Solomon's Church of the Third Revelation

[Miss_Vivi]

The chains clinked and clanked against her struggling arms, as he melted into the darkness. She knew he was there. That he could hear her struggle and keen and call for him.

She yelled.
She screamed.
She whimpered and plead for him to come back to her, as the darkness closed in around her, as the shadows crept closer, and the spirits of the long dead selfish priests clamored for her pain.

Or at least that's what she tried not to think about.

Finally she quieted.
Remembered to calm herself, even as she silently worked on the manacles trying to fold her thumb in enough that her hand could slip free of the metal. Her tiny exertions in the dark sounding like chiming warning bells around her.

Finally she heard it. The little mewls of her sister. Those that dripped with pleasure. That called to her and slid down her spine and despite Vivi's attempts to focus on her own freedom, those moans of pleasure danced through her, over her, and burrowed themselves against her clit, she could feel the pulsing there. She tightened her legs, refocused her energies on trying to free her hand. It didn't work nearly as well as she hoped it would.

Fuck him.

Her sister cried out her climax to those same selfish gods that built this place and so did Vi. Only hers were curses against the man she let control her, the makers of these manacles and this fucking darkness.

Fuck them.

She pulled and struggled and finally leaned against the cool stone and started laughing. What a mess. She had let herself be led down here, let herself be bound and now she was laughing at him, at her, and at this place.

Fuck it.

What's the worse he could do?

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

"Mmhmmm... give it to me, freckles. It's mine, and I want it."


A little nod against her, a low laugh in her ear as she drown out the rattle of chains and saturated the shadows with her cries. He kept the hum against her clit, letting her ride out the orgasm until she began to settle again. A flick of his thumb and the vibration stopped.

"Very good."

Another low laugh in her ear, and then he backed away, disappearing from view just as quickly as he'd appeared into it.

To the table he returned, letting the heavy blanket of silence settle in the length and depth of the hallway. Ragged breathing from one, the occasional laugh from another. And both, no choice but to wait and see. Or hear.

One item replaced, and another lifted. Fingers through the loops. Spread his hand wide, thumb moving in the opposite direction of his index and middle finger. And then they were brought back together again.

Snip.

It was before the bound, and otherwise clothed redhead that he emerged this time, and in his hand was not an instrument of pleasure but one of rending. His empty hand reached out to her, fingers raking into the red curls and coiling into a grip, pushing her head back against the stone wall behind her.

"I'd hold still if I were you, little one. I'd hate to cut you while I did this..."

No whisper this time, he was happy to let in the darkness on the other side hear what was said, and then the scissors were lifted, opened, pointed downward, and slipped into the low neckline of her dress.

He wasted no time in slicing through the material, audible cuts through fabric that gradually exposed white skin to black surroundings.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Dress, bra, panties, none were spared from his attack. Arms and straps were next, opening her clothes fully to him. His fingers released her hair then, and tore the fabric from her, tossing it carelessly onto the stone floor.

Her body exposed, he caught a nipple between his fingers, pinched, and gave a quick pull, lifting the weight of her breast with it. It lasted barely a moment, the space it took her to pull in a breath, and then he released her, and once more disappeared.

The table again. So many useful things.

The scissors replaced, he lifted something new, something bigger into his hands.

No effort was made to hide the sound of his steps as he moved between them, perhaps occasionally visible to them in the flicker of a distant, burning torch. It was there that he spoke, this time to them both.

"A game, my lovely girls. Or.. perhaps a test. A chance for you to help out your sister. But at a price."

His attention was then focused only on the redhead, the one that laughed and cursed. The brat. In an impact with her exposed torso, he revealed the flogger in his hand, one swift strike against her before he returned to his place between them.

"When you think your sis has had enough, yell 'My turn.' And then... it will be."

His attention shifted, the busty brunette now on the receiving end of the flogger, a sound that again echoed off the stone before, again, he slipped back to where he started.

"No begging me to stop. No telling me the terrible things you'll do if I just end it. Only your sis can end it for you. No 'my turn,' no stopping."

In the space between them, his head turning from where one was chained to where the other stood in the same predicament, he grinned.

"Ready?"

 

[Britwitch]

"Mmhmmm... give it to me, freckles. It's mine, and I want it."

His words were heard but they didn't really register as the sudden and strong wave of pleasure struck her again and again. She was aware of very little other than the feelings rushing through her veins.

"Very good."

He disappeared again. Leaving her trembling and breathless and hanging a little from the shackles up above her head. She closed her eyes, trying to regain control over her breathing, over her body. Wanting to have her wits about her down here in the shadows. Soon, blue eyes were open and peering warily into the blackness all around.

"I'd hold still if I were you, little one. I'd hate to cut you while I did this..."

The voice came through the darkness and Brit's eyes widened. The sound of blades cutting through fabric followed, the tearing rip that she knew had to be the gorgeous dress her sister had worn. Unable to stop the small smile that curved her lips at the thought of her sister without clothing. She couldn't help it, even if she'd tried.

"A game, my lovely girls. Or.. perhaps a test. A chance for you to help out your sister. But at a price."

Brit saw him, for a fleeting second, then he was gone again. His voice bouncing from wall to column to arch and back again. Making his exact place hard to judge but the sudden snap and yelped expletive that left her sister's lips quickly solved that problem. Whatever game he had in mind, it didn't sound like a pleasant one.

"When you think your sis has had enough, yell 'My turn.' And then... it will be."

Suddenly he was within sight and before she could register the flogger made painful contact with her front. A long hissed breath was drawn through clenched teeth as she tried to bend away from the implement but he and it were gone as quickly as they'd come.

"No begging me to stop. No telling me the terrible things you'll do if I just end it. Only your sis can end it for you. No 'my turn,' no stopping."

Silently, Brit shook her head in the dark. This wasn't going to be good. Not good at all. This was a dangerous game...which is precisely why he wanted to play it, to play it with them.

"Ready?"

Ready?! The tip of her tongue ran over her lips, she didn't want to be the first to speak. To start this.
Maybe if neither of them spoke it would remain un-played.



Yeah, right.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

The whimpers from her sister ceased and silence reigned until his words broke the silence.

"I'd hold still if I were you, little one. I'd hate to cut you while I did this..."

She didn't move, but was glad to see that his scissors were safety scissors, and wouldn't actually hurt her. But she did whimper at the death of her dress. Someday she'd learn not to wear expensive clothing when he was around.

Vi was very quickly naked, and bound just like her sister and just like he wanted her to be. She wanted to curse him, but knew the noise would fall on deaf ears.

She knew he'd toy with both of them. He would. He couldn't resist.

"A game, my lovely girls. Or.. perhaps a test. A chance for you to help out your sister. But at a price."

He appeared long enough to strike her with the flogger and she just laughed at the hit as he melted back into the darkness, and struck her sister.

"When you think your sis has had enough, yell 'My turn.' And then... it will be."

He stood between them and laid out the rules. Vi just grinned and tried not to bounce in her chains.

"No begging me to stop. No telling me the terrible things you'll do if I just end it. Only your sis can end it for you. No 'my turn,' no stopping. Ready?"

"Ready!" She called to him. "My turn! Sis, don't say a word. I got this!"

There was just enough slack in the chains that she could twist her body around and stick her ass out for him to hit.

"Come on Daddy! Bring it. Bet I can out last you."

She wiggled in her chains and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Hit your girl Daddy. Come on! Make it good. Make it count. Don't hit me like a girl. I'd hate to have to take over and beat sis, just because you weren't up to the task, this is your night Daddy!"

Vi grinned. If you're gonna get hit...better make sure it's worth it...

 

[Miss_Vivi]

She steals into the church, the bright sunlight muted through the colored glass where silent and judgmental saints stare at her. She pads on ballet slipper clad feet to the confessional, a piece of paper clutched in her hand. She wanted to whisper, she could hear the cries of others through the stone, she knew that he waited somewhere. That her words in this hollowed little wooden box would make it to his ears.

That she'd pay for her words here.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned."

"What have you done, Little One?"

White teeth sink into her bottom lip... of course the Father would call her that, he would know, he would make sure she knew what was to happen once these traitorous little words parted her lips. She inhaled and looked at the little paper in her hands, and straightened her back, remembering her sister and the road to hell...

"My sister and I have sinned against the one who holds us."

"Proceed." She could hear that his hands were practically rubbing together. Or at least she hoped that was his hands, the traitorous priest, he would spill in more ways than one.

"Bound by rope, spread wide, plugged and left to her own devices, my darling sweet sister was still found to be dripping, it's this last bit that she wishes to be known. Bound... and still needy." Here she breathed, and ignored the rustle of fabric from the other side of the screen. "She confesses that the clamps were not used due to her inability to locate them. A transgression... she knows."

The fabric rustling continued and a soft intake of breath reached her ears. Normally, in love with the sound of a satisfied person, this only made her skin crawl. This rat would do this, and then sell her out. Nails sunk into the skin of her thighs, she wanted him to hurt. But it wouldn't be him hurting.

"Proceed, Little one," came his quivering tone, and for a moment she quailed against confessing her own sins.

"Fuck him." She whispered.

"That will not save you, Little one, confess."

"I confess to the breaking my one rule. That I woke up with his name on my lips, and could not resist. I did not ask if I could, knowing that I should, knowing that he would let me. Sliding my own fingers down my body, spreading myself, and knowing that I would pay for it later. So wet, Father. So messy. So unable to stop myself, and..." She stopped.

"And?" He was as breathless as she was, hanging on her every word, wanting more, gorging himself on her confession.

"I will do it again." She whispered, hearing that final nail in her coffin. Sudden footsteps on the stone floor nearby, a familiar chuckle and her heart stopped and she ran. Out of the church and back into the bright light.

Safe.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

It was all written on thick, expensive card stock. Some were identical to the others, the instructions the same from one to the other. One, though, was unique and intended only for the red headed devil that had found herself in Purgatory before.

8 p.m., Purgatory. Dress nicely.​

The black ink stood out in heavy contrast to the ivory white of the paper, the black liquid soaking into the thick stock and holding his instructions there for her. A moment was taken for each card to dry, and then they were slipped into their envelopes, and send out for delivery to their intended recipients.

The rest of the day was spent preparing, and by the time darkness descended he was nearly ready. He dressed as he'd told her to do, and much like the cards he'd sent out, a contrast between dark and light hung on him.

A quick check of his watch showed him that her gifts should be arriving any moment now, and he made his way up the stairs and into the church proper to receive them.

Things were nearly ready.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

The letter arrived on her desk and she smiled when she opened it. Of course. In his hand, she didn't even have to guess who it was from. Only one person had the cojones to summon her to church, and she'd only listen to one person. The man had crawled again back under her skin and she shivered. Damn him.

8 p.m., Purgatory. Dress nicely.

Dress nicely.
But she didn't want to. She wanted to wear something that left nothing to the imagination, something short, that showed off her cleavage and hugged her curves and dripped sex and slut and everything that she wanted from him.

Dress nicely.
She knew he'd be dressed to make her drool. Damn him. She knew what to wear. Something that had been bought for her but not used. She stalked off to the back of her closet and found it. A dress. Hugged her perfectly, and it was nice. Very nice.

Part of her hoped he ruined it.
Part of her hoped he wouldn't.

The ride over was quiet, she fidgeted in the back seat of the taxi, while the man in front stared at her from the review mirror. She paid him and hurried up the steps to the church. She skipped the confessional, he'd had enough skin from her hide already, and her body was simply buzzing from his punishment.

She caught him standing there, all ready, all fuckinghotOMGinapinstripesuit and was he trying to kill her? Knees weak she veered away from him, towards the bar, and ordered a drink. The bartender smiled at her and delivered the Midori sour.

She felt him before she saw him. Damn this drink was good. She stared at the green liquid swirling and ignored him. Though he was close enough to touch.

Oh god.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

More had been done in the time between the sending and arrival, preparations she'd learn of in time. Patience, as always.

He was near the altar when she arrived, a placed he'd considered using tonight, but the depths of Purgatory seemed more appropriate for what was to be bestowed upon her tonight. He smiled when he saw the dress, a fine choice indeed, and thought the others would think the same... if she gave them a chance to.

For a short time he lingered, watching in silence, until she made her way to the bar and ordered her drink. The sound of his shoes echoed through the large sanctuary, and he stopped only when he was close behind her. Smiling still, he admired her from behind, took a moment to inhale her scent, and then leaned forward to speak close to her ear.

"I know you have a big day coming up soon, and so... I thought I'd get you something."

A short, low rumble of a laugh flowed past her ear before he continued on.

"But it's down stairs. Follow me."

And without further pause he straightened, thumbed a button through the hole opposite it on his jacket, and then turned from the bar to make his way to the door, and down into the darkness beyond.

His pace was steady, but not hurried, each stair taken in turn as he descended, the flame of each torch flickering a bit as he passed. It was a path he had walked not long before, with people other than her following along. Their first trip this far down, collectively, though one of them had made it into the long stone hallway before. He smiled to himself as he passed the area where she'd been chained, and only a few steps later the area where the one who followed had found herself in the same predicament.

Soon, he was at the end of the hallway and the door opened into a lit room. A fire crackled and danced in the fireplace, the floor in front of it open and reflecting the fire. A plush couch faced the fire, but was pushed a good distance away, and on the side opposite where he stood now, a single leather wingback chair stood, angled to point in a direction halfway between couch and fire.

Another bar, smaller than the one in the main room above, stood on the far end of the room, and resting on it's surface was a collection of terrible and wonderful instruments of pleasure and torture. But again... patience.

Moving into the room, he stopped in the middle of floor before the fire, and looked back at her, indicating the couch with his hand.

"Have a seat. I have to go... retrieve some things for you. It won't be but a moment."

He grinned at her then, just slightly, and made his way to the door in the back of the room, that led to his bedroom...

-------​

They had arrived just before the sun went down, the time he'd given them assuring he'd have enough time to prepare them and return upstairs to await her arrival. He smiled as each entered, knowing he'd hear the confession they'd left behind eventually. Once they had all arrived, his jacket was buttoned much as it would be a short time later, and he turned away from them.

"Welcome to the church, everyone. Follow me."

Down the stairs, through the hallway and the room at the end of it, where the fireplace currently sat dormant, and he led them all the way to the end, turning to face them once they were all inside.

"You all know why you're here, of course. She will be joining us soon, and I will go up to get her and bring her down." He paused here, the corners of his mouth lifting as his eyes moved from one to the other. "You can leave your clothes on the bed in here. I assure you, you won't be needing them from here on out."

