1. Cruel, Carnal Convent


    Date: 11/2/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: ChrissieLecker, Rating: 13, Source: LushStories

    self-same punishment. And it came. I heard the loud slap echo in the silent hall before my bum noticed the fiery impact and my body rocked forward. Heat spread from where her hand had swatted my bum cheek. Slap. Again. And again. Like a rain of fire, swat after swat rained down on my shaking bum, each one hotter and more painful than the one before, and I loved it. My bum cheeks shook with every impact, and I wiggled them as good as I could while I whimpered. She caught the tops of my thighs, than sensitive spot that stung like hell, and my whimpers turned into pained cries. Tears rushed into my eyes and the heat spread all over my body. Like a demon possessed, she covered my backside with spanks that fell not even seconds apart. This was it. I felt my pussy juices dribble down my thighs and heard my cries get louder and louder. Then she stopped, and I heard her fight for air. She roughly pulled me back by my hair and the chair scraped over the floor with an ugly screech. “Have you had enough now?” she hissed, spittle flying and hitting me in the face. I licked my lips, taking in her flushed appearance, the glistening sheen of sweat on her forehead and her rumpled habit. “No, Mother Superior,” I purred, grinning through my tears, and when she took a surprised step back and looked at me from wide, startled eyes, I ran a hand through my folds and held up my glistening fingers, moaning, “but we’re off to a good start.” She froze. Seconds ticked by, and I could see disbelief war ...
    with rage in her face. Then her eyes alighted again, and I knew that I had won. “Sister Elizabeth, fetch the cane!” she hissed without taking her eyes off me, and the scraping of a chair close by told that the so addressed hurried to fulfill her order. “Sister Margaret, shackle her to the rack!” “But Mother...” a timid voice interjected. “No buts. Do it!” She looked beautiful, with all that rage in her face. Someone grabbed my hand and pulled me to the left side of the room. This was where the “rack” stood. Tales were told about past times, when insubordinate sisters supposedly had been bound there and whipped until they passed out. But nobody us novices had ever known by name, much less met, had been subjected to that kind of punishment. “Please,” a soft voice urged me, and I turned to look at its source. “Please apologize, I implore you, and tell her you’ll atone for your sins.” Sister Margaret was only ten years my senior and a very compassionate person. You could get away with everything with her, if you just appeared rueful. “No way,” I told her. “Let’s see what the Mother can dish out.” “I don’t understand you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” She took my hand and wrapped a wide leather strap that was attached to a rough hemp rope around my wrist and buckled it tight. I thought I recognized a hint of flush on her cheeks - something I promised myself to check back on. My other hand was bound too, then both legs. “Please reconsider,” Margaret urged again, her voice pleading. ...
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