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Satan's Sisters by Paul Moore Ebook ordering

Consummating The Relationship by Paul Moore, lesbian bdsm
Pretty coed, Chrissy, has a date with her mistress in the 'correction' room for a hard and heavy punishment session 

Pink Flamingo Copyright (c) 2000, all rights reserved

Mrs. Kraft had a warm smile for Heather when she opened the door on Friday night, but an icy look for me.

       “You’re over dressed, young lady.”

       I stripped down, fumbling a lot because I was nervous. What was it with this bitch? She seemed to think that it was her mission in life to make me feel like major shit.

       “I can’t stay long,” Heather said. “I have a date.”

       “Chrissy has a date too,” said Mrs. Kraft, “in the correction room.”

       I knew she was talking about the room I hadn’t seen yet. I swallowed a lump.

       Heather just said, “I see,” very quietly. Heather seemed scared too, like a little kid who would rather not look under the bed. I folded my clothes very neatly on the entry table. Heather looked at her watch.

       “Gosh! look at the time! I gotta go.” She flashed me a smile that was positively funereal and squeezed my hand. For two weeks she had alternated between PMS and sympathy.  Now she was being tender. The hand squeeze helped though. I guess she wasn’t completely in touch with her inner bitch. 

       “See you on Sunday,” she called over her shoulder. I have never felt so totally abandoned.

       Mrs. Kraft locked the door behind her and snapped a leash on my collar.

       “Have I done something wrong?” I asked as she led me downstairs.

       “Dr. Cornell wishes to consummate your relationship,” she said. I didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but I guessed that I wasn’t in trouble.

       The door was already open when we got there. Dr. Cornell was waiting for us. Mrs. Kraft closed it behind us and latched it. It made a big booming noise when she slammed it. At least the hinges didn’t creak.

       It looked like my shower room in high school. The walls and floor were tile and there was a drain in the floor. It was a room without clocks or windows. The bare bulb burning overhead made it noon all the time, I guess. There wouldn’t be any way for me to know how long I was in there. I was glad that she hadn’t decorated the place with a lot of tacky cliches, fake brick, a gas log, or a plywood battleaxe, crap like that would have just given me a fit of the giggles, and Dr. Cornell probably would have tossed me out on my ass. This felt right, like the place where the secret police take you when you won’t talk.

       Center stage was a high bench. It was padded and had canvas straps on it like they use on patients in the psycho ward. The walls were decorated with all kinds of kinky toys, chrome, leather, and rubber. Things that could pinch and penetrate, bend and bind, spread, and stretch, and strike. My future didn’t look too good.

       Dr. Cornell sat in a chair facing the bench. She was smoking a cigarette and looking really intense. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes seemed to draw me into the room.

       Mrs. Kraft stopped me when my hips were against the edge of the bench. She pulled on my leash to bend me over it. I let her fasten my wrists to the legs of the bench. She spread my ankles and chained them to the floor.

       It was like a way surreal and solemn moment. The only sound in the room was the click of buckles and the creak of leather under me as I settled into the padding. After my wrists were fastened, I knew that I wasn’t going anywhere, but Mrs. Kraft strapped up my knees and elbows too, pulling my elbows in tight against the bench and my knees farther apart. My collar was on a short chain, with my chin hanging over the edge. I could raise my head just enough to see Dr. Cornell. She wasn’t blinking, even though the cigarette was about to burn her fingers.

       There was this padded bolster thing under my hips. I thought that it was there to make me more comfortable, until Mrs. Kraft wrapped a canvas strap across the small of my back and snugged it down. That tilted my pelvis and opened up my crack about another inch. I felt like I was the guest of honor at some pagan ritual. If they were planning a virgin sacrifice the joke was on them.

       Dr. Cornell finally shook herself out of her trance, snuffing the butt with a shaking hand.

       “You are so beautiful!” she whispered.

       I didn’t feel beautiful.

       Behind me, I could hear Mrs. Kraft snapping on a pair of surgical gloves. I smelled the oil before I felt it being massaged into every fold and cranny of my ass, between my legs and down my thighs. She was mapping out the territory.        I recognized the way my skin got tingly and tight. Dr. Cornell’s herbal rub.

       I threw the good Doctor a look that would melt Hitler’s heart. “I’m really scared!”

       She just gave me this adoring gaze, “I know. It is the fear that makes you so beautiful.” Okay—so much for clemency. She was going to hurt me because it got her off. I would get off too, probably, but I could easily pass on the pain part and go directly to the sex.