He turned from them here, opening the top drawer of a chest that stood against the far wall as they disrobed. When he returned to them, three identical silver chains dangled from his hand, and at the end of each was a larger silver loop that they were to be threaded through. Watching as each was revealed to him, he didn't hide the grin that found his lips, the roaming of his eyes, or the other, eventual reactions that took place. And were there not plans already made, he or they would not be leaving this room for a good, long time. But, as always, patience...

One by one, a chain was coiled around their neck and fed through the silver loop, and when he finished each of them was adored in nothing but a silver leash that tightened across their throat when pulled. Anything else they may wear tonight would likely be painted onto their skin... with perhaps a single, simple exception.

"Excellent."

He stepped back, eyes moving over them freely, and nodded to himself.

"Wait here, she should be arriving at any moment."

He crossed to the door and pulled it open, then paused and looked back at them.

"It would be in your best interest to stay quiet until I come for you. Terrible things happen to those that ruin surprises."

A short, loaded laugh and he was gone and pulling the door closed behind him...

----​

Back in the bedroom, and he moved without a word to the first of them. Her nipples were caught between his fingers, pinched and rolled quickly, blue eyes watching as each hardened for him when they were released.

"We have to make you presentable, after all," he said with a glance up at her face, and then the leash was taken in hand and he turned to leave, pulling her along behind him.

The witch was revealed first, blue eyes and breasts, freckles and a hidden feisty attitude within her. He leads her to a space between the couch and the crackling fire, and turns her to face the one sitting on couch. A tug of the leash and an indication with his free hand, and she is on her knees before him.

"Hands behind your back."

They are the first words spoken since he entered with her, and when she does as told, he releases the leash and lets it fall the length of her body.

With a satisfied nod, he turned back to the redhead on the couch, and holds up a single finger. Patience...

He leaves them there, not doubting the looks exchanged between them, and returned to the bedroom. The second one is approached without word, and again he raises his hands... then pauses. His eyes lift to her face, and he grins slightly, quickly, a flash across his lips. She saw the pinching and rolling of the witch's nipples, likely expected the same of her own, but no. Instead, quick slaps are delivered to her breasts, first one, then the other, then repeated. Pleased with the results, again the leash is taken in hand, and again he leads her out.

Tess is revealed next, doubling the number of redheads in the room in an instant, although the relative position of each is quite different. She is taken to the spot next to the one already kneeling, and placed in the same position.

"Hands behind your back," he says again. Satisfied once more, the chain is again allowed to fall down the length of her body, and again he turned to she who sits on the couch. And once more, a finger is held up.

For the final time, he returns to the bedroom. She waits, and has no doubt blushed a time or two already. The space between them is swallowed up in quick steps, and he wastes no time in capturing her nipples between his fingers tightly, rolling them slowly, his eyes on her face as he does. He pulls back until she slips from between each thumb and forefinger, and the final leash is taken up, the final one led out of the room.

Alice is the final reveal, cascading curls moving with each barefoot step she takes into the room. She is led next to the other two, placed like them on her knees before him, and once more his voice enters the silence.

"Hands behind your back."

The final chain is released along the length of her body, and this time he steps aside and turns so he is next to her, the four of them facing the one who sits on the couch across from the fire.

"Your presents. But! Before I give them to you, there is one final thing we must do. You know their names, of course, but what fun is there to be had in simply using their names?" His jacket is unbuttoned, and from within he pulls a black permanent marker. Holding it up for her to see, he continues. "So, you get to rename them. Whatever they are to be called tonight will be written across their chest."

The cap is removed and placed on the other end of the marker, and he moves down the line to the first of them. Bending at the knees, he kneels by her side, pen at the ready.

"Shall we begin with freckles?"

The soft point of the marker is placed against her skin near her collar bone, almost on top of a freckle, and he looks to the red headed devil, waiting.

 

[Britwitch]

The invitation had arrived, bringing with it a rush of excitement and a twinge of something resembling nerves. It had been a while since she’d been to Church. The last visit ending in the shadows with screams and need.
It almost always ended with need. Needs met or needs denied. Need was ever present.

And now it was she who was needed. Summoned at any rate.

And so black dress clinging obscenely to curves, heels of a vivid blue encasing her feet, she headed for the Church.

It always seemed more ominous than she remembered. Larger. Scarier. With demons more dangerous than she could recall.
Stepping inside she knew what was required. What was expected.

A breath was taken before she stepped into the Confessional. She felt uneasy in places of worship such as this at the best of times, getting a ‘heathen’ to confess her sins just seemed to make matters worse.
Her was voice was a little halting as she began, cheeks flaming before she’d even uttered a word.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
That’s not even the half of it.
“I have tried to deny the other who can claim me as you might. I’ve said no, said no when I’ve meant yes and while I’ve been punished for it. The punishment has led to such debauchery. Ropes, Father. Ropes and gags. And…” Another degree of heat drips into her face. “Plugs.”
“And I’ve begged for it, Father. Begged to be treated as little more than a series of holes to be filled.” She ran a tongue over dry lips, just imagining the smile that would curve an all too kissable set of lips when these words were heard. “And I’ve loved every moment, Father. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” A wicked grin. “And I’m sure as hell going to do it again.”

A slight bounce in her step sent electric blue heels clicking over age old floor.
Soon she was one of three stood in the Church, fresh from confession, all looking a little flustered. The trio exchanging knowing glances and nervous giggles. They suspected, they did not know, what might lay ahead. Then he came. She wanted to hug him, she wanted to hit him. She did neither. Somehow she resisted. They’d have a chance to catch up another time. This was about neither of them. This was about another. And so, docilely, she followed him with her ‘comrades’.

Down.
Down, down, down.

A thrill of excitement rushed through her as they reached the bedroom. She was almost shaking.

Then came the instructions. Clothes would not be needed. Not entirely surprising. And soon the bed was decorated with new linen, dresses and underthings. Hips and shoulders, behinds and breasts, all revealed to all too eager eyes.

She shivered as the cool chain slid around her neck. Watching as the other two gorgeous creatures were decorated in the same way. Pretty wrapping for pretty presents. His words hung in the air, along with the tone that delivered them and so they stood. In silence. No words. No excited whispers. Their questions and suspicions would remain unvoiced. Fingers laced together, toying briefly with the chain, setting it swinging slightly between her breasts.

They didn’t have to wait long. Soon he was back and from his expression he was as excited as her.

She yelped softly as nipples were pinched, hardening with embarrassing speed. For him. As always. Cheeks pinking at his words and with a fleeting glance to the others, she was taken away. Following on bare feet as he led her to where she was waiting.

She was breathtaking. She always was. The witch wanted to gush, to say how stunning, how damned irresistible she was. But again, the urge was suppressed. Somehow

A tug and a wave of a hand and she was on her knees. The heat of the fire behind her, the heat of her cheeks in front. Hands moved to rest behind her, pushing out her chest a little more. Not that it really needed the added emphasis.

And then he left. More silence. Blue eyes gazed longingly into brown but pink lips remained wordless. Then another was brought in, positioned like she. And the third.

Her presents.

Ready to be played with.

Then the first step in the dance. New names.

The witch held her breath slightly as he knelt next to her. The closeness, the scent of his aftershave, the smell of the marker, the urge to just fucking jump on him were all heady and overwhelming and among it all she waited. Waited to hear those gorgeous lips speak her name for the night. For the night, for the day, for however long this would go on.

Actually whimpering with need as the pen hovered over her skin.

Need.

It was always about need.

 

[thestruggle]

She had made confession more than once in her lifetime, generally to make her family happy at Christmas and to be able to receive what many would still refer to as the sacraments of communion. Those visits, with all their trappings of incense and the wooden pews with leather kneelers – she didn't believe in them but they spoke to some tiny part of her that searched for comfort. The worst was the pause after the initial confession, where she could either enumerate a laundry list of venial trifles or admit why she was there. She never really wanted to sit and talk to the priest. Better to stay behind a screen and avoid a series of debates. The voice responding was always kind, a type of distant compassion that she herself could not understand. She was a creature of blitzed emotion, all intensity. To tap into that brimming well was another story. She would keep it locked away, and no amount of anonymous benevolence would bring her to do anything more than utter the barest scraps of admission to a face behind a screen.

Anyway, this church was different from those before. No St. Joseph's, this, with peaked roofline and crosses winking high above. This place of worship existed on some other level. Well enough for her, and she stood in her white dress with the big bow, considering the door to the confessional. She had entered blithely enough through the first set of doors, and now she chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Her fingers were linked loosely behind her back and she tipped one of her ankles to the side. A surprise. Did she like surprises? They were things that she came to warily. One could let down gift-givers so easily: a smile not bright enough, a puzzled reaction. But mostly it was the possibility of knees getting kicked out and eating a mouthful of dirt by the force of revelation. That thought made her smile. Revelation, then. She crossed towards to door of the cell space, whistling a few bars from “He Walks With Me” with ironic flair. Knees were brought down with a sigh in the small booth and in the low light she had nothing to do but study the gleam of her peach tinted fingernails.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been, uh...” A quick enumeration, a different kind of decade counted. “...ten months since my last confession.”

And a lifetime since I told an ounce of truth in these boxes.

No response. She fidgeted, reaching a hand up to nervously brush her bangs out of her eyes. This was different, regardless. No “yes, my child” nor any indication to begin. It had been the force of long habit that brought the statement from her. A blush of irritation touched at her cheeks. No, she never told the truth in confession. She could find her own damn penitence.

When she was about to leave in a huff of lavender scent, the disembodied voice came from beyond the grille, making her jump. “Continue.”

She opened her mouth, wordless air the only reply she could summon. A recovery came in short order, while she eyed the impenetrable divider between the two of them. “Yes, well, I confess that I am guilty of the sin of covetousness - “

Sometimes she just wanted things when she wanted them, wasn't that so?

“ - and envy, I guess - “

Because sometimes life was a fucking rat race and how in the hell could she jump off when everyone else seemed to be able to ease to a pleasant stop?

“ - and lust. I confess that I have impure thoughts, Father, and I don't know how to make those thoughts stop. I confess that I have wrathful thoughts, Father, and I don't know how to make those thoughts stop. I confess that - “

That I really get off on my knees in this booth, Father.

“ - that I cannot count when these thoughts take place, how often they take place. They're just relentless.” Her voice trailed off and she realized that she had said much more than she had ever meant to. She let her nails sink into the thin skin that covered her knees. The bite recalled her and if the personage on the receiving end of her makeshift concession heard her sharp inhalation, they made no reference. She would end this interaction if it choked her, and so she finished in a rush, “For these and all my sins I'm - “

And she remembered the reason she was here, and the reason she was kneeling in dreadful obeisance in the first place. She shifted and remarked, rather mildly, “ - uh, I'm not sorry. And so I don't ask pardon of any God, nor absolution of you. But I do hope you'll find me worthy to enter here.” Her eyes shut tight, her lips squeezed together – what answer would she receive? It had been a hopeless exchange, and if she had been looking for some long withheld illumination, she would not get it here either. For after her outburst, there was merely another period of silence, and then the voice blandly replied.

“Go then, and sin no more.”

Her brows knitted at that but she hastily gathered herself up and exited. She drank knowledge in like water. It was her coin, her currency, her sustenance. She hated not knowing, not understanding. The peach stilettos on her feet tocked angrily against the stone and gave her a significant boost in confidence. The exchange had never been even, but then, it never was for her. And she liked it that way.

“And He walks with me, and He talks with me,” she murmured, passing into the church proper. “And He tells me I am his own...”

Two figures stood beyond the door and she smiled with a slightly anxious air. Her singing tapered off into mere humming until she realized how the tune carried, and she drew abreast of their beauty with nothing but her greeting rolling around in her mouth. She admired each of the women with great restraint, for when she grew apprehensive, she folded back into herself. They fell quiet at the appearance of the fourth, the schemer himself. She eyed the suit with appreciation but mostly she listened to a thudding heart and felt the tingling at her temples. A bright spark was starting, and she knew it to be a thrill most familiar. She knew she had to be careful. Why they had been summoned, the very reason – she with the red curls – could not be seen in the place they had awaited his arrival. Tess smiled, probably a very sly smile for all her agitation. Well enough. She couldn't think of a better reason for a surprise. And down they went, rustling of dress and heralded footsteps, into a new domain.

Once the destination was reached, once the order had been given, once the restraints were revealed, her face heated anew and she kept her eyes on the floor. No prudery from her, no, but it was different here. For all the talk in months past, she had much more shyness than she would ever dare own up. She fought it back, and reached casual hands back to unzip her dress with minimal fuss. At that, she felt a reckless triumph with the fabric pooling around her feet and she stepped out of her heels with the inevitability of her small stature. She remembered the red curls and red mouth and a girlish giggle that never could be repressed. She blushed again, but for a different reason this time. Yes, she would be ready. Emboldened by this, her eyes darted up and she reached out to tickle the gorgeous Witch's thigh.

Her hands came up to cover her mouth and she laughed behind her fingers. “I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist.”

And so it was with a surprisingly smiling obedience that she heard his further instruction, though that expression faded into a new expectation as the chains came forward. In silence they took their adornments, indeed, with clinking metal that chilled against her pale skin. She wrapped the links around a hand and eyed the effect. She had refused until then to meet his gaze, but she did so after that, and murmured only one word.

“Pretty.”

And they waited.

He came for Brit and she waited with the other, the two of them silent except for that meeting of metal when small movements occurred. She had felt her stomach churn gladly at Brit's treatment and she wondered what would happen next. If she was smart, she would think of other things. Clever, perhaps, but she could not find the strength to keep her mind from roaming. And when he came back, she had bitten her lips until they liked to have bled. When his hands raised, she took in a quick breath, and when the slaps came she startled. Her stomach tightened instantly and with some shock at the succession, she began to steel herself for the impact. No readying would prepare her for whatever awaited her in the next room, she knew as much, but his hands warmed her flesh enough to make her aware of the cold fireplace when she could see beyond the haze left after his blows. Unable to control herself, she set her jaw in a grudging acceptance of his accurate guess.

“Thank you.”

And he led her away, with his grin digging at her pride. She caught sight first of the Witch kneeling, and automatically her eyes went to the woman sitting upon the couch. The dress, the hair, the gleam in her eyes – Tess felt her breath shudder through her as she knelt in front of her. This was easier. But it would make the next moves in the dance even harder to predict. And she began to let go. Her hands came to a stop behind her back, and she kept her posture strict to the best of her ability. She glanced sidelong at Brit, and allowed herself to look again to the reason for the chains. Her mouth quirked up, and she winked at Vivi mischievously, before modestly casting her eyes back down to the floor.

When they were all arrayed before her, when the plan – insofar as the plan had come – was spoken, she heard the uncapping of the marker and felt a hiccup in her chest. Brit's turn, now, to be sure. But soon, the naming would happen for her. And what would she be then?

She smiled. Probably a mess.

 

[saysalice]

"Dress nicely," she mumbled irritably around the invitation clamped between her lips. Raking through her closet for the six or seventh time. "Nicely! What does that even mean?"

Her fingers paused to fondle an embroidered gold corset edged with red ribbon. Paired with a black leather soft-as-butter skirt, it was hot stuff...but it wasn't exactly "nice".

Well... She wasn't exactly "nice", either.

"But I can dress the part as well as anyone I know," she murmured. She swept a whole section of casual clothes aside and considered a very conservative dress. The epitome of "nice", she thought with a smirk - she could wear that, just to be cheeky... But this wasn't about her, and it wouldn't be the time or the place to make a scene, or a statement. It was a time for celebration and congratulations, and she didn't want to insult the guest of honor by showing up in anything less than lovely.

She pulled out a dress she'd been saving for a special occasion. Tried it on in front of the mirror, and knew it was the one: pretty, flirty, but still suitable for a church - at least at this hour. "Nice" enough.

She hated to admit it, but she was nervous-nervous-nervous about this. She'd heard whispers about the type of things that went down at this particular church, but had never been invited, and had never been curious enough to solicit an invitation. Churches in general made her uncomfortable - hell, was anybody truly comfortable, in a church? She'd not set foot in one in years and years, except for weddings, christenings and funerals - none of them her own.

She found it without much trouble, wincing as she pushed through the doors, as always, half-expecting to burn up instantly, like a vampire or something...but no such luck.

Crinkling her nose at the looming Confessional box, knowing it was required, but not liking it one little bit. With a sigh, she stepped inside and closed the door, kneeling with some difficulty in the tight dress.

Now - was it: forehead, heart, left to right, or...right to left? Shit. Didn't it make sense to end on the heart, on the left? But then...wasn't the left side considered evil, way back at the beginning of time when all these rituals were decided upon? She shook her head and went rapidly through the motions, and found that her muscle memory was more devout than the rest of her - left to right, then. Not that anyone could even see her. Was anyone even there, on the other side?

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned..." He wouldn't see her rolling her eyes, either. "It's been...oh...twenty years, since my last Confession? Maybe twenty-five. Yeah. I've been up to a lot, since then."

She couldn't remember if anything came next, or if she should just start confessing.

"Uh...jeeze - oh, sorry - um...well, hey - what's even a sin, anymore? Sodomy? Isn't that in the Commandments, somewhere? Is that a sin, for straight people?"

She stopped. She sometimes tried to be funny, when she was feeling especially uncomfortable. But it wouldn't help her, if she didn't take this seriously. And if she didn't make it through, she'd ruin the surprise, and disappoint at least one person, maybe all of them. Worst sin of all.

Exhaling heavily, she tried again. What was she sorry for? "I've...been a disappointment. Again, and again. I've left things unfinished - or, worse - unstarted. Pretty unforgivable."

Seriously, what was considered a sin - here? "I've had my bratty moments, forgotten myself, been disrespectful...I've been jealous - envious - envy's definitely one, right?"

She thought of some of the fantasies she'd indulged in and written out in plain sight, for anyone to see. "I suppose I've dishonored my parents, but...well, I won't tell, if you won't." She was sweating, but not blushing. Shame was fully expected, in this place. They bartered in shame.

"So hey - are done here, do you think? I mean, I could go on all night if you want to get into all the filthy little particulars, but I do have an appointment to keep..."

She rose skittishly and pushed open the door without waiting - no voice cried out to stop her, so they were finished, right? Bursting out of the stifling box and into the church again, glad to look up and see a familiar face. She smiled in greeting, making wide, mocking eyes to express her silent exasperation, flushing just a little as she wondered how much the pretty witch might have heard.

Moments later, Tess came out singing, and Alice could feel the excitement building in the pit of her stomach as she smiled again. So this was going to be - something. She'd never played with the 'cool kids', before - not all at the same time. Yes, she was nervous, and so she was quiet. Just watch and learn. Try to keep up.

Her smile felt awfully shaky on her face by the time he made his appearance, and she was glad to move after his brief words of welcome, glad to walk, glad to hear her heels clattering with the rest of them, down the dark staircase - oh no, this wasn't troubling at all! She followed quickly through the gloomy echoing hallway to a door, and blinked in confusion as they entered a well-lit room. With a bed in it.

She glanced sidelong at the other girls, struggling to maintain a casual expression - especially when he turned to face them abruptly. He explained without explaining anything, really - she wanted to pipe up that she didn't know why she was here, what was expected of her - but then thought perhaps that was the point. She kept quiet, but her mouth fell open in unchecked annoyance when he told them they would be leaving their clothes here. 'Dress nicely'! Why not just say, 'Come naked'? Except that it was a church, but - really. After she'd spent so long fretting over what to wear.

She was reluctant to undress, even when he turned away. It occurred to her that she'd never been naked, fully naked, in the presence of any of them. But she wouldn't hold them up. She unzipped and tugged the pretty red dress up over her head - and yes, she'd selected pretty lingerie, too, suspecting it would be seen. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she pushed her panties down and stepped out of them. Chewing her lower lip, she found that she couldn't look up, even at Tess's giggle, even as she sensed him looking at them. They weren't stripping for him.

The chains surprised her, though she supposed they shouldn't have. She lifted her chin dutifully to allow him to wrap hers around her throat. She looked at the ceiling - didn't dare look him in the eye - she was just barely keeping it together. He would see her swallow, see her breasts lift and then pause as she held her breath, feeling the length of cold chain shiver against her flushed skin. When he stepped away she exhaled again, peeking at the other girls.

She wanted to say something smartassed when he left the room, closing the door behind him. She wanted very badly to be able to laugh, make fun, break the tension...but she couldn't think of anything at all to say.

He returned sooner than she expected, and she watched with wide, solemn eyes as he approached Brit first without a word, and took hold of her breasts, pinching and teasing at them until her cry broke the silence. It wasn't so much, really, but Alice could feel the stunned horror on her face as she watched him take her by the leash and lead her out of the room.

It seemed she just had time to cast a worried glance in Tess's direction before the door opened again, and Alice stiffened, staring openly as he strode up to the other girl. He paused just a moment to flash her a thoroughly unsettling grin, and then slapped her bare breasts soundly, turning them a healthy pink. She watched Tess's whole body tense with the blows, but - incredibly - when he had finished, the other girl thanked him quietly.

Then they were gone, too, and Alice was left alone in the room to wait for his return. She was sweating again, and she could feel her knees beginning to wobble. You could run, her mind whispered like a serpent. Take the dress but leave the shoes and just run - you don't belong here, you're not ready for this, and -

The door opened again and she couldn't entirely stifle a squeak as he came for her at last. Too close, he had a way of always standing too close and her lashes fluttered with the nearness of him as she struggled to hold his gaze. Pressing her lips together, feeling her nostrils flare slightly as he tugged and twisted at her sensitive nipples, standing up a little straighter and arching her back to pull them out of his grasp. She parted her lips on a shaky exhale as he took up her chain and led her out into the hall.

It was a relief to enter this new room and see the others kneeling - to understand, before he pushed her gently down, that this would be expected of her - and more comforting, that she wouldn't be alone. Whatever happened. She kept her head bowed, feeling safe behind her curls, but ventured a glance up at the beauty, all ice and fire on the couch.

Her night. Her rules.

- and you're more afraid of her than you are of him, the insidious voice in her head whispered.

Truth. But she should pay attention. He was speaking. Rename them, he was saying. The pop of a marker cap over the crackle of the fire. Right. Jesus.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

((OOC- Thank you all so much. I adore you four so much. And when I think of who are my peeps, my family, my little crew here, it's always you four. And I am so thankful that you jumped at a chance to be under my thumb again! . I've written this in four parts. So please let me get all four, possibly five posts up before you all take over again! And take your time with replying. I've tried not to god mode any of you as much as possible. I might disappear, as I get married in a weeks.. still.. thank you, and I love you all!))

Three times he stepped away. Three times he led back in a beautiful woman. Three kneeling gorgeous women. For her.

For her.

She wasn’t sure her smile could get any bigger. He stood poised with a marker and she wracked her brain for names. He could wait. He would wait for her. His hand frozen over a freckle and she enjoyed making him wait nearly as much as she enjoyed the view of him bent over her new toys. But this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t what he wanted. This was about her, her big day, she was the Bride. She should have worn white.

The dress swished over her legs sensually as she left the room, closing the door behind her to find the house manager. A man who was quite used to unusual requests, she explained in detail what she was going to do, what she needed and smiled when he announced that he’d have it all prepared quite quickly.

She returned to the room without a word, finding the tableau in much the same as it was a few minutes before. Her new playthings poised and curious, even he twitched an eyebrow at her departure and return. Contemplating her new playthings, she moved to where they knelt.

New playthings? Not really. These women were always hers to toy with and she loved toying with each of them. Little Alice trembled slightly at her nearness, and this too painted a grin upon Vivi’s lips. What fun!

“New names, Daddy? I like this game.”

She moved to stand behind her sister, bent over at the waist, her breath moving the whisps of hair near her sister’s ear.

“I think we shall call you, Slave. Because I have taken away your no; it’s a word that belongs to me now, dearest Sis. Ever eager to please, always our Slave.”

She watched as the letters formed over her sister’s chest, Daddy smiling to himself as he wrote the letters. The name was right, and something that she had been wondering about for a while.

The other two waited for her, no time was wasted as she bent over to whisper in Tess’s ear. Watching as the other woman caught her eye out of the corner of her own. Vivi wanted to touch, but for the moment, refrained.

“You, my darling Tess, are Red, red for your hair, red for your attitude and flame, red for the blood that has been shed for me.” The word was short, sweet, and Vivi reached down to slide her hands over a thigh that she knew bore her initial. He, for his part, tried not to laugh at Red. Who she knew would love to jump up and assault him with a barrage of words that would send the two careening into a black hole of random.

Vi ignored them both, and moved to Alice’s side, her fingers seeking out a curl, rolling it between her fingers, she circled the woman, eyes roving over her naked body, a review that the other two did not face. She bent over and whispered finally into her ear.

“You, sweet Alice are Toy. Something new to be played with, toyed with, and perhaps broken, if you don’t work as well as you should.”

The sobriquet bestowed upon the skin of the final girl and she watched as Daddy stood up and put the marker away. For the moment she ignored the three who knelt there for her, as she made her way to stand in front of him. Her hands sliding over his chest, as she easily found herself in his arms.

Usually at odds with one another, it was not often that they shared their intimacy with anyone other than Brit. For the moment, however, Vivi liked him. So her lips found his, and she kissed him sweetly, deeply and with all of her own feeling behind it, breathing him in and trying not to whimper as their lips melted together. She loved being his.

While the moment was sweet, passionate, and left her feeling weak in the knees, she had things to attend to, namely the three behind them. So while his tongue assaulted her ability to think coherently, her fingers assaulted his tie and removed it from around his neck. When she finally came up for breath, she grinned and slid it off him.

He chuckled, most likely not at all surprised by her actions. Her eyes caught and held his, the hazel challenging blue, while she fingered the silk in her hand.

“Red. Toy. Come here.”

Her eyes never left his, until she felt the women standing directly behind her. She spun around and smiled.

“My beautiful girls, you must be warmed up slightly for our little games, and Daddy here is going to help. For our games here tonight, you will call him Sir. And you shall call me, Bride. All three of you. Understand, my lovelies?”

They each gave their affirmation, and she nodded, her hands already knotting the silk about the wrists of Red and Toy, kissing each of their hands in turn and meeting their eyes and grinning happily.

“Now, my girls, you will bend over the table, for Daddy sorely needs to use his hands. You will be warmed up, both chest and back, at his discretion. Feel free to fight him, but know this, you are allowed to tease him as much as you’d like, but he is not to enter your bodies, as you belong to me this night. Warm him up too, my girls?”

With their smiles, she kissed them each and led them to the table, bending them over, letting them rest there, while she cooed at them, and fretted about, making sure they were prepared. Many little kisses were bestowed before she was assured that they were ready, remembered their safewords, and would make sure that he was breathless and satisfied.

Her attention turned then to her sister.

“Slave. Come here.”

 

[Miss_Vivi]

Slave

Her sister made her way to her side and Vi reached out to caress her cheek, a sweet grin painted on both their lips. She so wished to drag her sister off to the bed and have her way with her there, but other plans had been made.

“Daddy, do enjoy yourself. I’m going on a little field trip with slave.”

With those words, she turned and led her sister out by her little chain, the other woman trailing closely behind her.

The lounge had been prepared and was packed with people playing and lingering, they knew the Master of Purgatory was present, and that usually meant a show. They wouldn’t be disappointed tonight. slave’s stark nakedness was at once noticeable and Vi noticed her blushes as the men around her appraised her body.

Vi found a very comfortable couch and sat down, noting that she’d be well able to see the action around her. She used the chain to tug her sister into her lap, placing her so that slave’s back pressed against Vi’s chest. If slave would relax, her head would fall easily onto Vi’s shoulder, but her eyes seemed to be watching the men and women around them.

Vi whispered in her slave’s ear, “They want you, sweet one. They want to use your body. You like that don’t you, Slave? Spread your legs for them. Show them how wet you are. Go on.”

Slave acquiesced and spread her legs, while her hands were caught and held above her head, by one of the house submissives. Vi peeked around slave and slid her fingers over the other woman, she watched as the eyes around them roamed over slave and eagerly followed her fingers.

“Do you see, Slave? Do you see how they watch you?”

Fingers delved between wet lips, parting them, listening for a gasp.

“Do you like how you’ve made so many of them hard? Just from watching you part your legs? You know that you are a needy little whore. Now all of them know it too. What is this slave?”

Her fingers were pulled free from her sister and shining under the light, all wet.

“You’ve made a mess, slave.”

Her fingers were held out to be cleaned, knowing they would be, knowing it didn’t matter. This was only the beginning of making a mess. Men began to step up, freeing themselves from their dark trousers, beautiful men in suits, eyeing slave as she was stroked, and teased, making little breathless sounds.
Vi relished these noises and stroked slave’s clit a little more, enticing sweet sighs. These men would sigh or grunt and then cum all over Slave. Spraying her beautiful chest, her belly, her thighs, all covered in Pollock-like paintings of white.

“Look you’ve become a cum covered slave. Here to be used and abused, and nothing more to any of them. They cover you and leave. Should we tell Daddy how dirty you are? How you are painted with cum, and don’t even know how many have covered you?”

Vi gestured to the manager, and all of the men stepped back, save one. He wore a grin, and was precariously close to finishing himself. He stepped forward and next to the women. Vi pushed slave onto the floor, not particularly caring if she fell, which she did, landing on her bottom with a slight exasperation of air. The gentleman above them, grunted himself, covering Vi’s outstretched hand in cum, she inclined her head in thanks and he smiled. A smile of which lent a rather kingly aspect to his countenance, and then he was gone, melted into the crowd of onlookers.

The hand was placed under the lips of slave.

She had better know what to do with it.

She did.

Vi’s hand was clean.

Slave’s leash was caught up by the same hand and she was dragged from the lounge surrounded by the whispers and sighs of those around them. The leash was dropped, near the bathroom and there was an edge to her voice.

“You had better clean up a little. Would hate for Daddy to see you dripping over being used as such, Slave. You have one minute.”

She didn’t wait for the other woman to say anything, just stepped back into the bedroom, and surveyed the scene in front of her.

However, there might have been a slight giggle when slave rushed in, blushing and breathless and much cleaner.

Well… clean being a relative term.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

She rose, the one they were all gathered here for, and without a word left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. His only sound was a low chuckle as he turned back to the three kneeling in a row. The pen was pulled from freckled skin, his forearms resting on his knees as he stayed down at their level, waiting. The pop of wood consumed by yellow and red and blue flames that jumped and danced behind them offered the only break in the silence, and he was happy to let it continue that way until she returned. A mixture of excitement and apprehension shone in their eyes and on their faces, each of them varied in balance, and he was more than happy to let that be their focus as they waited.

In shorter order she returned, without explanation of where she'd gone, and then moved behind the one he was nearest to. Despite the nakedness, abundant and on display before him, his eyes lifted as she bent to whisper in the freckled one's ear, drinking in the cleavage on display. The new name bestowed upon she who knelt first brought back his attention, and the soft tip of the pen was returned to her skin.

S - L - A - V - E

The letters were written in a careful hand, large capital letters branding her with ink, christening her new name as the old was, for a time, cast away. And to himself, he smiled once the writing was complete, his imagination reaching into the future, watching her dress to conceal the black letters on her skin, her eyes settling on it every time she undressed... a reminder of this night, and the memories of what it held in store for her.

The ink delivered, he moved on just after she did, kneeling now next to the one in the middle. A wry grin finds purchase on his lips as the next new eponym is delivered, somehow both surprising and not.

R - E - D

The letters are written larger than those previous, black ink staining fair skin with the fingers of an R and the curve of a D reaching down onto her breasts. The wry grin is still there as he finished and looks up to see her reaction, but it is only for a moment before they are moving on to the last of the playthings.

He joins the pair as the appraisal comes to an end, and this time the new name, and the explanation that follows it, is greeted with a quiet chuckle. As it had twice before, the black marker dimples the skin under it as the letters are added.

T - O - Y

Each letter is larger still, longer as well, the vertical beams of the T and Y reaching down nearly to the nipples of the curly haired girl now known as Toy. Again his eyes lifted as he finished, searching her face for a reaction, though with her he expected he'd know what he saw there: the same blush he'd seen more than once tonight, already. Was it possible to blush yourself out? He suspected if so, they'd discover it before Purgatory fell silent tonight.

Each of them now labeled, he capped the marker and rose back to full height, the pen slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket. He expected her attention to remain with them, his intention to retreat back to the wingback chair to observe until his presence was requested again, but she surprised him by moving to him instead. His arms moved around her, their lips meeting quickly, all of it as easy as breathing. Their tongues fought and danced, much as they did themselves, and when they broke he quirked a brow at her as the length of silk was slid from around his neck.

A step back was taken, a bit of distance so that she might work, and he watched her in silence as she spoke to the pair that stood at her request. His brows lifted at her instructions to them, his participation requested faster than he had anticipated, and watched with interest as they were bound together with the tie she had taken from him. His eyes followed the pair, watching as she bent them over the table and prepared them.

He waited a moment, watching as her attention shifted to the one left kneeling, a woman stripped of name and nickname and left, instead, with a description more than a name. Shortly the pair made their way from the room, Slave led off to discover what had been prepared for her while they'd waited.

A smile not unlike that worn by the Grinch spread slowly as the door was closed, and he turned back to those that had been left with him. He stood rooted in the spot as the click of heels faded to nothingness on the other side of the closed door, and for a moment longer still when crackling silence returned to the room.

Let them wait. Let them anticipate. Let them feel his eyes on them as they stood, bent and exposed.

At last he moved, first towards the table and then around it. His path took him to Red's side, and the sound of his hand smacking her ass as he passed around the table echoed in the room. They would both get more and worse eventually, of course, but he expected the sound to unnerve the blushing Toy more than a simple slap would. Oh, but it was fun to dance in her head.

On the side of the table opposite where they were bent now, he stopped within their field of view but did not look at them. Instead, his jacket was removed and tossed over to the chair, and the cuff of each sleeve were thumbed open, the cotton rustling as he moved. With each one he took his time, letting the seconds drag out as he rolled up one sleeve to a point just below his elbow, then followed with the other.

His attention turned to the bar then, a greedy gaze sweeping over the various items laid upon it. His own hands had placed them there earlier, each one selected by him for the possibilities of the night, but still he took his time to browse. A coiled whip, a leather strap, the hard wood of a paddle, the length of a cane, the strands of a flogger, the coiled length of zippers. Vibrators of various size and ability, a small collection of p-

He stopped, his eyes settling, and reached out with each hand.

Moving back to the table, he knelt on the same side of it, lowering himself down to their eye level. Without a word spoken still, he lifted one hand and set a plug, shaped like a rounded arrowhead in front of Red, his eyes on hers as it was settled in place. He watched her a moment, then turned his attention to Toy next to her, and the process was repeated.

"A preview of what's to come."

His voice was low, quiet, raising it unnecessary given their proximity, and then he was up and moving back to the bar. Four things were quickly gathered up, one of them a small bottle that was slipped into the front pocket of his shirt, and he returned to the table again. Two things were set down then, zippers coiled into a hoop, and a Hitachi placed in the center of them. The third was kept in his hands.

Making his way around the table, he moved up close behind them, leaning forward a bit so he nearly hovered over them.

"Red. Toy. A little warmup first. This will be very simple."

A step back from them was taken, and he turned so he was nearly perpendicular to them.

"When you hear this..."

The strap was leather, black, and wide, the handle comfortable in his hands as he swung a strong backhand and laced it across Red's buttocks.

"...then Toy, I want to hear you count it out. So that is 'one, Sir.' And this..."

The rush of air, the substantial impact of leather on flesh.

"Two, Sir."

Again, kissing her flesh fully.

"And 'three, Sir.' I'm sure you understand, yes?"

The question was rhetorical, and he pressed on without waiting for an answer, turning so he was still mostly perpendicular but facing the opposite way.

"And this, Red..."

The curls bounced as the leather found the flesh of the other, and he held nothing back, knowing them both well enough to dispense of the light impact to work their way into it. He wouldn't waste their time with it, and he sure as fuck wasn't going to waste his own.

"...is 'one, Sir.'"

Again.

"And 'two, Sir.'"

And again.

"And 'three, 'Sir.'"

The assault stopped, the strap set along the spine of Toy as he moved close behind them again, and open hand on the warmed flesh of each of them.

"And if you lose count, then I just keep going until you figure out what number you're on. Understand, little playthings?"

The question, perhaps rhetorical as well, was nonetheless left hanging until both of them answered in the affirmative, and he nodded in satisfaction.

"Excellent. Then let's start at one, shall we?"

The strap was lifted off of Toy's back, and he returned to the position he'd first swung it in, leaving her to count each of the ten blows delivered to the redhead she was tied to. Sweat had formed on his brow, brought on as much by the exertion as the fire that burned not far from them, and it only increased as their roles were reversed, curls again bouncing with each meeting of leather and skin. Angry red glowed up at him when he'd finished, and it only worked to increase the arousal that was already apparent to anyone who might cast even a glance in his direction.

Returning close behind them, the strap was set on the table between their bodies and a hand reached to each of them, fingers diving into their hand and curling into a grasp. The pair were straightened together and backed a couple of steps from the table, and then his hands moved to their shoulders. The silk of his tie looped around their wrists acted as a hinge, and with it he moved them so they stood back to back against each other.

"Same count," he said as they stood before him, "Don't forget what number you're on."

Around them he moved, the strap lifted from the table, and this time it was their front that suffered his wrath. He orbited them almost continually, a single impact each on Toy's breasts and thighs, and then he was on the other side and three straight were delivered to Red's breasts. This continued until each girl had been painted red, and his arousal nearly burst forth from the dark, pinstripe trousers he wore.

Abruptly he stopped and moved back to the table, leaving them for a moment to breath and lean back on each other. The strap was dropped off, and the coiled zippers were lifted in it's place. Reaching out, he parted them from each other and stood them side-by-side again, facing him and the table behind him. One length of zipper was uncoiled and looped around his neck, vestments of the man who held services here.

The longer of the two was left in his hands, and it was with this that he began to work. Starting with Toy, flesh along the swell of her breast was pinched and captured in the bite of the clothes pin, nearly a half dozen pinned to her in a semicircle along the shape of her breast by the time he was done. The strand was stretched between them then, and the process began again. The line of them was looped almost entirely around the breast of Red, and then pins were pinched to the flesh just below her shoulder, and down the length of her arm to nearly her wrist. The silk bond was spanned, and the zipper was threaded up Toy's arm, ending nearly by her shoulder. Twine hung from each end on Toy, joining the silver chain that dangled from her neck.

The zipper looped behind his neck was, for the moment, ignored, and he moved around behind them, a hand on each neck. Pushing them forward, he bent them forward once they were near the table again, letting each of them rest a cheek near the edge of the table for some measure of support. Reaching past them, the Hitachi and one plug was lifted, and his attention this time began on Toy.

An audible click sounded the instant before the strong buzz of the Hitachi, and the round, pulsing head was against her without warning. His arm moved in a slow, steady back and forth motion, letting the vibration ride atop her clit for a few seconds before sliding it along her, and the head was quickly glistening in the light.

"You were already wet, weren't you Toy?" He clicked his tongue at this, and the vibe was clicked off in the same instant and set on the table between them. From his shirt pocket, the bottle was removed, and the plug in his other hand was coated in lube. Snapping the small bottle closed, he replaced it in his pocket and took up the vibrator again.

Click.

It was against her again, the same steady back-and-forth, back-and-forth movement along her. The plug was pressed to her as he did this, and slowly, gradually worked in until it was seated fully within her. The Hitachi was snapped off in almost the same instant, and he left her then, wet and plugged, red and caught in the web of a zipper.

Once more his attention turned to the one she was bound to, the remaining plug lifted into his hands, the vibrator clicked on again and returned back to service.

"Mm." He grinned a bit, leaning forward over her, "Your cunt is nearly as wet as hers is. Maybe we should just work our way through all the other things I've laid out until she returns."

The vibe moved, hovered over her clit, and remained there.

"Of course, I have no idea what she has planned for either of you. That may very well be your fate whether it's her or I delivering you to it. But, first..."

He straightened, and once more the head stilled and the wand was left on the table. Again the bottle was removed, used, and replaced. Again the Hitachi was pressed back into service, and a second plug found it's way home.

Click.

This last instrument of their torture was placed once more on the table between them, the head covered in the wetness of them both nearest to the edge, and he took each of them by the hair again. Moving them both, he brought a mouth to each side of the spherical head, his own hovering not far above.

"Clean it. All of it. Miss any, and I'll replace those plugs with bigger ones."

Leaving them to it, he moved behind them and lifted the last zipper from around his neck. Crouching, he began just below and behind Red's knee, pins that held her flesh tight attached every few inches as he worked his way up the inside of her thigh, and then across the back of it. The pins found purchase then on the back of Toy's upper thigh, and was attached every few inches to her in the same manner, winding it's way down the inside of her thigh and stopping just below and behind her knee.

Satisfied, he stood again and watched lips and tongues work until he was satisfied, and straightened them with a pull of red and curled strands.

"Move together. If any of those come off, I'll just reattach them," he said, his head between theirs, and then slowly backed them from the table again, and then turned them together to face the door.

"You're here for her," he said, head still between theirs, turning from one to the other as he spoke, "So we'll give her a nice welcome back when she returns. I think she'll like that, don't you?"

Rhetorical, again, perhaps, but he still waited for an answer, giving each a satisfied nod only when he'd received it.

He was pleased that he'd had the time to finish all he'd planned with them - being unsure of her plans for the Slave meant he was unsure of the time they'd be gone, as well - and waiting there with them, idle hands indeed became the devil's workshop.

An arm looped around each of them, and seeking fingers descended along their bodies. Not allowed to enter, and indeed he did not, but the rules said nothing about mercilessly teasing each clit with long and nimble fingers while they waited.

"Tell me," he said, low and in the ear of each, "What you want. Right now." He played on them like they were each a fine instrument under his touch, letting the music build at it's own pace toward a crescendo he would not allow it to reach. He listened to them as he strummed, eyes moving from one to the other freely, and still his own need stood out, obvious and demanding.

He had no idea of the time that had passed when he heard the approach of heels, and the Grinch's grin returned. His fingers lifted from them, returned in a quick, firm slap where he'd just teased, and then his arms retreated from around them. Two steps brought him to the side of the curly haired Toy, and he took up both strands of twine that hung down from the front zipper, then moved across so he was at Red's side.

His eyes moved to the door and he watched, listening as the footfalls grew closer, until he saw the handle turn, and then he moved in a single fluid motion, stepping back as he pulled so the entire length, around breasts and along arms, was pulled free suddenly.

