She had been living with me for a few months now and somehow the whole thing had become normal. In the beginning, I was like the good uncle who provided her with food and shelter. But I soon became the father who subjected her to the upbringing she had never had. In the meantime, I became the mature man who had taken control of her life.

Our first encounter was purely coincidental. She was standing in front of a kebab shop looking for help and begged me for a few euros. A young thing who had ended up on the street for some reason and was obviously hungry. Anyone who can’t spare five euros for a kebab must be in a really bad way, I thought to myself and invited her to come inside with me. I ordered her a kebab with everything and a large Coke and the same for me, but with a beer.

She had aroused my curiosity or whatever it was that had set my senses on alert. My hunting instinct was awakened. My head was working at full speed. My tentacles were ready to pounce.

I was probably at an age that she associated more with a father than a man. In any case, I was her patron, perhaps even her savior at this late hour of the evening. Because she was really hungry. I’ve never seen a little girl devour a kebab so quickly. I ordered her a second one and we got talking. She had gained my trust. At least she seemed infinitely grateful. Or maybe she just thought it would be polite to exchange a few friendly words with the donor of her dinner.

However, it wasn’t all that friendly what I coaxed out of her. She was only eighteen. She had fallen out with her parents and the great love of her life had broken up with her last night. The guy had unceremoniously thrown her out when she didn’t want to do what he wanted. Penniless and desperate, she had spent the first night on the street. Now the second night was approaching and it was cold and rainy outside.

I played the worried man who felt responsible. I gave her hope that there was a room in my house where she could stay for the time being. I reassured her that she shouldn’t be afraid, things would work out somehow. I had children of my own, but they lived with my divorced wife, I lied. It was a strategy that fell on fertile ground and a little later she was sitting next to me as I drove my plain mid-range car to an inconspicuous little house in the countryside.

I didn’t touch them. Not on the first night and not the nights after that. I wanted her to trust me. I cooked for both of us and she helped me. That was supposed to arouse sympathy and create closeness. I listened to her for a long time and gained a lot of knowledge about her. That should tell her that she was dealing with a man who was interested in her. We lived like father and daughter and she showed no signs of wanting to be free. Where was she supposed to go, without a job, without friends, without money? Everything she owned fitted into a small sports bag that she had left in a station locker.

Gradually, I began to set rules for her. Things she was allowed to do and others that were strictly forbidden. And I gave her tasks to do. The house had to be kept clean and the laundry needed someone to take care of it. She obeyed silently and fitted into a daily routine that I had given her.

She was already eighteen, but deep down she was still a child. Her ideas about life were naive. Her wishes sounded like something out of a storybook. She had no education and had only ever lived from poorly paid jobs. But she didn’t think that was important either, because one day she would surely meet the man who would take care of her. A typical woman: simple-minded and looking for a strong man to guide her through life.

I could feel her subtly starting to come on to me. Maybe it was completely unconscious. Or maybe she was a sly bitch who was out to take advantage of an older man. In any case, she moved around the house more and more freely. In the morning, she went to the bathroom wearing only her panties and when she draped herself on my couch, it was always in a way that made her look sexy. If she wore one of her skimpy little skirts, she was naked underneath and seemed to accidentally make sure that I was aware of this fact. But her favorite thing was to walk around in a piece of clothing that was actually not much more than a pair of tights and showed me in no uncertain terms what kind of body nature had given her.

At some point, the time had come. She consciously sought closeness to me. She cuddled up close to me while I read a book or watched TV. She lasciviously rubbed her pussy against my thigh as she crawled up me and gave me a grateful kiss. She furtively ran her hand between her legs and pretended I wasn’t supposed to notice. And one night she crawled into bed with me without a word and did what she had already learned to do in her short life. She took my cock in her mouth and devotedly made sure it grew big and strong. She slid over me and let it slide into her insides, which seemed to be already wet and ready for it. She rubbed her pointed breasts against my chest and made every effort to put on a lascivious expression and play the horny lover. In reality, she was just masturbating. The difference was that she wasn’t using her fingers, but my cock.

But I quickly made it clear to her that she had chosen the wrong person for her games. I had watched her little shamelessness for long enough. But if she thought she could seduce me with her little ass and tiny tits, she had miscalculated. A man like me wouldn’t be seduced by an immature brat. And if anyone was fucking here, it was him, and he was doing it his way.