       The latex gloves hit the wastebasket. “All set.”

       “Use the rubber paddle, please,” said Dr. Cornell. “It should redden her nicely.”

       Mrs. Kraft spanked me fast and hard, the way you pound steak to make it tender. She wasn’t mad. She just seemed interested in making a good job of it. The blows started high, just below the place where it dimples when I stand, where there isn’t much meat to cover the bone. Each time the paddle hit, she moved it just a little farther down, and after the first couple of dozen, she was finding the sweet spot, where the sting almost feels good.

       I was not a good girl. I struggled like hell, tested that canvas to the max, yipping like a puppy the whole time. Then I unscrunched my eyes enough to see Dr. Cornell. She was right in my face, and I could see so much heat in her eyes that I wanted to take it—for her. I closed my eyes again and tried to ride it out.

       Just a little more, I told myself. Her pussy had to be dripping by now, for sure. She would have other uses for me soon. I managed a tight smile for her. I was sort of adjusting to the pain, if that’s possible, discovering that it hurt less if I went limp and zoned out. I got into this sort of Zen state, so that each explosion of pain seemed to echo everywhere, radiating heat down to my sopping puss.

       “I’m hungry for you, Mistress!” I screamed. It was the first time I had ever called her that. “Please let me taste you!”

       She grinned back. I guess she liked her new title. “Not yet!” She had to shout back at me. Mrs. Kraft and I were both putting out a few decibels. She raised her glance to Mrs. Kraft. “Harder, please!”

       Weird shit crosses my mind while I’m getting my ass paddled. I suppose I’m distracting myself or something. I wondered if I would be getting any from my Mistress tonight. Then I wondered if Mrs. Kraft would be nicer to me if I gave her some head. Then I thought of a really lame joke. Why is Mrs. Kraft like an insurance agent? They both go for full coverage.

       Full coverage is what I got, twice around the globes, up and down the thighs. The whole time I was barking “HUNH! HUNH!” like a pig every time she hit me. I was drooling and sweating. My eyes were dripping, and my nose, and my pussy. This rump roast was well done, cooked to the bone.

       Things became completely psycho then. Mrs. Kraft began murmuring encouragement to me. “Good girl! Raise up for me. Higher! Good!” and the paddle would reward me.

       My whole focus narrowed down to the next impact, and the next, and (OH MOMMEEE!!) the next.

       I wanted it harder and faster and forever, until my brain exploded and I became pure sensation, screaming, mindless, wallowing in agony. 

       Suddenly, it was over.

       I never knew if she got tired or if Dr. Cornell stopped her. The next thing I knew, my face was in the hands of my Mistress. I was bawling like a baby, choking out sobs till there was no air left, then whooping my lungs full of air so that I could do it some more. I was pathetic.

       She kept shushing me until I got the message. The hurt was going away. “Is it bad?” She wasn’t mocking me.

       “Yes, Mistress!” Actually, I was in a weird sort of slave space right then. I wanted her to take me up to bed so that I could show her just how totally subbie I was feeling, but I didn’t really want to be loose yet either. Then it hit me that what I wanted wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other—and that turned my puss into like an absolute river!

       She wiped my eyes and forehead with a damp cloth. “All those lovely tears shed for my sake.”

       I blew my nose on the tissue she offered me.

       “Try to understand,” she begged. “Can you appreciate this great need I have? I have to know that you suffer for me, even in my absence. I have to see your sacrifice, over and over again. I must control the most intimate details of your life. I want you to love me, not in spite of the trials I bring you, but because of them. Can you do it?”

       “I’ll try,” I promised, but I had already made that connection.  Go figure. If you can’t understand it, all I can say is—I guess you had to be there.

       I know I did. My raw wrists told me that I was a prisoner for real.

       She laughed, but it was a funny, sad kind of laugh. “You’re being tortured, and I’m the one who must confess.” She put her soul into a kiss that seemed to explain everything. I kissed her back, opening my mouth for her tongue and giving her mine. I was getting high on her perfume, her hand stroking my face so gently.

       Then she pulled away, “I love you.”

       I wanted to answer her, but she didn’t give me a chance. Maybe she was afraid that I wouldn’t. She turned away, like it hurt her to confess such a simple thing.

       “I think that she is ready for the tawse now, Mrs. Kraft.”

       After that, I was way too busy screaming to worry about it.

       The tawse was different, less pop and more bite. The stiff leather wrapped and snapped and found all of the really tender places the paddle had missed. I howled and bawled and made impossible promises.

