."

Showing them some intercepted email transcripts and other documents, he continued. "Also, it seems like the practices in his church amount to some kind of abuse. Now, that's not in ATF's remit, of course; that's for the local cops, but this guy's a bad actor and needs shutting down fast."

"Huh," Laura harrumphed as she glanced through a recording. "What century are these hillbillies living in?"

"Not this one," Vasilakis said with a laugh.

He went through their cover stories. John Leandro's cover was that he would be taking over as a manager of the local Economou Discount store. The chain's owner, a fellow Greek, was always glad to help Vasilakis out when called upon. Apparently, he was some sort of distant cousin or something and could be relied on totally. Meanwhile Laura Schulten would be posing as Leandro's wife, a self-employed painter. It helped that Laura was a genuinely talented amateur artist especially with still-lives and portraits. She also made Western-style silver and turquoise jewelry in her free time. There were plenty of empty store-fronts where she could set up a gallery if needed.

"You'll both need to be on top of your game for this. This guy's as wily as a fox but go get him," Vasilakis said at the end of their briefing.

***

A week or so later, they pulled up at their newly rented property off Boyd Avenue in the county seat of West Union, Ohio. Their temporary home was a single story Craftsman with light green siding and with a porch taking up the whole of the front which would be ideal for the hot summer months. Inside they saw that it had been furnished with thrift-store furniture but it was cozy and snug.

"Could be worse," Laura said. "It's got two bedrooms at least so I'll take that one."

With that she claimed the master with small half bathroom attached leaving John with the smaller guest room.

"Don't forget, we're supposed to be married," John called out, flashing his store-bought wedding band as they unpacked and settled in.

"Well, we're not," Laura said snippily. It was that time of the month and she couldn't be bothered with men at the moment.

The next few days were spent establishing there covers. John drove a Corolla over to the Economou Discount and got to grips with meeting the various uninterested employees (his initial impression was of a bunch of stoners, slackers, airheads and gum-chewing wannabe Valley Girls who couldn't get hired anywhere else) and getting to know the layout and stocktaking. He was surprised at how much stock seemed to have gone missing. Meanwhile, Laura set up her easel and started making some preliminary sketches. With a bit of time on her hands, she couldn't resist finding out the location of West Union's Western Union office. It had to be done!

Sunday came and it was a perfect day with blue skies, fluffy white clouds drifting overhead and temperatures in the seventies. Both put on smarter clothes. A white short-sleeved shirt and charcoal pants for John and a demure cornflower blue summer dress and straw hat for Laura. They got into the Corolla and headed west through rolling green cornfields to the Church of the Loving Holy Rebuke. It wasn't hard to find as a big signboard advertised its service times and both the parking lot and the road outside were full of cars and trucks of various ages and colors.

Leandro raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think it would be so popular. That might make things a little more difficult. We're supposed to get close to this Deacon Stearns character but he might already have any number of trusted people with him."

"We can do it. Let's just get ourselves known first and then I'm sure we'll spot an opening," Laura said.

"Or we'll make an opening," Leandro said with a grin as he opened his door.

The church had a brick base with freshly whitewashed siding above drawing the eye up to a small, pinnacled bell-tower. It had arched windows and seemed a pleasant, wholesome place to spend a Sunday morning surrounded as it was by neatly kept lawns. There were a number of people in the lot, some talking together, others having a last smoke before going in.

John and Laura mounted a few steps and went inside an open vestibule. They were greeted by a middle-aged man and woman who shook their hands and handed them Bibles and hymn sheets.

"Welcome, welcome. I hope y'all will enjoy worshipping with us today," the woman said with a big smile.

"First time here? The pastor tells it like it is," the man said, giving Leandro's hand an extra pump.

They entered the main part of the well-lit, sunny church. It was finished in beech wood and had a clean and airy feel to it. They managed to find a place together near the front and again they were greeted by affable people on the nearby seats. So far, everything seemed normal. Any children were led out to a Sunday school held in a separate annex to the church.

"Friendly bunch," John whispered into his supposed wife's ear.

Laura nodded but kept her eyes and ears open.

The service opened with some words of welcome followed by several worship songs which the congregation sang with enthusiasm. Then Deacon Jedediah Stearns took the lectern. He was an imposing figure, dressed in an open throated white shirt with a large stainless steel cross on a chain around his neck and black pants. His hair was slicked back and Laura thought that he still looked dangerous even as a pastor. What he must have been like in his earlier life as a biker and then an inmate made her shudder inside. She bet that not many people would have stepped up to him back then.