So I withdrew from her after she had had her fun. I turned her to the side, bent her thin legs upwards until she was lying in a kind of fetal position and proceeded to spank her. I was a man in his prime. She was a woman who had just crossed the threshold into womanhood. So there was no question what to do here. She twitched and whimpered as I haunted her exposed little buttocks with the flat of my right hand. She tried to shake herself free, but I held her with an iron grip. She tried to get away from me, but apart from showing me her pussy, which she had been holding under my eyes all the time anyway, she didn’t achieve anything.

She got a real, classic spanking and her screaming clearly indicated that she had never experienced anything like it before. So she had never really been brought up and her boyfriend had probably not understood how to show her who was the man of the house.

I wanted her to expect to be punished by me at any time from now on. And I wanted her to realize that from now on she was in my possession and that it was me who would fuck her in the future, whenever he felt like it and however he liked.

When her little bottom and the adjacent thighs had turned an even red, I let go of her. I waited until she had calmed down. I lay patiently next to her until her small, soft body snuggled up to me and she approached with her tear-streaked face to beg for forgiveness with little kisses on her chest, cheeks and mouth. So she knew that she had behaved like a little whore and she knew that she had been rightly spanked.

She would never be above me again when we had sex. That was the next message she had to learn. So I released myself from her embrace, turned her around, took a wide-legged position above her, grabbed her by the hips and brought her into a kneeling position. I pressed her head deep into the pillow and told her to make a hollow back. Now I had her the way I wanted her. She presented her small yet extremely attractive bottom and I looked at two round and annoyingly reddened cheeks, between which the two openings she would make available to me were invitingly visible. She had already used her mouth. I would take care of her wide open and shiny, moist love hole in a moment and her tightly closed butt hole would be my turn sometime later.

I don’t know if a man had ever really fucked her before. But in the next few weeks she was like butter in my hands. She longed for my touch. Her kisses were passion par excellence and when my hands found their way into her colorful little girl panties, she was wet and more than ready to be taken. She was my girl. I had picked her up off the street. I fed and clothed her. I offered her a roof over her head . So it was only fitting that she thanked me in the only way available to a destitute girl.

When I realized that she was stealing from me, it was time for the next step. I had been noticing for weeks that money kept going missing from my wallet. It was mostly just small bills, but it didn’t go unnoticed. So I installed a small, hidden camera in my office, because it always seemed to be picking up when the wallet was in my desk drawer.

One afternoon, when she was standing downstairs in the laundry room at the ironing board with her headphones on blasting loud music into her ears, I searched her room. The hiding place was so amateurish that it only took me minutes to find the money. Then I went into the dining room, spread the bills out on the table and set about preparing dinner. Meanwhile, she continued to play the hard-working housewife. I watched as she carried the laundry basket upstairs. I heard her upstairs in the bedroom, busy putting every single item of clothing back in its place. I heard her singing and warbling merrily. A shabby little thief who didn’t yet know she’d been caught.

At some point, I was ready and called her to the table. I had instructed her to always appear presentable and nicely dressed at mealtimes. As a result, it took her a while before I finally heard her footsteps on the stairs.

She let out a suppressed scream when she saw not only the laid table but also the fanned-out banknotes waiting for her for dinner. But I ignored her reaction and asked her to take a seat as if nothing had happened. The menu had turned out well, I thought, but I doubted she would enjoy it. The dinner therefore proceeded in silence and you could literally feel the dark clouds gathering over the table and a leaden silence spreading through the room.

I didn’t have to say anything. She knew that I had found out about her secret activities. I also refrained from any punitive sermon. So there was no shouting, no tears, no excuses, no apologies, no pleading, no thundering. I simply stepped behind her and asked her to stand up.

She obeyed and stood up with unsteady movements. She was wearing a white blouse and a black skirt that clung to her bottom like a glove. I ordered her to clear the dishes. She did it silently, like a well-behaved daughter who had been brought up well. I stood there silently and threateningly and watched her.

