The Saint Agnes Passion
By Jacqueline Jillinghoff
“Wake up, little
girl.”
Strong fingers pinched
her chin. Kristen tried to shake them off, but they only gripped harder,
raising her head. Her eyes flickered open. Sister Saint Augustine was standing
in front of her, her face up close. Her expression was neither
kind nor angry — just blank, clinical. It was the lack of emotion that
frightened Kristen even more than the fact that she couldn’t move.
“How are you feeling,
dear?” Sister asked.
She tried to say all,
right, but it came out muffled. Something round and hard filled her mouth. She
couldn’t close her teeth.
“What was that?”
“What’s going on?”
Kristen asked, but it came out, “Uh-ss oh-ee uh?”
“Sorry, but we must
take precautions. Things might get loud. You might be more comfortable if you
stood up straight.”
Gradually, as sleep
wore off, she became aware her shoulders hurt. Her arms were stretched above
her, strapped to the ends of what seemed to be a large wooden X, and as she
hung by her full weight, they felt like they were about to pop out of their
sockets. Her waist was strapped to the center of the X, her ankles to the low
ends, with her feet flat on the floor. She pushed up, locking her knees, and
the stress went away.
“Eh ee O,” Kristen demanded.
“Let you go?
We’re just getting started, precious. Welcome to our Good Friday service. Here
you will have a taste — a very small taste — of the sufferings Our Lord went
through for your sake.”
She held up in
Kristen’s face an evil-looking flyswatter, a stiff black wand with a black,
heart-shaped slat at the end. Then she lowered it out of sight and smacked the
insides of Kristen’s naked thighs —
“Father
— Son … and Holy Spirit.”
She smacked Kristen’s
naked pussy, hard.
“Nggahhh!”
Tears sprang into the girl’s eyes. She bit down on the thing in her mouth. “Uh-eezh!” she said, trying to say “Please.”
With the edge of the
black heart, Sister traced a figure-eight about Kristen’s titties. Lightly, she
tapped the girl’s nipples, which grew hard from fear. At last, she raised the
stick, as though preparing to deliver a blow. Kristen recoiled, but she had
nowhere to go. She pulled at her straps.
“Uh-eezh, uh-eezh, uh-eezh,” she repeated, more quietly each time.
Sister only grinned
and tapped Kristen’s cheek.
“Don’t worry,” she
said. “I can’t risk leaving any marks on my spotless lamb. But we do have a
substitute.”
She stepped aside, and
Kristen understood why she couldn’t talk. Sister Patrice, naked, and hanging by
her wrists on a pair of chains, was gagged with a red ball strapped to her
face. Kristen must have been gagged in the same way.
The cuffs on Sister’s
wrists were leather, with a trim of fur puffed about the edges, and tiny silver
locks that fastened the chains to silver rings. Her ankles and thighs were tied
with tightly seamed layers of rope, expertly knotted. The chains were too short
to let her stand: only her toes touched the floor. She twisted in her shackles,
slowly, like a sack of flour. The pain must have been awful, but when their
eyes met, Kristen saw only resignation.
And
the room. Where was it? A squat drum of pitted gray
stones, only a foot higher than Kristen’s outstretched arms. Twilight pressed
against a trinity of lancet windows, placed evenly about the circle,
that cut the walls from floor to ceiling. On both sides of each window,
paschal candles stood burning in brass sticks, and as the day faded, their glow
grew continually on Patty’s nude body.
Sure. They were at the
top of tower, in a surplus room this school’s bonehead architect couldn’t get
rid of and couldn’t find a use for. It was good for nothing but storing a few
old student desks, and Auggie’s chamber of horrors.
God, she was such a
cunt.
“I’m not as bad as I
seem,” she said, as if she knew what Kristen was thinking. “My servants are
always happy when they leave.”
She laid her whip on a
table beside the cross and picked up a couple of gadgets. She held one up to
Kristen’s face. It as copper clamp with ridged rubber tips, like something
you’d get in a hardware store. She poked the other against Kristen’s tit. The
spring was so tight it resisted her fingers: to bend it, she had to squeeze the
levers in her fist. Then, just as the jaws widened to their fullest extent, she
let go, and the thing snapped shut on Kristen’s nipple.
“Aghhh!”
“Oh, does that hurt?”
“Ugnh!”
“Yes it does.” She
pulled the clamp off, but not before stretching Kristen’s titty
as far as it would go.
“But these aren’t for
you. They’re for your girlfriend.”
She limped back and,
slipping the clamps up from below, placed one behind each of Patty’s fluffy
pink nipples. The pressure puffed them up like balloons and turned the tiny
bumps around them to garnet. Auggie gave Patty’s tits
a wobble, testing the grip, and Patty moaned through her gag — with pleasure,
Kristen thought.
“And now your other
end,” Auggie said.
She chose another
gadget from the table. Kristen’s couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. It
was shaped kind of like the ace of spades, with a round base and a tapering
head, but it was bright green. Auggie squeezed goo
all over it from a tube she also kept on the table.
“You see, everything
must be done just so,” she said as she smeared the gel over the plastic. “Nadab and Abihu were consumed
with fire because they didn’t follow our Lord’s instructions to the letter.
It’s a painstaking process, but I’m sure the good Lord will be pleased with our
sacrifice.”