Cacophony. Glorious chaos. A chorus of pain.

Welcome back.

The first zipper still in hand, he moved behind them quickly, took hold of the second where it stretched between them, and repeated the motion, a single step back as he pulled. Two zippers, free of their flesh, dangled from each hand, and his eyes were bright as he watched them in front of him. And throbbed.

We've been waiting for you.

 

[Britwitch]

Slave.
She probably shouldn't have but she smiled nonetheless. Shyly. The movement of the pen over her chest as it branded her.

Slave. Owned. Subservient. Property. In service.
To a point, it was all as true now that he'd written on her as it had been before she'd set foot in the Church. Elements of her personality, parts of her make up, meant she had always tended towards that kind of submission. The total kind, the selfless kind.
It was a good name. It fitted.

Two more presents, two more names. Each being written across smooth skin.
And then came a kiss. A kiss that was wonderful to watch. The newly named slave watched with a different smile on her face now. A happy one. Genuinely so.

She called the other two over, toying with his tie, before issuing further instructions. More new names. She licked her lips while watched the Bride bind and prepare her other presents. Sir watched on. More instructions given. Ears listening keenly and mind already imagining what things might happen.
Not Daddy. Not Sis. Not for tonight.
Sir and the Bride.

Then she was summoned. Rising to stand before her. Sharing a smile, a moment of fondness, of excitement, before silver chain was lifted, and tugged. And they left the bedroom.

Bare feet carried her behind the luscious curves and devastating beauty of the woman who for this night owned her. Who always owned her? Down shadowy hallways and into the lounge.
The second they walked in, Slave realised they were not alone. The low hum of conversation drifted over her ears, broken occasionally by the sounds of people playing in darkened corners. Sighs and cries.
Her cheeks burned as she felt conversations stop and eyes shift. Eyes moving over her body. The body that was entirely on display. Naked save for her chain, and her name.

Whispered comments, whispered words, floated on the air and crept into her ears. She tried not to listen but she had little choice. Appreciation for the size of her bust, descriptions of acts that her rounded behind might suit best. By the time they sat down, she on the Bride's lap, her cheeks were bright red.

“They want you, sweet one. They want to use your body. You like that don’t you, Slave? Spread your legs for them. Show them how wet you are. Go on.”
She couldn't deny it. Even before it was whispered in her ear, she was finding herself excited, more than excited, by the thought of being at the mercy of a room such as this. Of being used.
Obediently, she parted her legs. Letting them dangle on either side of the lap she rested upon. Sex, smooth and wet, revealed to those wishing to look. And it seemed many did.
With hands suddenly lifted up above her head, showing off her chest to it's best, she felt fingers walking over her skin. Speeding up her breathing and then making her gasp as they delved between wet folds.

“Do you see, Slave? Do you see how they watch you?”
"Yes. Yes, I do." Her voice was tremulous to say the least.
“Do you like how you’ve made so many of them hard? Just from watching you part your legs? You know that you are a needy little whore. Now all of them know it too."
A nod of her head, blue eyes stealing across the faces before her. Watching openly, with almost every pair of eyes fixed somewhere well below her face. That made everything so much worse. She wondered what they were thinking, she wondered what they would do. What they could do.
She already knew she wasn't in position to refuse. The word 'no' had ceased to be a part of her lexicon, but she would have surrendered it to no one else. No one else would she trust with such a precious thing. Except perhaps he with the pinstripes who was doing only goodness knew what back in the bedroom.

"What is this slave?”
Fingers shimmered in the light as they rose before her face. A face growing pinker, if that was even possible.
“You’ve made a mess, slave.”
"I have". She didn't apologise. She knew neither of the would really believe it if she did.
Fingers hovered and she knew what she needed to do. Leaning forward she took them into her mouth. Lips and tongue working to remove every trace of herself from upon them. So focused was she on the task at hand it was only when the first man grunted somewhere to her left that she realised what was happening. Hands parted fabric, delved into trousers, and so much stiff flesh was suddenly on show that she didn't honestly know where to look. Eyes latched onto her breasts, her sex. Her body. Finding their own pleasure in her exposure. In her current slavery. She had no choice but to let them ogle and every grunt, every hoarsely whispered expletive made her pussy that much wetter.

The first to paint her walked up slowly, eyes between her legs and his aim hitting her stomach. The next was more of a breast man it seemed. Eyes on her bust and his seed splashing across them after his breathing grew particularly laboured.
Again and again she was decorated. Used for their release, their relief, without even being touched. Within a fairly brief time span she was pretty extensively covered. Sprays had showered down over her thighs, her stomach and her collarbone, in places covering her new name. Shots had been fired to her chest, with little strings now hanging from embarrassingly hard nipples. She'd even been marked across her face. The freckles across her nose now covered with spatters of white.

Throughout it all fingers tormented her pussy, teasing her clit and keeping her teetering along the edge without ever really getting close to pushing her over. Whining and whimpering, sighs and moans leaving her as men grunted and swore over her exposed body. More than once her head rolled back to rest on the shoulder behind it.

“Look you’ve become a cum covered slave. Here to be used and abused, and nothing more to any of them. They cover you and leave. Should we tell Daddy how dirty you are? How you are painted with cum, and don’t even know how many have covered you?”
Before she could reply, the crowd melted away and just one man was left.

So surprised was she that the shove off of the Bride's lap was most unexpected, sending her unceremoniously onto the floor. Landing on her rump, she should have felt her pride dented but instead all she cared about was the one who approached. Hard thick length being massaged in his hand. Slave didn't have to wonder for long where his cum would land. He pumped it with a deep growling groan into the Bride's outstretched palm.
The intention already known. Cheeks pinked beneath the cum that covered them.

Rising to her knees so she could reach, she started to lick. That taste that was man and man alone filling her mouth while her eyes watched the face above her. Tongue soft and thorough, lips ensuring every drop was cleaned from her skin.
Then they were moving. Chain tightened around her neck, a silent warning to hurry and follow. And she did.
Leaving the room to it's occupants and their pleasures.
Skin tightening beneath cooling seed, wondering what on earth was going to be made of her appearance, the chain was suddenly dropped and they paused just outside the bedroom.

“You had better clean up a little. Would hate for Daddy to see you dripping over being used as such, Slave. You have one minute.”
"Thank you," She spoke quickly. Seconds already ticking. Jumping into the shower and turning it on full she counted to thirty, washing away the seed that had been clinging to her. Then quickly towelled herself dry. She didn't think the Bride had a stopwatch but she knew she daren't push. A minute it would be.
As she stumbled back into the bedroom, she caught the tail end of a joint cry. Eyes flying to the other two women, tied together and apparently in a fair degree of discomfort. The zippers hanging from Sir's hands providing the reason why. Their skin pinked and their toes curled.

Her skin was pinked too, from the violent chaffing she'd given herself with the towel. She still smelt like she'd been used, if one tried to smell it. Sex still wet. She looked used, if nothing else. Face flushed and eyes bright. In face the only thing pristine about her? Was the careful writing across her chest.

Slave.
As she let her eyes drift from the two recovering side by side to the man who had hurt them, she couldn't help wondering what her next use would be.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

Red

The noise that assaulted her ears upon her return, brought laughter to her lips, both women were panting, whimpering, and Vi? She was giggling maniacally, clapping her hands and bouncing slightly as she watched.

Catching the hand of slave, while eyeing the other two. It’s possible that he had bitten off more than he could chew, not that he’d ever admit it. No, he was always in control. Manly. Reserved. And being owned by two women who were much smaller than him, and tied up, and who glared at him now.

She turned away from them, and led slave over to the bed, where she was laid down with many kisses, many assurances that she was beautiful and had been a very good, if dirty, girl, that had pleased her Bride very much. But she had a moment to rest, before a playmate would be returned to her, but her bride assured her that Sir would lavish his attention upon her, if slave promised to be her naughty girl and make sure that Sir was very worked up.

With that handled, she turned her attention to the three that had already been playing. His excitement was obvious, and Vi slid easily back into his arms, her hand sliding over the front of his pants, while she placed teasing kisses over his lips.

“Poor Daddy, all worked up. Someone really should take care of that for you.”

She grasped his length through the clothing, reached out with the other hand and took hold of Red, sliding out of his arms just as easily as she had found herself in his embrace. Freed from the tie quickly which was wrapped around Vi’s neck before she swept her newest toy from the room with only one sweet glance over her shoulder at the bad man behind her.

He’d make her pay for her impertinence.

She was going to make it worth every bruise.

Red followed hotly on her heels as they strolled through the hallway back into the lounge. The same lascivious and lusty folks from slave’s foray just waiting for the next treat.

“Dinner Miss, is served. We are however missing the candelabras and I apologize for the inconvenience.” Whispered the manager who was quickly at her side.

“Everyone may be seated, our lighting will be prepared presently!” She announced to the table, turning to Red behind her, who watched with curiousity as meals were brought out to the lavishly set table and 20 darkly dressed guests took their seats. Vi turned to her plaything and swept the girl’s hair from her face.

“My sweet red, you’re going to have to light the table tonight my darling. I shall help you, but do try to remember not to move too much! Be my very good red.”

Red was assisted up onto the table, her limbs neatly arranged and the food set on either side of her. Thirty red candles were brought out and separated among 5 guests, who waited for word from the Bride, who leaned over and caressed the skin of her Red.

“Thirty candles my darling, for the age I am as I get married, 10 candles each for myself and my loves. Thirty candles to adorn your skin and anoint your beauty. Are you ready?”

With her assent, Vi nodded to the others, and candles were lit, and dripped over pale skin, in one spot at a time, pooling the hot liquid wax in one spot before the candle was placed there to drip down onto the spot under it, moving with each breath of the anointed one.

Candles ran the length of her body, up her belly, over her breasts, and chest, and down her legs and thighs. Tiny whimpers and cries were emitted, but they were ignored by those who were merrymaking and drinking around her. Only the Bride watched her girl, catching her eye and smiling at her, contemplating the girl covered in wax, the girl on fire from each flaming strand of red hair down her body which now ran red from the wax that covered her.

It was beautiful.

The bride ate sparingly, watching as some of the guests would reach out to gently touch the wax that slid down the sides of Red, their hands gentle in their exploration of her porcelain skin or the heated liquid that covered her.
They raised a toast to the Bride when she stood, applauding loudly when she blew out every single candle on Red’s body, greedily whipping each smoking hub from her skin, leaving trails of wax covering red flesh.

The table was quickly cleared, and the bride’s hand flashed out quickly to the still reclining Red, curling her hands into hair and dragging the girl off the table with several tugs ignoring any protests that fell from those lips, noting that the girl also now shed those wax layers like detritus behind them as they moved.

Red was dragged back into the bedroom, with little fanfare, and the others in the room were ignored as Red was thrown up against a wall and left there, while Daddy’s small personal kitchen was ransacked to find his best knife. He would kill her for this.

Once found it was brought back and placed against the skin of her Red. Her quivering Red, who was warned against moving as the blade cut through any remaining wax and was flicked from pretty, perfect skin, the blade of the chef’s knife glinting in the light as the other watched this little dance between Red and the Bride.

Red moved.

Of course she did. It was only a slight movement. But enough for the bride to cut the skin beneath the blade, not deeply, not roughly, just a knick.

The bride smiled.

Red was bleeding for her again.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

Toy

“Slave.” The word was soft, it ignored the man who lavished attention on her. It ignored the tiny whimpers from Toy. Ignored the indulgent grin of the girl in the bride’s hands.

Then slave was at her side and Red’s face was slapped as she was handed over to the other plaything.

“Clean her up. Tuck her in.”

Red was ignored then. For the moment the Bride was done with her. Once more she moved to the side of the sole man in all of this, her hand reached for his always grizzled cheek to caress it, and smile it up at him. They giggled together, or rather he laughed at her, and she giggled back. One little kiss to his cheek before she swept off to find her Toy.

Toy, was strung up. Cruelly twisted and set up so that much of the pressure of her position was being absorbed by her chest. It was rather pretty, and the Bride paused for a moment considering the tableau before her.

“You poor sweet girl, look at what he has done to you. Isn’t he just terrible? Don’t you dislike him? Want to make him hurt? Tie him up? Let his groans fill the room knowing there is nothing he can do to stop them?”

She grinned when the word “Dreaming” reached her ears from across the room.

Toy was cut from her bindings with a pair of safety shears, let him howl about her cutting his rope, he should have thought about an easy release. The bound one fell to the floor with a thump.

“Stand up Toy.”

While she struggled to stand, the Bride carefully left her side, keeping a distant eye on her, while she moved back to the bed where the other two playthings were tucked in. Leaning across the bed, she cuddled and coddled her Red one, leaving a trail of kisses over her brow with tiny little touches, caresses and hugs over the girl, making her giggle and making sure she was comfortable. The spot where she had bled was covered with a bandaid and a little kiss was pressed there to make it all better.

“My girls, my pretties, please torture him. Do not let him join in, but please enjoy each other. I have one more little foray to make and then I promise retribution for every cruel word, every cruel strike against your skin will be had against him, maybe even against me. I’m so proud of you both.”

Toy was standing behind her, and the Bride turned, took up her leash, grabbed a set of clamps and swept once more from the room, leading Toy out into the lounge. They were ready for them, more rowdy now this crowd belonging to the Master of this abode. They liked his games, they liked her games, they enjoyed the recent parade of beautiful, naked women to feast their hungry eyes on, and this new Toy was no exception. A crowd had gathered around a central carpeted area, and in many of their hands was a single rose.

It was here that the Bride brought her final Toy. Standing before her, she grinned down at the other woman.

“Now my Toy, you have a very important task. Every Bride needs a bouquet, and you’re going to make me mine.”

The clamps were re-attached to Toy’s chest and tiny pretty little gold bells were attached to the clamps that hung from her nipples.

“Every rose must be picked up. But you really must watch for the thorns, my sweet girl. You will bring each one back to the basket, but please be quick about it darling one.”

With a nod of her head, the roses were tossed to the ground by the crowd around them, each rose freeing just a little bit of its heady scent as it hit the floor, the Bride sinking her hand into brunette tresses and pushing her to the floor.

There she knelt, tinkling with each breath and staring at the roses that littered the floor around her. The Bride smiled as she was handed a crop unbeknownst to Toy.

“Now, my sweet.”

