Service Provider Ch. 14-23

Chapter Sixteen — the Rectory, 1st session (two months after the Boardroom session)

At 11:00 pm on a windy night, Janice arrived at the church and followed the instructions she'd received. Matt had scheduled the evening to be one when Lauren, their submissive neighbor, was helping Matt as he bound, caned and fucked Cecile, Lauren's cum-slut mother.

Apprehensively, Janice descended an old, dimly lit circular staircase to a basement anteroom containing a bench and a row of wooden clothing pegs. She changed, carefully following directions and donning the thin black habit waiting for her. It was unusually constructed, being sleeveless with a lace bodice. Satisfied with her appearance, she opened the other door and entered a special room in the rectory, large and topped by vaulted ceilings. She gasped with surprise at the dozens of candles and began perspiring immediately from the warm temperature. The candle flames cast dramatic, changing shadows on the walls and ceilings.

Against the main wall was a wood platform, raised a foot from the floor. Two vertical wood posts stood on each side of the center, with a two foot long, one inch thick, horizontal rod or dowel between them at a height of three feet. Two leather straps lay at the bottom of each post. In front of the platform stood a table filled with implements, clustered around a central item: her black diary. Adjacent to the diary was a large, heavy goblet filled with dark red wine. As instructed, she drank liberally of the strangely spicy wine.

On the table, a gold bowl filled with a thick creamy substance stood over a heating apparatus. The material in the bowl made her think of cum, which made her thirsty. She drank again. Alongside the bowl was a six-inch asperigal, the rod-shaped item with a wooden handle and a head used to dip into holy water and sprinkle parishioners. The perforated, cylindrical metal head contained dozens of holes from which the water sprayed. A small pitcher held holy oil. Next to it was a long-handled painter's brush with a two-inch wide, wedge shaped foam head for painting corners and edges. A whip lay at the edge of the table, extended to its full length. She realized it was knotted every few inches. From each knot, a pointed thorn extended a fraction of an inch. Alarmed, she drank another deep draft from the chalice as she stared at a camera and tripod aimed at the platform. Already, the spicy wine was affecting her.

Two rows of photos lay on the table. The first series showed her strapped to her kitchen stool, oil and cum-stained breasts squeezed through the rods of the stool and compressed even more by the black belt. The second group had three poses: first, Janice bent over backward, her belly and mound welted, a fountain of Matthew's cum overflowing the Velcro cylinders crushing her breasts. The second pose had her wrapped breasts, now clamped, lying on the coffee table in disgusting pools of cum, with dozens of cum drops sprayed all across the table. The third pose recorded her kneeling, shoulders on the table, whipped ass upraised with the curtain rod's wooden knob embedded in her stretched cunt, distended nipples tied to her knees. She gulped the remainder of the wine.

Janice went to the platform, and, according to her instructions, fastened a strap to the chain bracelet on her left wrist and threw the loop over the top of the post. She repeated the self-binding with her right wrist and lifted a leg over the horizontal rod, settling on it so the wooden shaft was encased in her cunt slit. Arms extended diagonally out, she widened the stance of her legs as much as possible, considering the pumps she was wearing, and settled in to wait for the arrival of Father Hood. She began to squirm, rubbing her cunt back and forth on the rod, pleasuring herself. She'd been waiting for an experience like this with the towering priest for eighteen years.

* * *

She was shaken from her reverie when the gaunt priest entered. She was once again struck by his height, almost 6 1/2 feet, his large, bony frame and grizzled appearance, the bushy eyebrows overshadowing serious eyes. He had aged, becoming even more craggy. Now he looked even more severe. He wore a plain black cassock belted with a dark red cincture. She thought he was probably younger than his appearance and guessed he was in his late fifties.

The Father noticed several objects on the table. The penitent had laid out the objects of her punishment from twenty years ago. Before his eyes were two safety pins, two erasers amd a pencil.

Wordlessly, he examined her bindings and position and appeared satisfied, noting the heavy silver chains on her limbs and the rod between her legs, glistening from her juices. It was wet in front and behind her pussy. He saw how she must have pleasured herself, sliding back and forth as she waited for him.