She went back to Patty
and swiveled her around on her tiptoes. Kristen understood now what was
happening. Sister Patrice had such a full, shapely ass, and Auggie
was about to violate it. She angled the blunt end of the green plug into the
shadow-line between the hemispheres. “Relax, dear,” she said, and pushed. The
lube did its work: when she took her hand away, the green base clung to Patty’s
open buttocks. Patty moaned again, and this time there was no mistaking what it
meant.
“She does love that,” Auggie said. “But we’ve saved the best for last.”
She went back to the
table and picked up yet another device. This one looked like a microphone, but
the head was solid rubber.
“This is for you,” Auggie said. She brought it over, with two long strands of rope, the same kind of Patty was tied with. Methodically,
she tied the microphone to the inside of Kristen’s thigh, so high up the rubber
head jutted against her pussy.
“That should do it,”
she said.
She snapped a switch
on the mike. It began to buzz, softly, and in an instant, waves of pleasure
swept through Kristen’s body in every direction. She resisted, staring
defiantly into Auggie’s eyes, determined not to be
controlled. But Auggie had time, and a fallback plan.
“More?” she asked.
Reaching down, she
clicked the switch again. The buzzing got louder. Kristen thrashed her hips,
trying to shake the thing off, but the ropes were too strong. The head only
seemed to push harder against her clitty. She kept up her furious look for an
eternity, but even eternity must end, and she knew she must surrender. It just
felt too fucking good. Her eyes rolled into her head. She fell limp, sustained
only by the straps around her wrists. And she awaited the inevitable.
“That’s better,” she
heard Auggie say.
When she could see
again, Auggie already had her whip in her hand and
had raised it over Patty’s head.
“Ah, you’re back with
us,” she said to Kristen. “Watch closely. This is what happens to all sinful
whores.”
The whip whistled
though the air and landed with a whap on Patty’s ass.
“Say it,” Auggie said. “‘I am a sinful whore.’”
The words came out
broken and muffled, but Kristen understood them. The whip whistled again, and
still again, and cherry stains appeared on Patty’s ass, like kisses from a
misshapen mouth. With each blow she begged, but it was impossible to tell
whether she was begging for the punishment to stop or to continue. It was hard
to care anymore, anyway. The cries grew distant as the buzzing expanded in
Kristen’s head, and she herself began to rave. Her throat burned with the
strain, and an endless, rattling orgasm possessed her like the demons of the Gerasene. She had become the swine, leaping into the sea.
Click.
The buzzing didn’t
stop. It only simmered down. The softer vibrations were soothing, in a way, but
the crisis had passed. Kristen hung exhausted on the cross.
“Let that be a
lesson,” Auggie said. “You will not take my sub from
me. If you want her, you will submit to me as well. And I trust you won’t say
anything to anyone about this, since you’d also have to tell on Sister
Patrice.”
Keys clinked, and
raising her head with an effort, Kristen saw Auggie
unlock Sister Patrice’s chains. Sister fell on her face, her legs folded
beneath her. The base of the butt plug stared up at Kristen like a blank green
eye, as though Sister Patrice was looking at the world through her ass.
“I’ll leave you two
alone,” Auggie said. “Think it over.”
She went out of sight
behind the cross, and down a curling flight of stairs. A door below clapped
shut.
It was a long time
before Sister Patrice reached behind and undid her gag.
“I’m coming,” she
said. “I’ll free you.”
She sat up and
unfastened the clamps, which left ragged red bite marks on her tits. She
couldn’t stand with her ankles and thighs bound, and so she crawled to the
cross, where she loosened the straps at Kristen’s feet. Then she hauled herself
up, and when she could balance, their bodies pressed together, she reached up
and undid the wrist straps. Kristen fell forward when Sister unbuckled the
strap at her waist, and they tumbled to the floor.
The freeing of her
body released her emotions: she wept as Sister Patrice pulled the ball from her
mouth, but she despised all offers of comfort. Her own body had betrayed her.
Sister Patrice had betrayed her even more.
“God damn you!” she
cried.
“Darling—”
“God damn you to
fucking hell!” She broke free of Sister’s arms and scuttled away on her ass,
kicking with her heels. “You let her do it! You told her about us and you
fucking let her do it.”
“She said she’d tell,”
Sister said feebly.
They sat in silence.
Sister’s eyes were cast down. A tear fell to her ravaged breast.
Kristen, unmoved, turned
her attention to the buzzing thing on her leg, which had become a distraction.
It was surprisingly easy to untie. Auggie had used
some kind of clever slipknot. The coils melted away with a tug. She stopped
crying and stood up.
“I never would have
told,” she said. “I never would have admitted anything.”
She clicked the
vibrator off.
“I saw you, y’know — right before I passed out. You looked like an
angel. And I was so happy, I thought you were going to
save me. You were going to carry me away. But you didn’t.”
“I need to be
punished.”
“No you don’t,”
Kristen said. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“It is against the
law.”
“I don’t care about
the law. It’s my body. I can give it to anybody I want. And I’m not sharing you
with that crazy bitch. If you think being with me is wrong, and you gotta let
her beat you for it, you can fuck off. — Where are my
clothes?”
Sister gestured toward
a low shelf on the table.
They
said nothing more as Kristen got dressed. She left Sister Patrice in the
candlelight, naked and shivering.
But she took the
vibrator.