Toy knelt to pick up the nearest rose with her teeth, a jingling from her chest while she moved and the Bride caught her backside once, just to shock her. The girl practically jumped over to the basket to drop the rose quickly.
She turned and was whacked once more, as she leaned down to catch another rose. The crop pushing her to rush, even as she tried to be careful of thorns, of hands that reached out to caress her, to slow her down, but Toy moved about quickly. Whimpering, jingling, the sweet sound of a crop against already red flesh, only barely heard over the jeering of the onlookers.

Lean, Thwack! Teeth around rose stem, thwick! The bride was relentless, in her pursuit of her little Toy. Giggling as the woman’s backside reddened and welted under her crop. The leather swishing through the air to catch a thigh…a hip…a hanging jingling breast… a shoulder… her ass.

Who knows how long it took for Toy to pick up the 30 roses that had surrounded her, but the Bride was breathless from jumping about and giggling. She fell into a chair and spread her skirts around her, beckoning her toy to her. She placed her Toy’s head into her lap, and idly played with the woman’s hair, letting her nimble fingers tuck away loose strands, to massage the woman’s scalp, little scrapes of her nails down the woman’s neck, down her back, one of the roses picked up to slide against the soft skin. Allowing them both to relax into the others embrace, to comfort each other gently, for the Bride to show her Toy that she was proud of her, because while the other two had been the Bride’s to toy with before, this one hadn’t yet.

An ice cold water was placed into the Bride’s hand, and grateful sips were taken, while she shared a little of the water with her Toy, who gulped down much of it, before resting her head again in the Bride’s lap.

“It’s time, my little Toy.”

The pair stood and made their way from the lounge, envious eyes watching them the whole way back, whispers following them, as the manager hushed the crowd and offered new distractions in the form of the pretty house slaves.

The two women ignored all this, and headed back to the suite of rooms that belonged to him.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

Daddy

On silent feet they entered, the Bride having ditched her shoes in the hallway. She smiled to herself as she watched the two women in the bed tease the man of the house. Her hand pushed the Toy towards the bed, watching as the woman dashed over to join her other two play things.

The bride did not join them.

She watched silently.

“Girls, prepare him.”

For their part, they did this with gusto. Hands explored and freed him from his clothing; teeth met now freed skin, mouths dipped and tasted every inch of him that was now theirs to play with, to tease relentlessly. Let it never be said that this man wasn’t spoiled as three very bad women shared him, enticed him, caressed and bit, and demanded his hardness and strength.

The bride stood back, and let this moment continue waiting for that moment when he would lay his head back and groan, and then she knew he would be ready. When it happened, she moved quickly. Shedding her dress, and striding to the bed, where she motioned a girl to pin a bad man’s arm between her legs. Slave straddled his right arm, holding him down. Toy straddled his left, pinning that arm between her thighs, and Red was directed to straddle his face effectively silencing him. The bride giggled, his silence was glorious!

And then the Bride, straddled his hips, sliding his length deep inside her, and sighing as she did so.

He felt good. He looked good. For what other man could say he’s entered four women at once?

 

[saysalice]

Alice blinked up at the sound of the only skirt in the room, in time to see legs criss-crossing in brisk strides under black lace. The guest of honor was leaving. Was she displeased with his gift? No - no, she was smiling; a rather unwholesome smile that elicited another brief shudder from the new girl. But she was leaving - without a word, without a second glance back at them. Alice stole a glance at him - him in the suit. He seemed thoroughly unperturbed, content to wait with his marker poised over the pretty freckled one.

It was as if time stood still for several minutes, and none of them moved. Alice was almost afraid to breathe until the door opened and her firey hair lit up the room again, and she only grinned at their confusion and approached the three girls kneeling for her, speaking as if she'd never left.

Slave, she called Brit, and Alice watched his pinstriped elbow move with the marker in her peripheral vision. She didn't dare turn her head, but felt a tingle in her face, knowing she could never carry off that particular name.

Tess was next, and they both moved down to flank the girl in the middle. She caught a waft of her scent as their hostess bent her head close enough to kiss, reaching around to stroke Tess's thigh as she murmured that Tess would be known as Red. Alice jerked her gaze away from this intimacy, in time to see him-in-the-suit's lips twitching on a smile as he wrote the word.

Then they closed in on her, and she found herself sitting up a little straighter, trying to remember all the forgotten rules of slave etiquette, trying to impress, even as she felt her cheeks flushing at their nearness and her nakedness, and at the cool beauty's careful consideration. She twitched as she felt fingers in her hair, and struggled to keep her eyes down - that was right, wasn't it? Acquiescence, humility. She tucked her chin almost to her chest as she heard the swish of the skirt moving in a slow circle around her, and knew she was being appraised. By one who would be looking for...well, something. Something she was suddenly very afraid she didn't possess.

She shivered helplessly, feeling the warm breath and the plush lips brushing her earlobe, arching her back slightly, knowing they would see it and quick to bring herself back into the proper pose.

Toy. He seemed to take some small glee in writing it, in long, exaggerated wet letters across her breasts. She felt him pause to look at her, and her face crumpled for just a second as she stole a glance up at him. Couldn't make it any easier - ah no, they were in cahoots. If he could humiliate them just that much more for her, he was happy to do it. Toy. Just a trifle. Disposable toy. To be broken...if she didn't work. Yes, it suited her. Yes, it worried her.

She forgot herself and lifted her head, watching shamelessly as they slid languidly into each others' arms, and their kiss made her wet her lips. Envy. And then, as if hearing her sin, as if to punish her, the lady began tugging restlessly at his tie, and Alice - Toy - raised her eyebrows, wondering if they were going to just - just do it right there, with three envious girls looking on. But, no...was she disappointed? She didn't have much time to consider it, as she heard her new name and hesitated for the span of a heartbeat before scrambling to her feet to obey.

It was so hard to face her, and Toy was glad that she was speaking, instructing them, so that she knew that she just had to listen. She nodded as the Bride took her wrists and bound them to Red's with the length of strong silk. This, she could understand - it was the kisses that confused her. Mixed her all up inside.

Bend over the table for Daddy, she was saying, and Toy could feel a tic of trepidation, her face as naked as the rest of her. Feel free to fight him...but you belong to me.

She managed a watery smile and did not resist as the Bride positioned them across the table, fussing with them until she was satisfied. Toy buried her face in her arms, imagining the view she must be presenting. And then, kisses. Her lips parted under the pressure of the Bride's warm, affectionate mouth, and then it was gone again, leaving her bewildered and tingling with the memory.

The Bride turned away from them and took Slave away on her chain (and Toy felt it again, that twinge of Envy - bad, bad girl), closing the door behind her. Leaving them behind. With him.

 

[saysalice]

Sir

She looked up as soon as the door closed - not quite so well-behaved, with him - and turned her head to see his terribly thoughtful smile. He didn't move, didn't blink, and she knew she should look away, but couldn't bring herself to look away. You're more afraid of her...but you don't trust him. True. But she believed - wanted to believe, that he would play by the Bride's rules, at least.

Not that she'd left him with many rules.

She sucked in a breath and held it as he approached, ducking her head low like a cringing puppy, but watching his every move. He stepped behind Red, and the crack of his slap in the quiet room made Toy's eyes widen in alarm. She waited for him to do the same to her - and waited - but a second slap didn't come. The anticipation, the waiting, the wondering was worse than anything he might do to her...at least, that's what she told herself.

He was ignoring them now, but stood where they could watch him as he slipped unhurriedly out of his suit jacket and began rolling his shirt sleeves up methodically. Toy closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, then glanced fleetingly at Red to see if it was time to panic. Never a good thing, when a man rolled up his sleeves.

He stepped away. Not afraid of him - oh yes I AM afraid of him... She wasn't stupid. He returned and crouched down to meet them at eye level, the way one might humor a child. As she watched in horror, he set a fat butt plug down on the table in front of Red's face, then turned to Toy and planted an identical one just inches from her nose. Toy couldn't keep from cringing, and bit her lips hard to keep from muttering: Aren't you even going to buy us dinner, first? Not funny, funny girl. She was starting to sweat.

Gone again and back, and what he set on the table before them now was no less unsettling. Toy lowered her head again to thump her forehead lightly against the table: fuck. me. when she saw the zippers. Nasty fucking things. One clothespin on a pinch of sensitive flesh was bad enough - but a dozen, two dozen on a string, clipped all over and then ripped off, all at once...it was something she'd seen other, braver girls endure, but had never consented to, herself. But there was no consent, here. They'd sort of skipped that part.

Maybe they're not for me... Her face flushed again with guilt at the traitorous thought. Was Red hoping the same thing? He set down a Hitachi. Maybe that's for me, she thought, and a wheezing bark escaped her lips - not quite a laugh.

She didn't like him behind her. Warmup, he was saying, and when she heard a snap of leather, Toy cried out as if she was the one who'd been struck. It took her a moment, flexing her buttocks, to realize that she remained untouched. Maybe - as he swung again and said Two, Sir - maybe, because she was new - Three, Sir - he would only strike Red tonight, and Toy would only have to count -

But even as she was nodding yes, she heard his shoes scuff the floor as he changed positions. And this, Red...

She just had time to whimper a muffled, "No - " when the strap came down on her bare ass, much harder than she would have expected, for a first encounter - but she'd set herself up for that, hadn't she? She felt the slight breeze as he flicked the strap back, and she shrank against the edge of the table as it fell again - and then again. Not unbearable, she told herself as she straightened up again, backing right into his bare hand - and ah yes, this was why: the gentle caress of fingers across still-tingling, tender flesh. He would feel her shiver in his palm.

"Yes, Sir," she answered quietly, and he sounded so pleased, in return.

He turned again, and Toy counted for Red - easy to keep count, when she realized he meant to work on them one at a time - but more difficult than she could have imagined, to just listen to him beat the other girl. Each fall of the strap, every noise Red emitted made Toy wince, and by the end of ten cracks she was squirming guiltily. Counting without suffering in kind made her feel partly responsible, and when Sir turned his attention to her, she was grateful to accept her share.

At first.

By five, she was dancing restlessly on her toes at the edge of the table. By seven, she had forgotten that there was counting, and was only writhing about, trying - unsuccessfully - to escape his aim. At the end of ten (she had to trust Red's assurance that it was ten), she was moaning unabashedly. The firm flesh of her ass felt hot and raw - if he ran his hand over it now, she would scream and beg for things.

He came for them again, pulling them up by their bound wrists and positioning them so that they stood back-to-back. Toy could feel the heat from Red's warmed buttocks press and chafe against her own stinging flesh. Her breasts lifted in great panicky breaths as he told them to count again. A different game, to assault their front sides - so much more personal - and to make them look him in the eye as he swung hard. Toy couldn't control her face, and her expression felt wholly unfamiliar - equal parts fear, disbelief and distaste.

Not nearly so easy, this time: he circled them like a predator closing in and swung at random, as it pleased him. She felt a terrible obligation to keep on count for Red - if she got confused, she knew he would beat the other girl until she got it right. She was dripping with sweat as she tried to concentrate, listening for the cracks and just getting her count in when he would come round again and smile in her face and catch her unprepared, someplace new. It was too much to try to stifle her cries, and Toy wailed openly.

He stopped again, as if entirely on a whim, and she gasped her relief, tossing her damp curls off her forehead to keep a close eye on him as she curled her fingers briefly through Red's and squeezed. This is the warmup, came the uncomforting thought, and as he approached them again, Toy caught a glimpse of the hard shape of his arousal, straining the tailored lines of his trousers. Another little thrill passed through her. Yes, this was why. A laughing voice echoed in her memory: Warm him up too, my girls.

He was turning them again so that they no longer supported each other, and Toy's face pinched with aversion as she saw that he had the zippers in hand. Her lips opened and closed on tiny mewling sounds that she didn't quite dare to form into pleas. She was shivering at the intimacy of it, his deliberate placement of each clip, pinching a bite of tender flesh in each one - deceptively gentle, really. Cruel. She turned her eyes to the ceiling again, stubbornly, and breathed again when he moved on to attend to Red.

Pushed forward again, bent at the waist, she didn't feel the same concern about the view she was affording him - she'd yelped and moaned and trembled for him; her pink parts felt like a half-hearted afterthought.

Mistake.

Click, and she knew the sound and stiffened as he pushed the bulbous head of the toy between Toy's thighs and she cried out in shock: "Ha - haah - HAH - " voice cracking on the sound as the powerful vibrator rumbled deep into her pelvis, pinning her clit against her pubic bone. She was writhing like a cat in heat, lifting her hips up in offering, squirming away from and then against it, and then away again. Squealing in her confusion, fighting desperately to keep control as she felt the warm gush of her eager cunt wetting the toy, helping it to slide more easily.

You were already wet, weren't you Toy?

It was the click of his tongue - disapproving, disappointed sound - and she almost came, but he saved her that disgrace, snapping the Hitachi off just in time. She pressed her cheek against the table and mooooaned, feeling her pulse thumping in her clit, listening to the roar of blood in her ears, only barely aware of the little noises he was making.

Click. "NoooOOOO - " the word regressed to a hoarse groan as she felt him push the head of the toy deliberately up into her throbbing cunt again, working it back and forth so that the fought with every ounce of her will the orgasm that was so dangerously close to the surface. Every muscle tensed against it, so that she keenly felt the probe of the cold wet tip of the plug as it parted her ass cheeks and nudged at her tight pink puckered anus.

"Oh - ohho - dooon't - " Her resolve was slipping with the steady push of it into her, the flared width opening her, his insistence, and she almost - almost, again - but he switched the vibrator off the instant the plug sank into her, and she was left whimpering, squirming, her wet swollen cunt aching to be filled, stuffed like her violated asshole.

Was she blushing? This was beyond blushing. The buzz of the Hitachi as he turned with it to Red did not quite drown out his words. Nearly as wet. His voice was smiling. She wouldn't look up, listening to his assault on Red as her own body came down from its frantic arousal by degrees, and she became more aware of the uncomfortable plug inside her.

He took them each by the hair, and she was grateful for it - his firm hand tight in her curls and guiding her to where he wanted her, helping her to obey. Toy was dizzy in the wake of such violent sensations and emotions, and it was not the indignity it would have been at the start of the evening, to stick out her pink tongue and lap at the head of the Hitachi with long, broad strokes. Sir was behind them - a thought that should have worried her, but it was several seconds before she felt the pluck of his fingers against her skin, and -

No, not his fingers. Clothespins. Clamping into her, every few inches. All down the length of her inner thigh.

Tears pricked her eyes and she licked blindly until he pulled them up by the hair again. Not blinking them away. Not fighting anything anymore, feeling her helplessness, as if a pretty but restricting party dress had been stripped away, and she could finally stand naked without shame. No resistance, no protest. This was the warmup.

They faced the door, waiting for the Bride's return, and Toy finally felt ready.

"Yes, Sir," she murmured, and knew suddenly that it was all for her - everything he had made them suffer was a gift to her, a celebration of her.

But he wasn't finished with them. Toy felt his spread hand descend across her belly and reach down to hook his fingers into her snatch, curling to catch and tug at her engorged clit. Her knees wobbled and threatened to buckle at this ill-timed attention, but she felt the pull of the zippers, the short expanse of string growing taut between herself and Red, and she locked her knees against an unfortunate mishap.

She closed her eyes, feeling tears drip and run down her hot cheeks - her need painful as he teased and stopped - teased and stopped, and she croaked at him in agony: "I want to come, I'm going to come - please, please don't make me - "

The click of heels reached their ears, and Toy's voice died in her throat as she felt an excited stirring in the pit of her stomach. Sir heard it too, and concluded his ministrations with a sharp slap that nearly doubled her.

He had the ends of the clothespin strings, one in each hand, but Toy could only watch the door breathlessly as the footfalls grew louder. The door handle twitched, and then an instant of blinding pain and the purr and snap of dozens of pins being ripped off at once, and she howled her welcome.

Shaking badly, she had time to gasp a breath and register the flaming hair, the glittering eyes, the delighted smile and then her back arched with the suddenness of the second pull, legs bowed as the clothespins popped from her tender inner thigh and the tears ran with her shrieks.

And as she collapsed in a snivelling heap on the floor, she knew it was the only gift possible - the best she had to offer.

 

[saysalice]

The Bride

Women are fearsome creatures. If you disagree, I would hazard to suggest that you haven't been paying enough attention, or perhaps have never been invested enough to care. Men as a species have been gifted with the advantages of brute strength and thundering growl; a sex organ that goes hard, like a weapon. Women have had to evolve with traits to counter such advantages, to hope to hold their own over the centuries: a certain quiet cunning, wicked tongue, sharp eyes that miss nothing. In these seeming subtle ways, they have managed the more violently dominant sex.

And the Bride can manage him. What short work might she make of her playthings?

Toy looked up from the floor at last to watch the Bride leading her Slave across to the bedroom. She felt another unwelcome stab of envy as she watched the Bride murmur and press kisses to the girl whose hair was still stringy-wet, skin still flushed with shame or exhilaration - what had she done to her? - and put her lovingly to bed.

When she turned, Toy dropped her gaze immediately, scrambling to her feet to stand next to Red as the Bride pulled Sir into another embrace. She didn't dare face them both at the same time. She held her breath, feeling herself being pulled along briefly as the Bride drew Red to her and tugged impatiently at the silk tie that bound their wrists together. In another second they were free, and Toy raised her eyes, only to be thoroughly ignored as the Bride stepped briskly away, back through the door with Red in tow.

She was left alone and face-to-face with him. There was just time for her eyes to widen in alarm as he came for her again, and then he had her by the hair, pulling her up straight and dragging her across the room as she tripped along and fought the frightened whimpers that nevertheless escaped her lips. She couldn't take much more - not alone - and still be expected to be good sport for the Bride when her turn came. She wanted to say as much, but he pushed her abruptly into a corner, and then his fingers left her hair and he was walking away.

Toy wanted to look back over her shoulder - he didn't say not to - but then something caught her eye, embedded in the very center of the nook where the two walls met. Discreetly placed so as not to be noticed from a distance in the crimson and gold pattern of the paper, a small hook had been screwed very firmly into the wall, just above her eye level. She considered it curiously as she heard him clattering with things at the bar, and her muscles clenched in memory around the plug still buried inside her. Strange place, for a hook. Set at a strange angle, so that she wondered what it could possibly hold, and what manner of ornament he might choose to display in the corner. She tried to remember if she'd seen anything in the other corners of the room...

And then he was back again, behind her. She began to turn her head and felt his hand in her hair, repositioning her so that she stared straight ahead. At nothing, at the hook. The message was clear enough. Her arms were at her sides, and his fingers closed around one wrist, tucking it into the small of her back, and then the other. Toy could feel her breaths coming rapidly. She didn't like him behind her.

Without warning, he reached around and took her breasts in his hands, pressing into her so that the fine weave of his suit abraded her tender flesh like sandpaper, and she could feel the terrible shape of his cock where the plug parted her. A shaky sigh betrayed her, even as he tugged and twisted at her nipples as he had done before. Were it not for the hook, she would have pushed her face into the corner, resting her forehead against the wall, and rolled her hips back into him. Toy closed her eyes and remained very still as he pulled and pinched a shudder out of her.

Sir, she wanted to say.

The whisper of a chain uncoiling from his pocket like a snake, the restless chatter of metal on metal silenced her, and she knew - should have known - when he stretched one pink nipple out long and replaced his warm fingers with the cold merciless bite of a clover clamp. She squealed and twisted in his grip as he reached unhurriedly for the other breast, and it was the press of his body again that stilled her, even as he let the clamp spring shut on the flushed and sensitive nub, opened and let it snap shut again on a meatier bite of areola, determined to get the placement just right.

His patience and his interest in her seemed to wane at once, and he tugged her forward suddenly by the short chain as she hissed back another whimper, feeling the clamps tighten as her heavy breasts were pulled up by the nipples. A rope passed through the center link was looped onto the hook in the wall, and he stepped back and pulled briskly, and she was left reeling, sweating, teetering on her toes - trying to relieve the tension as he tied it off at an absurd angle.

Feet flat on the floor, he told her, and her calves burned as she tried to ease herself down gently, and his bare hand came down hard on her ass so that she dropped abruptly onto her heels and the jerk of the chain tore a frightened bleat from her throat. Several more harsh blows followed in rapid succession, making her twist and squirm and shriek, tits bouncing on the ends of the shivering chain, hurting herself even as she tried to escape the hurt.

Then he was gone. She was left with the sound of her gasps and moans amplified around her in the cramped corner as she heard him cross the room and enter the bedroom, greeting the lovely Slave with a smile in his voice.

And she closed her eyes and listened.

*

The door burst open on what could only be the Bride - her return with Red a much more tumultuous entrance than her return with Slave had been. Toy could hear the knock of bone - knuckles, elbows or skull - against an adjacent wall, and the swish of a skirt as the Bride moved away to claw restlessly through metal things. Her very cool instruction, directed at Red, was not lost in the airless corner. Toy kept still, nose to the wall, aching breasts trembling with each breath as she heard the small noises Red made, and could not begin to guess what was happening to her. She'd thought watching Red suffer was difficult, but this anxious shunned sharing of such intimacies - pain and fear - her imagination running rampant as she stood tethered in the corner and awaited her turn...it was artful. Subtle torture. Did they know it?

The Bride broke the tension with a command. Toy heard the pad of bare feet crossing the room, and then the crack of a sound slap set her trembling, barely aware of the words and the movement and the laughter that followed. All nerves as the breeze of skirt and tickle of soft red locks brushed her bare skin as the Bride moved in close to consider her predicament.

The honeyed murmurs falling from barely parted lips made Toy's heart swell in her chest as she kept her eyes on the hook in the wall and felt the prick of tears again. It was too tempting, to crumple under such timely sympathy - to answer - one way, or the other. She slid her glassy gaze to one side, unsure if she was being mocked, and the sudden sound of his voice from across the room made her glad she hadn't answered as she'd wanted to. He was close enough to have heard it.

A deliberate clip, clip right in front of her face was the sound of mercy, and Toy cried out as chain and rope dropped, pulling the clamps from her nipples with the force of the fall, and she buckled and dropped, too, in a graceless heap on the floor.

Stand up Toy.

The command was delivered absently, unconcernedly as the Bride stepped away to coo over her two girls on the bed, and yes - this was the danger of being at the mercy of another woman. Women are built for pain. A woman knows what her sister can endure. She can make her suffer in ways that a man cannot imagine. Her expectations are immeasurable.

Toy pushed to her feet, swiping damp curls from her forehead before returning her arms to her sides as she watched the Bride indulge the other two with tender little kisses and caresses. Sir watched them too, and Toy wondered if she'd been forgotten, if she would not be collected after all, and felt a twinge of disappointment through her fear.

I'm so proud of you both.

At these words, as if her manicured claws had been clenched in a fist, sinking into Toy's heart, Toy stood up a little straighter, even as the Bride turned suddenly, curling her fingers around the leash between her breasts, and led her away as if there had never been any question. The tinkle of bells swept up in her hand as they passed the bar and through the door was an afterthought. Toy knew only that she must not disappoint, whatever the Bride had in store.

Her eyes widened as the Bride opened a door and drew her into a room full of people. She had assumed that each girl had been taken away for some one-on-one attention, not - playtime with an audience. Maybe it was a fate reserved just for her. Toy felt herself stiffening, hesitant, pulling back on the leash just a little, feeling her nakedness again as dozens of heads turned to look at her and the unstifled laughter and comments and jeers pricked her ears and made her blush for the millionth time tonight. Some of them were strangers - but worse, some of them she thought she recognized. She bowed her head so that her curls fell in her face and kept close behind the Bride.

Every Bride needs a bouquet, she was saying as she reattached the hated clamps to Toy's bruised nipples, this time with the added decoration of little jingly bells that shivered with each shaky breath. Every rose must be picked up.

Toy glanced around at the attendant crowd that had clustered to form a ring around them. Every person that she could see held a rose in their hands, and Toy wondered uneasily what she might have to do, to procure them. What kind of challenge was she being tasked with...and could she say no?

The Bride nodded to those assembled, and as one they tossed the roses to the floor. Toy exhaled in relief even as she felt the Bride's fingers deep in her hair, pushing her down.

Be quick about it darling one.

These little endearments, the affection - it sounded sincere - timed perfectly to coincide with these moments of high anxiety seemed to Toy only to place special emphasis on the Bride's unspoken expectations. Toy's eyes darted around the room, trying to count the roses, and the Bride's voice broke the silence again - and was there an edge of impatience to the words, this time?

Now, my sweet.

Could she still be her sweet, if she failed utterly?

The worrying thought spurred her into action. The nearest rose was only inches from her clenched fist on the carpet, and Toy ducked her head to take it into her mouth, feeling dreadfully exposed as her back arched with the movement, displaying her plugged ass to those who stood behind. She paused for just a moment, blinking at the stem, trying to locate the thorns and wrap her lips around the smoothest part of it, and the barest whistle of air behind her barely registered before she felt the sting of the the riding crop - the shaft of it, catching her across both rosy cheeks.

A yelp escaped her, and she just managed to keep the rose from falling from her lower lip, scurrying awkwardly on all fours to the basket and dropping the bud.

The onlookers were growing restless for some sport, and the Bride seemed to take pleasure in goading her, working her up into a panicked frenzy with the crop as Toy struggled to move faster - faster - knees and palms burning as she scampered across the carpet. Careless of the inelegant, clumsy caricature of lovely submission that she must be presenting. Catching disjointed bits of conversation from the discerning crowd and the constant, maddening jingle of the little bells between whistling strokes of the crop, between the crack of the wiry shaft or the flick of the leather tongue. Above it all, the Bride's silvery laughter rang out like ethereal music. She never missed. She was always right behind, always seemed to know when to strike a pretty piece of neglected flesh that Toy had almost managed to forget.

And the roses - there was always one more, just when she thought she was finished and could rest, the snap and bounce of the crop sent her hurtling wildly across the floor - find it, find it! Through the forest of their legs and the terribly casual brush of their hands and fingers that sent shudders through her as she took up another rose in her teeth, tearing her lower lip on a wicked thorn in her haste to escape the crop. She scuttled back and forth to the basket, sweating, slavering around the rose stems, whining fearfully every time the swish of skirts behind her portended another fierce blow, another hot welt.

At last, the Bride collapsed into a chair, all girlish giggles, and gestured to indicate that Toy should join her. Breathless, Toy crawled across to her and felt the scrape and burn of the carpet against her raw flesh as she settled at the Bride's feet, resting her head in her lap. She shivered deliciously under the Bride's gentle caresses, able to reflect now on all the mistakes she'd made, the noises that had escaped her, the indignant glares she'd flashed at these over-familiar strangers before the crop had caught her up again, reminding her that her body was not her own. She moaned softly in shame, pressing her face into the Bride's skirt even as she trembled at the sensuality of these subtle attentions after such an ordeal. Insult and injury. And now, as she felt her racing heart slow to normal and limp curls springing back from clammy skin, as she felt the silken trace of rose petals tickling along the curve of her spine, a low, fond giggle reached her ears.

This was why.

She lifted her head to see the Bride smiling down at her, idly twisting a ringlet around one finger. Toy lowered her gaze again, feeling the unexpected sting of tears in her eyes, but pressed a kiss to the inside of the Bride's wrist. She was grateful. She felt precious. It was all a bit bewildering.

Too soon, the Bride announced softly that it was time to return to the rooms in Purgatory. Toy followed her out of the lounge, and though her face still warmed under the gaze of all these people and she kept her gaze fixed on the hem of the Bride's swaying skirt, Toy walked a little taller than she had when they'd entered. She made no attempt to hide her body. She wanted them to see the marks the Bride had left on her, all over her. She hadn't executed a flawless performance, but even as her cheeks burned with the shame of her mistakes, it occurred to her that perhaps...it wasn't about the end result. It was about the suffering.


Denouement

Back in the bedroom, Toy watched in silent wonder for several seconds at the two girls entangled on the bed. A soft hand pressed into the small of her back urged her forward, and she shook off her hesitance and hurried to join them.

The Bride's next brisk command set her off in a burst of nervous giggles as the three of them rushed Sir to obey, tugging at his dress shirt and pants until he was as bare as they. Teasing him gleefully, knowing he was still forbidden - by her rules - to take any of them as he might wish. Toy grinned up at him with all of her teeth before diving between his legs to drag her wet tongue slowly across his balls, sucking on them both - a mouthful - as another girl drove her lips down mercilessly on his cock. Payback, she thought. Oh, it was long overdue...

They worked him until the Bride signaled for them to take position as she directed, and Toy paused just long enough to watch the Bride slink out of her lovely dress. All of them naked now, but not equal. Toy was heady with it. She gasped with laughter as she watched Red lower herself onto his face - but then those awful, dexterous fingers drew another gasp out of her, and at long last she succumbed to this culmination of pleasure and pain that had been so exhaustively denied her. Her cries rose and rose in a delirious wave of abandon, met and rivalled by the clamor of the other girls as they reached the peak of their ecstacies - a crescendo in four-part harmony that echoed through the silent halls of Purgatory to resonate in the belly of the Church proper.

A chorus of angels.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

It had been a wedding present that left things in such a state. She for who the presents were given, they who were the presents, eventually even he who had given them, all were made into a mess in various forums. The rooms themselves, and almost as many rooms were involved as gifts given, were also left in a disheveled wreck. Dish were broken, glasses were broken, and yes, girls were broken. But that was the point, after all, wasn't it?

Still, much time was spent cleaning things up, putting them mostly back together and setting things up for the preparations to come. It was all a lengthy process, undertaken at some expense, but he had every confidence in the end it would be worth it. Whether she would agree or not would be seen.

Days turned to weeks, weeks stretched out into months, and but eventually he deemed things ready for use. Artificial rooms had been created, Purgatory transformed into eight separate rooms where the happy-go-lucky creature with all of those freckles could be used, and abused, and broken down into the an aching, taunted, teased, humiliated, and thoroughly fucked slut. The thought crossed his mind of a before and after picture, just so she could see the transformation for herself. But he doubted any of them would be terribly interested in taking photographs at the end, and he didn't want to spend too much time waiting to take her to the eighth room. At the end waited soft sheets and hot showers and soothing touches, but penance would have to be paid to arrive there. She would be his freckled Dante, traveling through Hell and Purgatory before she was allowed into Heaven.

Once things were prepared, he sat down at his small desk, and put pen to paper.

Freckles,

Your presence is required at the Church. Tomorrow, 7:00 p.m., sharp. Tardiness will not be tolerated.

Dress to impress.

The pen flowed across the thick stock as he signed his name, and he watched the ink soak into the fibers for a moment before folding it into threes so nothing smeared. The paper was then slid into a fine, bone-white envelope, and sealed with a dab of hot wax at the point where it opened. Her name was already written on the front in the same dark ink, making it clear to the messenger who it was intended for.

A second paper was removed, a second note written in the same even hand.

Little one,

Everything is prepared. Arrive at 6:00 p.m. for the tour. Our guest will be here an hour later. I trust you know how you should dress for such an occasion.

He paused, pen hovering over the paper, then allowed himself a grin as he stained the paper further with his final words.

Don't forget your confession.

His signature was scribbled again, another envelope sealed with wax, and then he was off in search of she who would deliver it.

----​

The beginning of the next day was spent with a final inspection, and by noon he was satisfied and everyone that was unnecessary to the evening's activities was dismissed. The final preparations were made alone, items laid out for easy access, or hung on the wall for aesthetic effect. By the time the hands of the clock formed a straight vertical line, he was dressed and waiting for the first arrival of the evening upstairs. The tour would be a quick one, a short time to let her acquaint herself with the space now that it was more than simply a concept, but there was plenty of ground to cover and he would not have her arriving to an empty sanctuary.

The close of the door behind her would mean she was no longer her own, and he would be conducting this depraved symphony before she even arrived, her presence just the first of many crescendos.

 

[Miss_Vivi]

The note had arrived at the school with no fanfare, slipped under the door to her office, where she had tripped over it while on the way to make some tea. The little envelope was picked up, and turned over her hands, where she immediately recognized the handwriting, it made her smile.


She opened it slowly and scanned the card.

Little one,

Everything is prepared. Arrive at 6:00 p.m. for the tour. Our guest will be here an hour later. I trust you know how you should dress for such an occasion.

Finally! She had been waiting for this little scene to occur, and she looked forward to making her dear sister into a mess, on helping him to make her a mess, on making the three of them well sated. It had been too long in coming, she missed them both ever so much. She had craved his touch, and seeing his words here, she sighed happily to herself.

Her fingers moved from where they had been on the card, and she noticed that she had missed a bit of his writing, for a single minuscule second she hoped that he had signed off with love, something dearly sweet for her to keep.

Don't forget your confession.

Nope.
She shook her head and chuckled.

The card fluttered to the floor behind her as she swept into her closet to ransack her clothing.

"Violet!! Where is my pinstripe skirt and that one top? Violet!" Vi screamed for her assistant and right hand.

"Left hand, upper rack." Her assistant came in holding the card and smiling, "He sent for you?"

"Yes, and the scene we've been planning is going to be a big one. I won't be home, and really you should clean this closet."

"Yes, Miss." her assistant smiled and offered her cheek for the kiss she knew would be coming from her boss and mistress, while Vi stalked off with the outfit in question, Violet followed, quiet on bare feet ready to tie her mistress into this outfit.

Fishnets and ruffly butt boyshorts, he would laugh at her when she was stripped down to these.
Red bra, because it was not like she would have any other color next to her heart.
Pinstripe pencil skit that skimmed her curves and held her long legs tight together, she would be taking tiny little steps tonight, but her ass looked fantastic.
Button up white shirt, that in fact belonged to him. She had stolen it on one of their escapades although it didn't quite button up over her chest, but this wasn't a problem.
Underbust corset in pinstripes, that matched her skirt and pushed her chest up to what felt like the breaking point.
Her hair was left down and curled, allowed to be free it ran wild and she knew it was practically an invitation for his hands to sink in and pull her tresses.

Finally ready, she kissed her assistant and swept off in a cab to the church. The Church. Oh. Sigh.

That fucking confession. Of course he had teased her about it. In all the time that she had been to the church, she hadn't quite gotten over confessing her sins. It wasn't like she had any, only many, many adventures.

The cab dropped her off, and she tottered up the steps to the church at precisely 6:01. Slipping into the confessional, she sat and waited for the soft woosh that alerted her to the Father's presence.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned."

"What are your sins, my child?"

"I touched my needy little cunt without permission, Father."

"You will be punished my child. He will punish you."

"Tell me something I don't know, Padre."

A soft giggle erupted from her red lips as she stepped free and saw him standing nearby, and rather than rush into his arms as part of her direly wanted to do, she almost demurely kissed his cheek.

"Daddy. Shall we sin?"

 

[Britwitch]

The wheels of the car coasted easily around a bend in the road, fingers smoothed a non-existent crease in her skirts and blue eyes peered excitedly beyond the window.
She had been waiting. As the days turned into weeks turned into months she thought it had been forgotten. She should have known better.
The excited hints of what might happen, of where…every single one of them making her heart race for a few moments and quickening her breathing.
As it turned out, with everything that had happened towards the end of the year the timing now was perfect.

Woodland turned into open space and that in turn was gradually swallowed up by the city. She smiled, pale pink sheened lips curving over her teeth, thinking back to the slightly ruffled messenger who had delivered the envelope. Going by the dirty scuffs on their shoes and knees, their pathway to her cottage hadn’t been smooth. But when she’d spotted the handwriting on the envelope all thought of inviting the breathless courier inside had melted away and the door had been all but shut in their face.

Eagerly she’d curled up on her couch by the fire, finger slipping beneath the flap to release the card within. Inhaling sharply without realising it, hoping to catch a whiff of his aftershave, a little of him.

Freckles,

Your presence is required at the Church. Tomorrow, 7:00 p.m., sharp. Tardiness will not be tolerated.

Dress to impress.

She’d shivered with anticipation. Dress to impress. Her wardrobe at the cottage was limited but she had an outfit to hand that she thought would fit the bill. And so it was dressed in that she had slid into the car that she arranged to collect her, heels slid on and fastened once she was inside. Giggling as she wondered what people would make of the pair of wellington boots seemingly abandoned by the side of the road. There was no way she was going to ruin her shoes, this pair she was fond of.

When the car came to a halt, one navy blue satin shoe stepped out onto the pavement, joined by its mate and the pair propelled the curving figure wrapped up in taffeta and silk up the steps to the imposing building that she had been summoned to. The digital clock in the car had read five to seven as she'd stepped out of it. She had no intention of being late.

The outfit had been chosen for a wedding, a midnight blue taffeta dress, almost 50’s in style, tight around her upper body with a deep neckline that showed off the cleavage within changing into netted skirts puffing out from her waist and down to her knees. The heels, for her, were high but she’d just about mastered walking in them and now with hips swaying invitingly she clicked her way into the Church.

Beneath, skin colour stockings attached to a navy blue garter belt, navy knickers and a matching bra completed her underwear selection. All in blue to match her eyes. She hoped they’d both be impressed. A giggle as the heavy door closed behind her. The invitation may have been signed by a single hand but she knew that there would be two pairs waiting for her, two mouths she longed to kiss.

Two people she knew would likely ruin her before this visit was over. And how she loved them for it.

Shoes took her to the little booth that she knew she would have to enter, no matter how odd it felt.
“Forgive me, Father,”
“Your sins, child?”
A giggle in the comparative darkness of the confessional.
“Many, Father. In recent times I’ve certainly abused your Lord’s name, and his son’s come to think of it. A lot. And in the most colourful ways. I’ve wished for cruel and lingering punishments to befall many people, Father, and come close to exacting them myself.” There was a tightness to her voice for a moment or two, as the confession touched closer to reality than she’d intended. “But mostly. Perhaps more importantly. I have lusted, Father. For words, and touches, and acts all so wicked that…” A soft sigh now as tongue moistened lips. “Well let’s just say, I’ve wanted far more than a good girl should. Craved it. Needed it. And now, I can only hope, I’m about to get it.”

Another giggle was heard as she pushed up from her knees and stepped back out into the Church.
Her heart was racing again.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Dress to impress he'd told one, and the other did very much the same. A grin, crooked perhaps and a bit wry, found his lips as she strode towards him - or at least did as best she could in the restrictive skirt - and he was unabashed in his up-and-down appraisal of her.

"Little one," he said simply, and leaned forward towards his toes, his next extending as she pressed her lips to his cheek. An arm snaked around a hip, a quick, light slap left on the curve of her ass, and he nodded once.

"Let's. Follow me."

From around her waist his arm retreated, and his hand closed around her smaller one, pulling her after him as he strode towards the door. Darkness lay beyond it, stairs leading down deeper into that waiting blackness. They were silent as they moved beneath the main level of the Church, the click of her shoes rattling behind him as he pulled her along further.

At the end of the stone hallway they met a door, and he opened it into the first of the eight rooms, light spilling out onto the stone behind them. Stepping aside, he released her hand and moved his own to the small of her back, a light pressure as she passed by him to the enter the room.

"So," he began, following her inside, "As you can see, we start in the place we discussed, with..."

The door closed softly behind them, the arched columns of the hallway left once again to the silent flickering of the torches.

------​

A little less than an hour later they stood together in the Sanctuary above, waiting for her arrival. He stood, jacket unbuttoned, leaning against the back of the last of a row of pews, an arm slipped casually around her waist. She was against him, her scent filling his nostrils as they talked quietly, basking for a moment in the calm before the oncoming storm. The opening of the outer door was heard in the quiet of the sanctuary, and they exchanged a look as the conversation fell by the wayside. Straightening, he pulled his arm from around her again and buttoned his jacket, and together they went to stand just inside the second door, past the confessional, to wait for her.

When the door opened to reveal her, he drank her in slowly, a long sip of a hot beverage that may soothe just as easily as it burns the tongue. It was her eyes he finally met after a moment, his own brightened by a grin that had formed as he appraised her. A glance was cast back at the picture of red temptation just behind him, and he whistled low and shook his head.

"You two," he began, and the distance between he and the final arrival was dissolved slowly as he spoke, "Look almost too good to ruin."

He didn't move straight for her, instead altering his trajectory enough that he was beside her when he paused between steps to smile though a slight tip of his head.

"But I'm going to anyway."

He circled around behind her then, the ruffles of her dress proving no resistance as he closed in behind her. One arm looped around her middle, the hand sliding up her belly and then to one of the full cups of her dress, and he grabbed there and pulled her back against him, soft curves against his hard lines. The other moved higher, his hand moving along her neck, fingers splayed along her jaw. The point of his index finger ended just under his chin, and here he applied pressure, tipping her head back to point at the high arched ceiling. A glance was again cast at the other of the devilish pair, a wicked little smile flashed to her, and then his head bowed, lips and teeth finding the curve where neck morphed into shoulder, his tongue playing connect-the-dots with her freckles.

His finger remained under her chin, his hand filled with her breast, when his lips lifted to her ear, and there he spoke to her, his voice low and betraying what he knew she could feel pressed against her through the layers of clothing.

"Welcome to our little game, freckles. As with any game, there are some rules to follow. They are really quite simple. First, safe words. 'Red' stops everything, whatever is happening, whoever is there. Don't hesitate to use it. 'Yellow' means you just need things to back off a little. We'll check in with you, but the scene will continue. But you know all this.

"What you don't know is the rest. From here to the end of the night are eight rooms. One is simply where you end, respite and recover. You'll need it. The other seven, though, are each unique, and passage from one to the other is entirely dependent on you.

"Each room, and all that happens within, will be based on one of the Seven Deadly Sins. You remember them, no doubt, but just in case you do not, they are Envy, Greed, Pride, Glutton, Lust, Sloth, and Wrath. To be able to move from one to the other, you must guess which one you are being subjected to in that room. And there will be no trickery; one sin per room, no repeats, each one covered.

"But," he said, the finger under her chin tapping once against the soft skin there, "Guessing correctly grants you passage from one room to the other, but when that actually happens afterward is entirely decided by us. You move forward when we're done with you there, and not a moment before."

His hand moved along the line of her jaw then, fingers and palm sliding across her cheek and turning her head in his direction. Their mouths met suddenly, firmly, his tongue teasing momentarily between her lips, tasting the intoxicating sweetness that was simply her as his hand moved still, the notch between his thumb and forefinger finding her throat. But he didn't squeeze just yet.

Their mouths parted, her body still held close to his where he held her, breast and throat, he opened his eyes to look into her face, and his brows lifted.

"Now is your last chance. If you have any questions, ask them now. If you want to back out, simply walk out the door behind you. Otherwise..."

He gripped her closer, fingers digging into the flesh of her breast through the dress she wore, hand closing around her throat momentarily, and then she was released entirely and he took a small step back from her. Over his shoulder, his eyes met those of his the one who waited for her.

"Join your sister, and she'll lead you to the first room."