When she had finished and there was nothing left in the kitchen to suggest that cooking had been done here an hour ago, I summoned her into the living room. I spoke the two unmistakable words and she began to undress. There wasn’t too much she could take off – a blouse, a skirt, a pair of panties – and so it was only a few moments before she stood naked and vulnerable in front of me. My next order was for her to go upstairs and I followed her as she climbed the stairs step by step, offering me the stimulating spectacle of her exposed buttocks.

Once upstairs, I took two leather cuffs and put them around her wrists. She let it happen silently and devotedly. The head of the bed was a solid construction made of turned oak. I had attached two short ropes to it, some distance apart, with a metal ring at each end. I ordered her to crawl onto the bed on all fours. Then I hooked first her left and then her right hand into the metal rings. Her upper body was now resting on her elbows and her bottom was slightly raised in the air. She looked like a dog that had done something wrong and was now standing there with its tail between its legs, waiting to be punished. And somehow it was.

She didn’t know my whip yet. It was an impressive specimen, well over a meter long and supple enough to be frightening. I lashed out with it. Wordlessly and without warning. The braided leather hit her across her bottom, which she had humbly pulled in while her buttocks were pressed tightly together. This is exactly how a woman behaves when she is afraid of punishment, I thought. But the first blow acted like a bolt of lightning on her nerves. She jumped up, threw herself to the side and immediately let out an animalistic howl. A whip was not a leather strap and certainly not a flat hand.

I took my time. I wanted to enjoy her punishment. But it wasn’t just about my own satisfaction. Above all, I wanted her to have the opportunity to savor every single blow. In the past, every unruly stable maid was chastised like this. Today, only women in the Arab world have to suffer under the whip of their masters. Or a thief who had sinned against me.

When she had recovered from her first blow and a flaring red welt ran across her body, I struck again. Her screeching sounded like music to my ears. My sympathy, which was certainly there, didn’t stand a chance at that moment. She was a thief, after all. She had stolen from the man who had rescued her from the gutter and taken care of her with devotion for months. She more than deserved to be punished. She deserved to suffer under my whip. A woman like her had to be taught a lesson she would not soon forget.

She tugged at her restraints and threw her body back and forth wildly, but I kept my rhythm. Only when things had calmed down again was the next blow delivered and the spectacle began all over again. A whip has the decisive advantage that it follows every contour of the body and penetrates into corners that a cane or even a leather strap could never reach. Especially if you know how to use it and are aware that it is its pencil-thin tapered end that has the most painful effect.

The upper body of a woman is taboo, was my motto. Anyone who gives a woman more than a slap in the face is making a mistake. I therefore concentrated exclusively on my girl’s bottom and thighs. Where the flesh is most sensitive is where the greatest educational effect can be achieved. Informed men have known this for thousands of years.

When I had the impression that her body couldn’t take any more welts, I moved on to the second act of her punishment. I swapped her arms and hooked her left wrist into the right iron ring and her right wrist into the left iron ring. As a result, she was now lying on her back and I had the still largely untouched side of her body in front of me. Then I also fitted her ankles with leather loops and hooked them into the practical iron rings. A woman can stretch her body far more than a man can. Anyone who has ever practiced yoga knows that only women are able to cross their legs behind their heads and obscenely show off their pussies. That’s what I thought of when I saw her lying there like that. Her bottom was slightly raised. Her legs clearly spread. A position in which she really showed me everything that made up her femininity.

I changed the punishment instrument. Now it was the turn of the short strap whip. It was a treacherous instrument with a firm handle and a dozen thin leather straps. A lash flashed through the body like a bolt of lightning. A blow with the multi-tailed strap whip triggered a widespread fire that was rekindled with every stroke. I used it to work on the inside of her thighs, her pussy and the areas of her bottom that had been spared so far. She twitched and pulled in her restraints, but I stoically carried out what I had set out to do.

When I finally had the feeling that she couldn’t take any more, I let go of her. I undid her restraints and left her behind. I locked the bedroom door. I would only visit her again after she had had enough time to think about her sin and repent of her thieving behavior. And I would lock the house from then on so that she couldn’t get any ideas.

I left the banknotes I had stolen over the course of many weeks on the kitchen table. One day they disappeared and I found them again in the desk drawer from which they had been stolen. That same evening she came up to me. She kissed me, she made a meek apology. She was my girl again and she would be for a long time to come.