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The Reverend advanced toward me slowly, timidly.
“Abigail,” he said, attempting to sound more sure of himself than he was, “My my, look what’s become of you.”
Here I stood. Completely naked. Waiting. Arms bound. Waiting for him to come and whip me. I was deeply blushing, full of shame. Worst of all, he thought I’m the one who arranged all this!
“Welcome…um, Reverend. I’m...I’m glad you came.”
As he neared me, it was obvious he wanted to clear the air, “So I guess you heard what happened to me, that they found some books and DVDs, and the rest is history as they say.”
“It was totally unfair, how it was handled and how they treated you. As...as you can see, I have a rather deep liking for S&M myself,” I confessed.
“Yes, I can see that Abigail. I would never have guessed it. Sweet Abigail, now a true whore and a kinky one at that. I barely believed Lewis at first. Until he showed me the pictures, that is.”
I felt even more ashamed. I remembered two clients who had taken photos which were subsequently emailed to Lewis. In one I was kneeling and looking up toward the camera, my tits red from a recent spanking, and my face still covered in the ejaculate of both men. I could only imagine what other images were shared.
“Thank you for being here today, Reverend. Everything you heard is true, and when I learned of your injustice, well – I just wanted to see you, and offer my body to you as a small respite.”
“You do realize Abigail, you must be punished for your sins?”
“Yes. I know this. I agree. I deserve punishment. I deserve severe punishment, to be sure.”
“What do you suggest I do, Abigail?” asked the Reverend, as he began to remove his own belt.
“I deserve to be whipped. Whip me, Reverend. Whip me hard. Punish me. It is warranted.”
I could see by his trousers that the Reverend was getting aroused. The immense bulge was evident. With his belt in hand, he let it dangle, and then moved behind me so he could bring it down across my shoulders. I didn’t want to interfere too quickly, so I let him take a handful of strikes before speaking.
“Feel me Reverend, feel what you’ve done to me, feel my pussy. You’ll see.”
He moved around to the front of me and lightly ran two of his fingers along my slit. I was soaked. I knew I would be. His eyes lit up with joy, even though he tried to play it cool.
“You’re enjoying this Abigail, aren’t you?”
“Very much Pastor. I’ve wanted this for a long time, longer than you know.”
“Then we shall continue,” he said, wiping his wet fingers on the side of his leg.
“Pastor, if I may be so bold…when your fingers are wet with my slime, it would be my honor to clean them with my mouth. I’m quite accustomed to it, and I very much enjoy it.”
“Like this?” he asked, as he touched me again, this time with three fingers, and this time inserting them into me to gather more evidence of my sluttiness. He brought the dripping fingers up to my mouth, and I reached for them with my tongue – lapping at them, and then sucking each digit one at a time. He went back for more, obviously enjoying the moment. A second time I cleaned his fingers, my smell clearly evident to both of us. I moaned softly as I licked his fingers. Just as he was returning to my backside to resume the beating, I interjected again.
“Reverend Watson Sir, may I request something of you?”
“Yes dear, of course girl. Am I striking too hard?”
It was almost laughable how inexperienced he was, “With respect, I remind you of the pain slut I am. I’ve fucked countless men and have been whipped by many of them. I beg of you, beat me soundly, make me hurt, strike me as powerfully as you possibly can.”
It certainly worked as the next half-dozen strikes made me arch my back in a futile attempt to avoid the lashes. He was swinging with significantly more force, and my periodic ‘yes, thank-you’ urged him on even more. By the time he rested almost 40 strikes had landed across my shoulders, my back, and my lower waist.
Then he moved to my front.
“Reverend Watson,” I asked, mustering up as much courage as I could, “Consider what you did to my back as a warm-up. Now show my whore-tits what they deserve, please don’t hold back.”
He didn’t. He lashed my breasts again and again with the belt. I could see Lewis in the background watching the entire time. Lewis was pleased. It was unlike me to top from below, but he knew without my manipulation the Reverend didn’t have the confidence to go full-out. The Reverend was in his glory. This was a dream come true. This was everything he ever fantasized about. He was now striking me without abandon. My receptivity only drove him further.
One horizontal strike landed square across both nipples, which caused me to pull on my bonds so hard, I almost dislocated my shoulder. I couldn’t hide my expression of pure pain. The Reverend noticed this, and a look of panic appeared on his face. I forced a smile, and it took all my strength to say:
“Reverend, whew…that was a good one, directly across my nipples. Please give me another, in the same spot, equally as hard.” I could barely believe the words that escaped my mouth. Bringing this kind of pain onto me was worse than simply enduring it.
My abuser pulled his arm back and repeated the exact same swing, no less hard. I muted a scream. He was killing me, and here I was pretending I wanted more.
When I heard the belt hit the floor, I knew the whipping was over. We fucked. He actually fucked me, still standing, still bound to the cross. We both came. His cum dripped down my inner thigh, with some of it pooling on the floor, directly below my quivering vaginal lips. He kissed me while he fucked me, and I returned the kiss as passionately as I could. I kissed my Reverend. What a whore I’d truly become.
Our visitor took a break and used the restroom, which provided Lewis and me the opportunity to have a short private conversation.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
My eyes watered, I was so happy to hear him say that. Lewis continued:
“When he returns, see if he has any particular fetishes.”
“Yes Master,” I replied.
Master?? I had spoken the word instinctively, without thinking. But before I could retract it, Lewis softly covered my lips with his hand to silence me.
“Shhh,” he said, “I own you now.” He confirmed he was my Master, and I was very much his.
When the Reverend reappeared, Lewis melted into the background again. I in turn directed my attention to my next task – getting the client to reveal a specific fetish. I decided not to blurt out my question. A fetish can be private, and not something readily revealed. Even though the Reverend had just whipped and fucked me, he might be hesitant to disclose something so personal. Instead, I tried a more measured approach:
“I’m glad you’re back, Reverend. I dreamed about this day for several weeks, and I can’t believe you’re actually here, right before me, in the flesh. I want to please you, so badly.”
“You have been pleasing me Abigail. That was the first time I had sex with a woman since my college years, before I entered the church.”
“Am I the first girl you ever dominated?”
“You are,” he said, circling my body like a shark circling its prey. “But you know, since the church defrocked me, technically I’m not longer your Reverend. From this point forward, you might as well call me Simon.”
“Yes Simon Sir, I understand.”
“I’d never once lifted a finger to touch anyone inappropriately, not so much as a word; and yet they disgraced me with dismissal. That’s why I thought ‘what the hell’ when Lewis approached me and told me all about your secret.”
Simon, as odd as it was to think of him by that name, was opening up to me. This was ideal. It would allow me to inquire about his kinks: “In the novels you read, or in the DVDs, was there anything that you found particularly interesting?”
I had chosen my words carefully. By putting my question in the context of the porn mat
erial, it was somehow less invasive, and hopefully easier for Simon to be forthcoming with me. Further, I intentionally used the word ‘interesting’ rather than ‘arousing’ to downplay it further.
He hesitated but answered, “One story I found intriguing centered on a Master who left bite marks on his slave.”
