The Book of a Thousand Sins

by Wrath James White

  Big Lucy had been like the mother Anja had always dreamed would come to rescue her from her depraved little household when her dad would shove a sock in her mouth to keep her from screaming. The mother her father always told her had abandoned her to “Move to San Francisco and become a lesbian whore!”

  It was Big Lucy who recommended that Anja join the Society of Sade, one of the nation’s oldest S&M groups. Lucy took her to her first meeting just before her nineteenth birthday. That’s where she met her first true master, