Image – Marc Lagrange
It had been a tedious day at the seminary. We’d had the Archministress down for a three day inspection and of course all the paperwork had to be up-to-date and absolutely perfect. I always hate these things. I’m not a great stickler for paperwork and there had been a lot of last minute panic so I was feeling quite tired and fed up with it all. I just wanted the damned inspection out of the way so we could get back to doing what we were good at doing. Saving souls.
In need of some distraction and good food, I’d gone to Mistress Adonia’s for dinner. Her dinner soirées were always lively and well attended and the food was invariably of high quality. Of course the serving wenches there were also some of the best trained and most beautiful in all the Principality.
There was one there that night who really took my eye. She was a fruity little thing and knelt charmingly at her Mistress’ side. Naked, collared and cuffed according to the custom of the house, she had a proud bearing that was unusual in a slave and she struck a fine figure as she knelt in obeisance.
She was of medium build, dark red haired, and probably from the poorer regions in the south. A farm slave girl sold at market for a new plow or dairy stock. She’d obviously been worked as she was fit, full-breasted and broad-shouldered. I remember she had the most exquisite ruby red nipples. Quite large, like two juicy grapes. That region is famous for its soft velvety wines and she looked very much like she’d been harvested from the same deep soil.
I wished I could have been present at her uncorking.
Her pussy was a pretty little slit set snugly atop her muscular thighs. She was freshly shaved of course – within the last hour I would judge – and I found it very enticing indeed. The mystique of its taste and bouquet seemed to tempt my palate with an irresistible allure.
I kept glancing at it out of the corner of my eye all the way through the main course.
I passed on the dessert tray but I ordered some coffee. I needed something a little stronger too. We’d have another day of the paper chase tomorrow so any more alcohol was out of the question. But I needed to reincorporate myself somehow before going home or I’d feel sluggish in the morning.
Something invigorating. Something to aid the digestion.
But something sweet and spicy too?
I looked at that pussy. It was far more appetizing than an expensive cigar or a fine brandy.
Far healthier for the soul too.
It was simply begging to confess its sins to me.
I glanced around the table. Mistress Adonia and “X” were chatting about some local politician who’d been discovered bedding the Council leader’s wife. It had been the talk of the town all day. The man was a fool. Why bother bedding other men’s wives when you come here and whip a slave or two. So much more satisfying. And more ethical too. Politicians have the morals of vipers.
I pushed my coffee cup away and looked at the view through the balcony windows. Mistress Adonia’s house was in the hills overlooking the bay. It was a lovely clear night. There were some trading ships in the harbor and the sea sparkled under a full August moon.
I thought I’d have a cigar.
I called the wench over. When she came back with the selection I had her kneel next to me. Both “X” and Mistress Adonia looked at me for a second, “X” smiled and the Mistress nodded at me and then they went back to talking about some other new scandal.
The nod meant the wench was mine to use now. Excellent
As I puffed away I stroked the slave’s arm and amused myself by popping grapes into her mouth. Sometimes I‘d throw them for her and every now and then she’d miss and her fleshy buttocks had to forfeit three hard spanks from the palm of my hand.
“You are a good little slave aren’t you?” I patted her rosy red ass cheeks after the fifth or sixth forfeit. The full rounded flesh yielded so eagerly. I loved it. I gave her a hard finger and thumb pinch on her right buttock cheek and she jerked and there was a hint of a gasp.
She remained silent. Staring down. Good girl.
She really was delicious. Tanned from the southern sun, slightly chubby cheeks, the most luminescent blue eyes and the smoothest most perfect skin. Mistress Adonia looked after her slaves. They were all well maintained.
I took her head in my hands and pulled her hair back. Then my fingers took a few moments to fully absorb the rich canvas of her flesh. I caressed every part of her. Her statuesque thighs, her silky smooth belly, the glorious bloom of her full breasts with their juicy nipple fruit – it all had such rich potential for my cruel artistry.
I wanted to whip my spurs on her and make her race, to hold her at the edge of the precipice and make her cry and beg. To experience her tears was the very essence of life itself.
I wanted to make her confess.
I took my fork and repeatedly scratched her nipple with it. When it looked sore enough I leaned down and bit it. She yelped and I slapped her. I leaned down again and this time I clamped the erect nipple hard between my teeth. I sucked at it for a while, taking in the rich heady aroma of her breasts, and then suddenly jerked my head back with the nipple still clamped firmly between my teeth. Just as it escaped my grip, she jerked away from me and cried out quite loudly.
Naughty. I turned her around again, bent her over, and gave her the full righteous force of my right hand on her ass cheeks. At each impact there was the loud “crack” of my palm – like someone setting off a firework – and that slow graceful rippling quiver of the flesh. There was true beauty in that combination and it never failed to rouse me.
Image – Author unknown
I felt so much happier now. The weight and tedium of the day was rising from me at last.
At last I was doing God’s work.
I turned her around again to face me, picked up the fork again and pressed it hard against the skin between her breasts. I then dragged it very slowly all the way down to her belly button. The pressure of the fork left a trail of little white lines which quickly turned red on her smooth belly skin.
I continued scratching her all the way down to her pussy. I held the fork there against the tender moist cleft. Gently, as if my wrist were twitching, I made little stabbing movements. I made her gasp and sensed her fear.
She knew I could do anything I wanted with her.
She was very tense now, afraid to move at all. The room had gone quiet and I sensed many eyes on me.
I felt completely focused, inspired even, but utterly calm. I was the all seeing eye of her storm.
It’s at moments like this that I truly feel closest to God.
I pressed my head against her and held my ear against her ribs. I listened to her heart. She was racing.
And oh what a pleasure to be driving her.
I turned the fork around and inserted the round handle. Her relief was palpable and I felt her whole body relax. I pleasured her with it for a few moments, hinting at the greater revelation to come, if she were good, and then quickly turned her around and smacked her bulbous ass cheeks again.
The palm of my hand was burning somewhat so I took a sip of wine and paused to admire my handiwork. There was a red stripe running from her breasts to her pussy and her ass was aflame.
My signature. And she would bear it for the next day or two.
I recompensed her by taking her wet clit in my fingers and pulling and teasing it softly, maintaining a gentle rotation on those moist lips and pressing my middle finger lightly at the bud.
I sensed her yielding. She was taking ever deeper breaths. She wanted to moan.
But, of course, she hadn’t been given permission to moan, had she?
I turned to face her and applied my free hand to the sore nipple, flicking and pinching it roughly between my fingertips, whilst continuing to rub her moist clit. Again she tensed from the pain but, irrevocably, her soul yielded to me.
Someone had kindly laid a short leather strap next to my plate so I turned her round and whipped her buttock cheeks with it non-stop until they were burning sunset crimson red.
I gazed at it and ran my fingertips lightly over the beautiful reddened flesh.
My handiwork again.
Was she crying?
I went back to massaging her pussy.
Keep her there.
Warm and wet. Lovely.
I withdrew my hand momentarily, tasted a drop of her cunt juice and then smelt my fingers.
It was as heart-warming as the most expensive brandy.
I could tell she was close to coming.
And I was going to make her come.
But I wasn’t going to give her permission.
I smiled down at those gorgeous trusting blue eyes. Too innocent. Too clear.
A little more pain would paint them a different hue.
My fingers quickened and danced at her labia
At the bud. Gently, gently now.
I could feel her starting to wriggle..
Oh she wanted it so much. But she was so scared. The punishment that would surely follow.
She was desperately holding on now. Waiting for permission.
Permission I was never going to give her.
I held her there. At that point of desperate craving. Where the desire is so overwhelming it becomes merciless and brutal. I felt her fire and her absolute need to surrender. To abandon herself to the euphoria that was her only release.
Her only taste of freedom.
In God’s hands.
No begging now. Not allowed.
Oh her soul was mine mine mine…
She was holding on. She was so good.
Really, how beautiful she was.
Her desire. At my command.
Of my will. Her desperation.
Her rapture. At my deliverance.
At that precise moment I sensed myself cogent, hard, and I savored and bathed in my own will and potency.
Leashed to my unbreakable spirit I would lead her soul to where I willed it.
I pressed a little harder against her bud to blossom.
And blossom it did.
What a confession of joy to behold. She bloomed her spring and bore me a sweet nectar. Her eyes fluttered like falling leaves and her body swayed and quivered like a sapling in a fresh breeze. Songbirds gave flight from her upraised branches and she sang the sweetest song of them all.
When she’d finished, I held up my dripping fingers and said in mock surprise,“Oh! What’s this then?”
“Aren’t you a bad girl?”
The vain attempt at concealment of her bliss now seemed laughable. Any hope she may have had had of avoiding punishment was lost in the showerstorm.
I roughly slapped her pussy and said, “You’re going to have to pay for that, aren’t you?”
She looked down. Crying.
She had confessed.
And now I would give her penance.
I turned to Mistress Adonia. “Will you excuse me if I take some air? And may I take this slave down to the whipping trees?”
“Yes. Of course, Confessor. You know where the whips are. We’ll watch you from the balcony.”