| 3 |
Father Morley helped me dress, but the knickers he had ripped from me were not returned. “It is only right that you feel your own shame,” he said, as he carefully buttoned the back of my dress. “As we walk, the wetness from within you will drip onto your legs. With every step you will be reminded of what you have become: a wicked girl, devoted only to her own pleasure, utterly perverse in her desires.”
The words shamed me – but so too did they thrill me. How had I stooped so low that my own wickedness was enough to make me lustful? My pleasure was power, of course…but so too was it my greatest weakness.
Clothed once more, one would be none the wiser to the humiliation I had just endured. My reddened backside was hidden, and I had yet to shed any tears. Somehow, I was certain the latter bit was soon to change. Father Morley smoothed my hair back into place, and said, “You will still have your privacy to learn this lesson. We’ll return to my home to continue your confession.”
Walking out the chapel doors together felt terrifying. Not because of what was ahead – although my mind did reel with thoughts of what he could have planned for me – but because I was overwhelmed with fear that all those we passed would somehow know. Every friendly neighbor we walked by, who smiled and waved, I imagined having seen me bent nearly naked over the altar, yelping and squirming in distress as Caleb flogged me. They would gather there that coming Sunday…they would take communion in the very place I had stood, in the very place my body had betrayed my desires.
“You are tense, Amity,” Caleb said softly as we walked. “Are you frightened?”
“No,” I lied. “I’ve seen far more fearsome things than you.” But my voice trembled. He was like the demands of my Devil made incarnate. I had whipped my own flesh in worship before, but Caleb Morley – a preacher, of all things! – now embodied the desires and demands that I had given into to become the witch I was. And his wife…I could only guess at how his wife would “guide me.”
“You can feel your own wetness can’t you?” he said, as casually as if discussing the weather. “How does it feel to walk through the town like an upstanding woman, knowing all the while that you can’t wait to have me bend you over again?”
“You’re very bold to assume such a thing sir,” my voice trembled. “I hardly wish to find myself in such a position again.”
“A shame,” he said. “For you certainly will.”
The Morley home sat at the outskirts of Hingham, a far larger and finer house than one would expect from a humble preacher. I had never been within it: the outside was dark wood, with large windows and a sloping roof slightly obscured by the trees in was nestled among. I was torn between attempting to escape and resigning myself to my fate. The preacher had something sinister planned, I was certain.
But did I truly wish to escape his sinister plots?
“Welcome to the Morley home, Miss Fenn,” he said. The front door creaked open, followed by a rush of warm air from within the house. “You’ve been so quiet; I rather expected some protest from you.” I was yanked forth, onto smooth wooden floors. The home was cozy, with a well-furnished sitting room before me and through the doorway beyond it, a dining room. Stairs to the left led to the upper floor. The wooden tables and chairs were polished to a high shine, and white wax candles lined every available surface, granting the home their flickering light. The door slammed behind us, and suddenly Caleb’s hand wrapped around my throat with far more menace than I had expected.
“Are you frightened,” he said softly, “Or merely stubborn?”
His hand stifled my words so that I was forced to choke them out. “I’m sure you would love to have me admit I was frightened of you,” I said, mocking as best I could despite barely being able to draw breath. “Would it get your cock hard to see me tremble and beg? As if I would give you that pleasure…”
He chuckled, and as he released me he shoved me forward. I stumbled across the floor, onto the fine maroon carpet before the fireplace. The warmth of the fire was a comfort, but the items I noticed laid on delicate wooden hooks above the mantle were not. Rods, four of them, all increasing in thickness. Why would he keep such a thing so prominently on display?
“You’ve noticed my tools, I see,” he said. He stood behind me, just out of sight as I stared up at the instruments. “The Good Lord commanded that the rod not be spared. Therefore I keep them readily available in my home, as a reminder to be obedient. When I first wed my wife, she required them often, starting with the very thickest. Soon, as she humbled herself, she needed only the thinnest. Now, she is wise enough to apply the rods to others who require such guidance.”
I could well remember his wife, Chastity Morley. She was a little older than I, and in my teen year I had always been envious of her curvaceous form. Her beautiful, curly red hair and bright green eyes captured the hearts of many boys, but it was Caleb to whom she vowed herself. Unbidden, I imagined gorgeous Chastity submitting to the ministrations of those rods and shuddered from head to toe.
“I have other tools as well,” Caleb said. “But those you shall be introduced to later. For now, I think it necessary that you focus only on continuing your confession.” He pulled off the neckerchief that already was loose around his throat, and draped it over my eyes. Thus blinded, I was reduced only to feeling the sensation of him tightening the fabric around my head.
“We were discussing your perversions,” he said. “Although you did not want to speak much of them, your body did it for you. Do you feel a bit more willing now to discuss them?”
“I will not give you such satisfaction,” I said, defiant even though I knew my own words were dooming me.
“Ahh now, Amity, please do not misunderstand my intentions,” his voice was very near to my ear, almost a whisper, low and guttural. “I care little for whether or not you confess, or whether or not you feel sorrow for sinning. I will admit, I find myself fascinated by you: a proud and unbroken woman, a Jezebel of our little town, so independent and yet so enslaved by your own lust. How deep does your perversion go? That is what I truly wonder. Your body betrays you – I wonder how easy it is to make of you an utter mess of lust and need?”