       Much, much later, I opened my eyes hopefully during a pause in the pain. My Mistress was untying her robe, and I noticed that it was tented in the front. I was sort of out of my head by that time, because my first thought was that she had enjoyed the show enough to grow a hard on.

       Then she dropped the robe and I saw that she had.

       It was a strap on, of course, but the color was a close match to her own skin, and when she popped it into my mouth, I discovered that it was hard inside and soft outside. Just like real.

       “I promised you something.” Her voice was husky.

       Behind me, Mrs. Kraft was busy with the rubber gloves again, then she was packing my ass full of grease, twisting two fingers around to make sure everything was slick inside.

       All the while that she was working me, Dr. Cornell was squatting down to look deep into my eyes, studying my reaction. I stared back, letting her review the parade of emotions passing through my brain, humiliation, terror, and a sort of sick anticipation. Her eyes were disturbing, so full of heat I thought she wanted to like devour me or something. I knew it probably wouldn’t do me any good at this point to beg for mercy, not that I really wanted to.

       Then she stood up again and I saw that big fake dick bobbing in front of my face. There was no doubt about what she expected me to do now. I opened wide.

       I swallowed convulsively, almost gagging on the thing in my mouth, tickling my nose with pubic hairs and inhaling Dr. Cornell’s scent while I sucked her big, beautiful cock.

       That was just ritual, of course. She didn’t get off on having her dick sucked, except mentally. She just wanted me to pay homage to it and get it wet. I held my breath when she popped the dildo out of my mouth and walked slowly around the bench until she was behind me.     

       Even with all that lube, she was slow and careful putting it in. I had already learned how to relax, the plugs taught me that, and the dildo didn’t hurt at all. It was just a feeling of being opened and filled. The sensation was nothing like normal fucking. It was more personal, like the first time all over again, only more. Once the tip was in me, she worked it deeper with short jabbing motions, not pushing too hard or fast, letting me get used to it. Every time I thought that I had it all, her hips would grind and she would poke it in a little deeper.

       Then she was all the way in. Her pubic hair tickled my buns. I let out the breath I had been holding. She just stayed that way for awhile, in deep, letting me get used to its bulk. I could feel my pulse against it.

       “I wanted to do this the first time I saw you,” she said. I could tell from the sound of her voice that it was some kind of peak experience for her—me too.

       She pulled out slow, and I could feel my ass contracting, like it didn’t want to let go of that yummy cock. When it was almost out, she pushed in again. I relaxed and sighed.

       “Do it,” I said. “Fuck my ass.”

       She smacked my ass with a hard hand and I tightened up. “I don’t need your permission.”

       Then she fucked me, deep and long, faster and harder. I was bleating like a sheep after a couple of minutes. She flipped a switch on her hip and I could feel the dildo begin to vibrate, driving the sensation of her thrusting into my womb, buzzing against my clit. I realized that there must be something in it for her too; because she started panting the way she does just before she cums, and jamming me hard enough to hurt.

       It was too much. I started begging her to give me a break, just for a second, but this was rape after all, and my crying just seemed to turn her on that much more. I was starting to feel like I was getting it from some machine. Then she was howling too, and digging her nails into my shoulders.

       She collapsed on top of me, and we both puffed like we had finished a race or something. Her breath was hot on my hair as she killed the vibrations that were still humming through my ass.

       She laughed, that deep throaty laugh that always turns me on. “Was it good for you, too?”

       It had been a pretty intense couple of hours, and that was meant to be a tension reliever, I suppose.

       “Please,” I said. “You just beat my ass and raped me. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it!” I had, of course, but somehow talking spoiled it. I just wanted her to use me, a Mistress shouldn’t need validation or approval, or anything.

       She was quiet for a minute, and I had that weird feeling that I often get, like she was reading my mind. Maybe she was; because when she spoke again she was back in character.

 “I will punish that little outburst later,” she said. The dildo was still inside me. I felt my ass clench around it as she slipped a hand between us to start the vibration again. My pussy started buzzing in sympathy. If she kept this up, I would cum soon—cum from being dicked in the ass. Just thinking about how completely perverse that was almost put me over right then.

       This was what I had always wanted from her, I suddenly realized, this merciless control. I started crying again—a different kind of tears this time.

       “I’m sorry, Mistress. Please forgive me!”

       “Say you are mine.”

       “I’m yours, Mistress!”

       “Beg me for it.”

       “Please fuck me up the ass, Mistress.”