"You arrived late, my child -- you should have been here years ago," he admonished. "Ever since you sat in mass, in Sunday class and in confession as a teenager, I've been waiting, knowing you would return to me. Tonight's punishment will relieve your debt of penance, compounded by 18 years of interest. We have much time to make up for. Do you understand that you will be treated severely?" She nodded.

"However, you're just as beautiful as a woman as you were as a girl. Perhaps even more beautiful. And I'm sure, knowing you as I do, that you must have a lot of behavior to atone for. And that you've been anticipating this session as much as I have—if not more than I have." Her eyes were hooded, the excitement growing. He pointed to the two rows of photos. "Who did this to you?" She shook her head, lips compressed. "Mmmm," he mused. "You're already impertinent. Well, then, who took the photos?" She shook her head again, mutely. "Your intransigence is earning you a more severe discipline than I had intended, you realize?"

"Yes, Father. Do what you will."

"I understand Headmaster Knowles believes you're ready for my . . . attentions, and that he ordered you to appear before me. He gave me a detailed account of all your sessions, including those before him. He gave you, in his words, 'high marks,' a pun I find childish and distasteful. You realize that I will be performing a sacred ceremony on you of what's called 'corporal mortification.' It will take you to a new level, a level you could not imagine from being with a secular person such as the Headmaster. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, Father." He poured the scented holy oil into a shallow bowl and placed it on a three-pronged metal stand that enclosed three candles. He muttered (which Janice assumed was a prayer) as he lit the three candles, heating the oil. She could smell a mysterious, musky scent emanating from the oil.

"I'll not be placing anything to silence your mouth. You may pray or cry as long and as loud as you need to, although I'm informed you can take a great deal of pain." He tied her ankle chains to the bottoms of the posts and fastened a thick, six-inch, black leather belt around her waist, cinching it so tightly she gasped. The pressure raised her breasts and thrust them against the habit. Without warning, he gripped the lace bodice. She noticed the oversized knuckles on his rough hands. He ripped off the bodice in one motion. She was shocked, not realizing it had been attached with Velcro. Pushed up by the wide leather belt beneath them, her sweating, marked breasts shone in the candlelight, nakedly exposed.

The Father removed the rod from underneath her. He lifted the front hem of her habit and tucked it into the leather waist cincher, exposing her long legs in black thigh high stockings. She wore no panties. He noted her freshly shaved pussy and overlarge lips. He took a lit, two-foot candle and placed it between her legs. The candle, so close to her pussy, was very hot, almost unbearable. Even though the rod had been removed from her slit, her bare breasts and inflamed pussy increased her arousal. He examined her previously whipped breasts, pussy and thighs above the stocking tops, nodding his large head approvingly at the incredibly beautiful woman standing spread in front of him, her sex areas exposed and waiting.

"Your attire is now in proper ceremonial position. First you will be oiled, then whipped, then your tits will be pressed and adorned, then your cunt will be adorned." Coming from his lips, the coarse words were even more shocking than when heard from Matthew or the Headmaster. "Then you will be impaled on me. Finally, you will be anointed with the holy seed. Do you understand?" Although she did not understand the words "tits will be pressed," "anointed" or "holy seed," she was too intimidated to ask, so she merely nodded.

He stared at her bare mound, fascinated by the drops of sweat and pussy juice falling steadily from her cunt and mound into the candle flame between her legs. Testing the oil to be sure it had been sufficiently heated, he dipped the long painter's brush into the bowl's outer edges and applied the hot oil to her armpits, stretched open by the ties binding her wrists to the tops of the posts. The hot oil almost burned, forcing her to squirm in her straps. Dipping the brush, he generously lathered her breasts with the hot oil, avoiding the pronounced nipples. Teeth gritted, she groaned. His limp prick erected by an inch.

Next he held the brush tip for many seconds in the hottest area of the bowl, the center. He plunged the scalding top into a nipple, holding the brush firmly as she jumped in place. This was an improvement, for his trained ears heard that her moan was one of pain, albeit abetted by pleasure. His cock sprang upward another inch. He heated the brush again and drilled the other nipple, causing her to buck and writhe.

Reaching to the table, he lifted two ominously large clover nipple clamps. "Remember all those years ago, when you told me about the boyfriend who'd made you his with a piece of jewelry, but it wasn't a bracelet or necklace?" She nodded. He grasped a dark, oily, hot nipple with his calloused fingers and roughly milked it, astounded to see how it grew a half-inch, looking like a stalk of black licorice. "All this time I've been looking forward to more jewelry for you." Settling the heavy clamp's teeth into the nipple, he was impressed by her controlled reaction, only a tightening of those full lips. He coaxed the other nipple and the clamp's teeth bit into the dark flesh. Even without weights, the clamps were so heavy they pulled the nipples another half-inch.

Avoiding her slit, he generously painted her mound and labia, already heated from the candle. The forward thrust of her hips, begging for the scalding oil, did not escape him. He lifted pussy clamps, heavily weighted, off the table, her eyes widening at their prodigious size, twice larger than Matthew, Mr. Wheland or Headmaster Knowles had employed. "Here is the rest of your jewelry." He attached the clamps to the oiled labia and slowly let her take the full impact of the weights. As he had anticipated, her fat lips were pulled down over an inch, shining in the candlelight. Her reddened labia suffering pain greater than she had known, she bit her lip so hard that blood dripped from the full lip onto her oiled breast.

After again heating the brush, he jammed it onto her clit. "Oh, Christ!" she screamed, the weights swinging as her hips swayed. Dipping the brush, he swiped the head along her pussy crack. Drenching the brush in the hot oil one final time, he pried open her thick pussy lips and plunged the wedged head several inches up her cunt. Her arms lost all tension as she collapsed, her hips bucking back and forth on the brush as she orgasmed, screaming "Oh God!" a half-dozen times in ecstatic affirmation.

His cock was now half-erect. He'd never seen any female remotely like this particular one, enjoying the pain and yet so responsive to the pleasure. Since it appeared that she was only half-awake, her head lolling open-mouthed on her chest, copious drool mixing with the oil and sweat, he began photographing her from the front, the brush hanging lewdly from her shaved cunt, the labial weights banging into her thighs.

He knew exactly how to revive her. Extinguishing the candle flame below her pussy, he switched the first candle for a taller, unlit but narrower one, pulled the brush from her cunt and replaced it by wedging the top of the new candle into her cunt. Immediately, she became animated, like a doll whose switch had been turned on. She pulled on her wrist bindings, raising and lowering herself energetically on the wax dildo, the labia weights knocking into the candle. It was as if she was possessed, capable of withstanding any beating and any humiliation, transforming it all into a sexual frenzy. His cock began twitching steadily.

He picked up the whip from the table, walked behind her and tucked the rear of the habit into the waist cincher, exposing her long legs and striped ass. He began whipping her back through the habit. He held the instrument far behind him, so she heard a split-second whistle before the impact, which was harsher than when she'd been caned. Each hit shredded the thin habit till it hung in ribbons across her back. Occasionally, a thorn would rip the sweating skin, breaking it. Finished with her back, the Father whipped her buttocks and thighs. All this time, he admired that she moaned and grunted but never cried out or begged for surcease.

He walked to her front, drenched with holy oil and sweat. He flogged her breasts till the skin was broken in multiple places, whereupon he proceeded to her pussy and thighs. Still, she never begged for relief. Satisfied with the dense network of vicious marks all over her, he held a contraption she'd never before seen in front of her chest. Two thick horizontal strips of stiff leather were connected by long screws and butterfly clamps at top and bottom. "This device is a variation I've created of a traditional 'cilise,' which is a strap studded on the inside, fastened onto the flesh to create pain, reminding us of our Savior's suffering. The cilise promotes humility and obedience to the rule of those above us."

Half-conscious from the rough whipping, she realized it was a specialized breast press. The Father roughly slid the device over the clover clamps and onto her heaving, abused breasts. The leather bands had been lined with tiny metal barbs, like the tips of pushpins or thumbtacks. She yelled for the first time, dozens of points pricking her. He tightened the butterfly clamps till she gasped, breasts compressed and bulging even more than when Matthew had forced them through the rods of the kitchen stool. The black, clamped nipples stuck out like dowels on an ebony coat rack used to hang clothing. Finally, the Father's cock was rock-hard.

He refilled the foam head of the brush with the steaming oil, used one of his huge hands to pry apart her ass cheeks, lodged the brush in her dark ring and pushed it way up into her rear channel. Like a puppet, she hollered from the searing heat. He slid the large candle out of her cunt, her head movement switching to shaking back and forth in disapproval over the loss. He placed a bench directly under her, between her legs, and gave more slack to her arm restraints, lowering her a couple of feet.

"Look at me," he ordered, raising the front of his cassock and tucking it into his cincture. She stared at his strange cock, eyes showing alarm not at the length -- a long nine inches, nor at the size of the shaft -- which was quite thin, but the fact that the shaft was bizarrely venous and bumpy. Most alarmingly, it had an enormous head, with the darkest shade of livid purple she'd ever seen. He immersed his cock in the gold bowl full of heated creamy liquid, grimacing at the temperature. She realized that the liquid actually was cum, semen that he had probably accumulated in anticipation of this session. "By the way, I knew that the whip marks and breast discipline and seed in the photos were from your innocent son, driven no doubt by your seductive and insatiable wiles into a frenzy of teen lust. And that your thoughtful son photographed you as a warning to others of how deep a sexual person such as yourself could sink into perversion."

He lay on his back on the bench between her legs, the corded calf muscles visible behind the stockings. Her pussy was just inches above him. He attached a leather shoelace to each nipple clamp that dropped down to him. Then he positioned his lurid cockhead at her cunt lips. She held her breath in fear. "Look at me," he repeated. With one huge hand on her hip, he simultaneously pulled her body down and forced the cock into her cunt. In shock and pain from the enormous head, she blew out a burst of air from her mouth in a guttural scream. Transfixed by the welts on her mound, he kept driving in an inch at a time as she adjusted to the severe invasion. Drops of oil and sweat rained down on him. His eyes drilled into her blank ones, as if she'd been mesmerized.

Grabbing the two shoelaces, he began pulling on her nipple clamps, forcing her to do the work of pumping up and down on his cock to relieve the pain in her pressed breasts and nipples. The labia weights crashed repeatedly and painfully into his pelvic bones, causing black and blue marks. Minute by minute, he pulled harder and faster until her screams gained in intensity, her eyes clouded with pain and lust. As she climaxed, savagely twisting her body like a demented corkscrew for a full minute, he let loose a gigantic load deep into her cunt. Then, she was no longer looking at him -- she had passed out. His cum quickly seeped out of her, coating his ugly cock in a sheath of his "holy oil."

He retracted out of her cunt, his huge spend now coursing out of her, dazedly got to his knees, wavering and dizzy, and went to the table. There was only one final element to complete the ceremony. He unscrewed the top of the asperigal rod from the main shaft, submerged the metal head into the hot bowl of cum till it filled, and screwed the head back onto the wooden shaft. He lifted the shoelaces from her nipple clamps, pulled on the leads, and tied them to the tripod in front of her, as if her breasts were aimed right at the lens.

Reciting a prayer, he flicked the asperigal at her. Cum sprayed from the openings and anointed her back, ass, face, chest, abdomen, pussy and legs, obscenely spotting the already drenched habit. She moaned unconsciously as the scalding cream landed on her raw welts. Holding apart her clamped pussy lips, muttering a prayer, he rotated the cum-covered head of the holy rod up into her cunt. She sighed, a fresh supply of drool falling onto the breast press. He placed a ring of lit, two-foot candles around her and one between her legs.

He photographed her at length, capturing the broken, reddened skin coated with oil, sweat and cum. He duly noted the defined biceps, her arms supporting her entire body weight. He was careful to shoot plenty of angles and details on the flattened breasts and imprisoned nipples protruding from the leather press and stretched to the tripod. He paid special attention to the thick asperigal handle sticking out of her spread pussy lips, beautifully illumined by the candle beneath them, the flame heating the shaft of the asperigal, lips stretched by the enormous weights and framed by the sodden, expensive stockings and heels. His cum dripped in a fast tempo from the asperigal onto the flame, making it gutter and sputter, painting ever-changing shadows on the shackled beauty's well-used form.

The photography completed, he regretfully untied the shoelaces from the tripod and unscrewed the clamps on the press, removing it from her breasts, carefully sliding it over the nipple clamps. Her breasts were a sight: caned, whipped, studded with red pricks from the press's studs, greasy with oil, sweat, cum and blood from her lip. He removed the candle from between her legs and released her wrists from the cords.