I knew he had wanted something more of me the moment he chose to approach me rather than the authorities concerning my crimes. But to hear him admit it sent a shudder of anticipation through me. I had never dared to think that Hingham’s own dear preacher was as perverted as I. Even still, I had to deny it. He could never hope to truly understand the needs of my own masochism, or contemplate the lengths to which I would go in search of my most wicked pleasures.
“Not so easy as you would think,” I said, smiling as I felt his eyes on me even through the blindfold. “I have done worse things to myself in pursuit of pleasure than you could dream of. Disguise your own lust behind talk of God and obedience all you want, Father: you could only hope to partake in the perversions I find pleasurable.”
“Mm, is that so? Then enlighten me, Miss Fenn,” I was forced down to my knees, and instead of grasping my throat, Caleb’s hand tangled tightly in my hair. “Show me this utter perversion, and the lack of shame which you claim to be capable of.”
On my knees, I could well guess what he wanted. As much as I despised him, the allure of shocking him with what I could do was too great. I opened my mouth, my tongue lolling out to teasingly lick the air. I expected to encounter his cock, but instead, I encountered something cold and metallic.
“How eager you are,” he said, shoving the hard thing into my mouth as I struggled and gagged. It was a ring of some kind that fit round my teeth and forced my mouth to remain agape. The more frantically I struggled the more I gagged as I was unable to close my mouth and swallow my own saliva. It began to drip from my mouth and down my chin as Caleb laughed.
“Ah, now, now,” he said, giving my head a little shake. “Don’t struggle so much or you may vomit. Look what a mess you’ve made of yourself already. The ring is merely a precautionary measure, Miss Fenn. Do you think me so foolish that I would allow your teeth around my member unhindered? Certainly not.”
I panted and gave up struggling, realizing there was nothing I could do to prevent the saliva from overflowing my mouth. It dripped from my face and onto my knees. Caleb’s boots shuffled about, and by the nearness of his voice I could tell that he had squatted down before me. “Now to take care of that tongue of yours. Let’s keep that out of the way.” His fingers shoved into my mouth, and something clamped over my tongue. It was small and pincer-like, and tasted like copper. His fingers continued to fiddle, and the clamp tightened painfully until I began to whimper. When he was done, my tongue was held captive by whatever mechanism he had affixed to it, rendering me unable to draw it fully into my mouth. Helpless, I could only kneel there with my mouth forced open and my tongue hanging out, slowly becoming dirtier by the moment with my own saliva…and shamefully, with the wetness increasing within in my cunt. The more he restrained and humiliated me, the hotter I became.
“How messy you look, Miss Fenn,” Caleb tsked, circling around me. “You now truly look like the little whore you are: on your knees, mouth open, drooling for me. What a dirty little thing.” His footsteps stopped, and he lowered his voice. “Now behave yourself. Don’t make me fetch down my wife to hold that clamp on your tongue.”
He gripped my hair again, forcing my head back. A masculine scent filled my nostrils just before something new shoved into my throat, already thick and hard. I had been so ready for his cock when I had first knelt, but now as it hit the back of my throat it took all my effort not to gag immediately. With my mouth held open so wide and my tongue forced out, his member plunged unbearably deep. He moved slowly, lingering with himself fully inside me, until tears began to run down my cheeks and dampen my blindfold from sheer effort of will not to choke.
“Is my little witch still surviving?” he taunted. “So quiet you are. I wonder why?” “Why” was because he was deep within my throat, rendering me incapable of anything more than pitiful whimpers. “I’m very tempted to remain like this until you vomit, little witch. Shall I do that? Shall I make you choke?”
I desperately needed air. But I had bragged to him, so I struggled to hold my breath. My throat protested, muscles beginning to spasm as they attempted to dislodge the thick intrusion. Still he gave me no relief. I tried to pull back, and his grip tightened in my hair.
“Getting a bit more difficult for you?” he said. “Say please then. Say please and perhaps I’ll show you mercy.”
I could only manage garbled sounds. But if he didn’t stop I would be sick all over myself and I could not bear that. So I whimpered and whined, every sound gargling around his cock. As the moments passed I began to think he had lied: he would show no mercy, he would make me be sick! My whimperings grew more frantic until I was attempting to scream my pleas at him-
He released me. I sucked in my breath in frantic gulps, sobbing and coughing at once, my mouth still forced open and my tongue still bound. I felt filthy and used – worse, I felt the desperate need to touch myself. My Devil had so accustomed me to find pleasure in pain and humiliation. I could not help it now. But I could not do it in front of the preacher. I could do nothing other than kneel there and squirm as he chuckled.
“Ahh, perhaps the witch is not so fearsome after all,” he said. “I dare say I saw fear in you just now, Miss Fenn.”
I strove to curse at him, but with my mouth in such a state nothing was discernible. His voice came nearer again, so I knew he was crouching before me.
“Now, Miss Fenn. I promised to give you the Godly guidance only a woman can provide. So it’s not fair that I keep you to myself much longer.” He patted my cheek, each tap growing progressively harder until it was very nearly a slap every time. “Especially now that I have you looking so pretty. My wife, Chastity, does adore a beautiful woman.” His hands left me, his bootsteps retreated. “Don’t go anywhere, now. I’ll be back to play.”
He left me there: squirming, my cunt already dripping, filthy, desperate, and shamefully eager.