Chapter 1
Dear Reader,
This book is a little different from what I usually write, but I truly hope you enjoy it as much as I’ve enjoyed creating it.
The story explores life in a town governed by strict religious beliefs—one that enforces shame, spankings, and public humiliation as forms of punishment. While it reflects some of the darker elements of such a society, it also includes themes I’m more familiar with—eroticism and romance. You’ll find scenes that involve nudity, humiliation, and moments of forbidden desires, including LGBTQ themes and more.
That said, I want to make something very clear: this book is a work of fiction. It is not meant to shame, judge, or condemn anyone based on their sexuality, beliefs, or lack thereof. Whatever your identity or belief system, please know that you are valid and seen. This story does not reflect my personal views but aims to tell a thought-provoking narrative set in a specific, fictional world.
Thank you for reading. I truly hope you connect with this story and find meaning in the characters and their journeys.
With love,
QueenJ💕
Evelyn – 1911
I was born into a society bound by religion. That meant long dresses, flats or heels, and belief in Christ. It meant bibles and church every Sunday. At least, that’s what I thought.
As I got older, I realized that while there was grace in the rituals—church, scripture, tradition—there was just as much shame. And shame was never taken lightly here.
We held ceremonies to publicly display shame, sin, and disobedience. Children, women, and men gathered to witness the so-called “sinful” get what they “deserved.” Punishment.
Being punished meant being bare before God. It meant spankings in front of the town, or walking naked through the square, claimed to be in the name of redemption.
But if it was truly for God, why did eyes pry? Why did everyone in town know the details? Why did people laugh and mock those trying to be redeemed?
I was young when I first started questioning it all.
After those ceremonies, church was held the next morning. The building was massive—everyone in town attended. And I mean everyone. No one believed differently, not openly. We were all forced into the same faith.
The same people who laughed and cursed the night before would become saints on Sunday. They looked down on the punished like they were the worst of sinners, as if their own cruelty didn’t count.
But from what I understood… weren’t we all sinners? Even those sitting in the pews?
Still, this was the only world I knew. Shame, curfews, dress codes, quiet obedience. I didn’t think to question it—at least, not out loud. Curiosity wasn’t welcome here.
Momma made sure Ruth and I, her two girls, followed the rules—dressed modestly, acted politely, stayed in line. Daddy did the same with Billy, my older brother. They drank beer after work, smoked outside, and “provided.” Men worked. Women stayed home or strolled town in pairs.
When I was a child, girls didn’t go to school. By the time I did, things had changed a little. But not much.
I had a few friends from school—Marrie, Ana, and Alice—but they weren’t like me. They didn’t ask questions. They gossiped about who was sinning, who’d go to hell, who was humiliated at the last ceremony. They laughed. They teased. It was cruel. But I never said anything.
We were supposed to be religious. Momma always said, “We don’t question things in this town. We don’t stand out. We don’t get caught. Or we end up like one of them.”
She was strict. Daddy too. A single slip, a hint of shame, and the belt came out. We learned obedience fast.
Present Day – Sunday Morning
We stood outside the church, lined up like cattle, waiting for the doors to open. The old priest greeted us in his black robe—his beard white, hair a tangled gray mess.
Now that I was nineteen, Momma said I needed a husband. Said I had to be a proper woman for our family’s reputation. So that’s what I pretended to be. But walking into that church, all I could think was—I didn’t want to marry anyone who believed in this. I wanted someone who saw the world like I did. Someone I could trust without being reported.
Inside the dim wooden church, I sat between Momma and Ruth, while Billy sat beside Daddy. We all stood when the priest walked by, altar boys trailing behind him.
The candles were lit, the church full, the air heavy. We waited in silence.
Finally, the priest spoke. “Jesus… Jesus wrote the Bible to guide us on our path today.”
He raised his voice. “Those who do not read the Bible daily are already halfway to sin.”
My hands rubbed anxiously along my thighs. I couldn’t breathe. Every time I stepped inside this church, it felt like choking. Like they’d asked God to come down and wrap his hand around my throat.
The priest kept talking, voice rising with every sentence. And then he yelled: “So why should sinners be treated any different from us?! We should all be on our knees, begging to be redeemed!”
Gasps echoed. People turned. Murmurs rose around the room.
I looked toward the wooden floor where, at the side of the altar, two men were moving toward the priest—grabbing him.
Was he… being punished? Was he now considered the sinner?
No one had ever laid hands on the priest before.
Surely, they wouldn’t strip him bare in front of everyone… would they?