As they expected, his sermon was heavy on the Old Testament God of anger and wrath and judgment and less focused on the Christ of love and forgiveness. Looking around at the worshippers, she saw that they lapped it up and were following his words avidly, their eyes never leaving the Deacon as he walked up and down at the front, his arms swinging; sometimes raised to the heavens calling on retribution against the sinners in DC or New York or sometimes outstretched to his congregation, bringing them with him. His sermon was mostly based on those Kings of Israel who did evil in the sight of the Lord.

For all his faults, he certainly had a wild charisma, Laura thought. But so did Jim Jones or Charlie Manson. Winding down, she saw that his shirt was soaked with sweat and his slicked back hair was mussed. He thumped his oversized Bible one last time.

"It's all in here, folks! Everything! Let our loving Father's words inspire and guide y'all!" Deacon Stearns paused and took in several deep breaths.

A tall, gaunt man on the front row stood and placed an old-fashioned heavy oak chair in front of the communion table while Deacon Stearns glared at his congregation.

"Now, you have heard how the Lord metes out punishment to those who sin against him. Are there any men here whose wives or partners have erred in their sight and now wish the good people here to witness their justified chastisements?"

Several men stood. Deacon Stearns surveyed them for a moment then pointed to the man who had greeted at them at the door earlier.

"Brother Wissenbach."

The man took his wife by the arm and led her over to the oak chair. He sat with his wife standing next to him. She rubbed her arms nervously and looked scared but also there was a little smile on her lips.

Stearns handed his lapel microphone over to Wissenbach who blew into it.

"Ahem. My wife, err... Sue...., she took the Lord's name in vain when she forgot to close the pigsty and our piglets got out and ran all over the place. Took an age rounding up all the little critters," he said with a shy grin. "Anyway, I've warned her several times but she takes no notice so now she needs to learn to mind her tongue."

"Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; that's written in Exodus 20:7," Deacon Stearns thundered. "Thou must chastise her most severely.

The woman, Sue, hung her head with shame. "But I only said, 'Oh, my God' when I saw what I'd done. It just slipped out," she said.

There were gasps of outrage from the congregation. Laura noticed a tear in the corner of Sue's eye.

"Sue, I'm sorry but it's for your own good and that of your soul. I need you to lift up your dress, drop your panties and bend over my lap," Wissenbach told his wife.

Laura was aware of John leaning forward between the people in the row in front of him so he could get a better view of the proceedings. Sue Wissenbach was a plumper woman in her mid-forties with an ample bust and dyed blond hair in a loose pony-tail. She had a kindly apple-cheeked face and looked like a typical Mid-West farmer's wife. She wore a blue blouse and longer denim skirt which she slowly raised up her legs, revealing pale thighs until her white cotton panties were on show.

"Please, don't make me take off my panties in front of everyone. Can't you spank me over them?" she pleaded.

But there was no clemency there. Both her husband and Deacon Stearns firmly shook their heads. She turned her head away from the watchers so she could not see her humiliation reflected in their gaze; her hands slipped her fingers into her waistband then slowly lowered her briefs, down her thighs, over her chubby knees and down her calves before stepping out of them.

Wissenbach patted his lap. "Bend over."

Reluctantly, Sue did so. Her hands touched the ground on one side of his lap while her toes touched the other side. Wissenbach further lifted her skirt with a whisper of material that could be heard over the congregation's breathless stillness and adjusted her position until he was satisfied.

Wissenbach rubbed his wife's bare bottom, stroking it gently. Then he lifted his hand and SLAP! He brought his palm down hard onto her bottom. Sue gasped and jolted forward slightly but that was all. A second time he brought his hand down. SLAP! Again, the poor woman breathed in sharply. A third time. SLAP! The flesh of her soft, white, doughy buttocks flattened out under the impact and this time she whimpered a little louder. As if that noise broke the floodgates, Wissenbach spanked her harder and faster. He was not holding back. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The swats echoed around the church like pistol shots. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! More and more blows landed on her soft, squeezable rear. Now the tears came and Sue was openly weeping with pain and humiliation as everybody in the church's hall could witness her punishment. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Now her legs were kicking and thrashing as she tried to free herself but her husband's arm, long accustomed to heavy labor held her securely in place.

"Keep still, woman. You're just makin' it harder on yourself," growled Wissenbach.

He repositioned her. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The swats recommenced and her fleshy buttocks took the full force of his hand. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! She was crying freely but had learned her lesson and was trying to give her husband full access to her buttocks. Now her behind was no longer a creamy white but a bright firebox red. Eventually, when her cries were so pitiful, Wissenbach relented. With a final flurry of blows, SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! He stopped.

Giving his poor wife a moment to recover, he helped Sue to her feet and turned her around so that the congregation could see just how red and sore she was. However, as she was turned to expose her behind, Laura caught a quick glimpse of the woman's prominent pudenda and saw that she was likewise red and swollen down there with a hint of slickness trapped on her hairy pussy lips. She wondered if anyone else had noticed Sue's arousal.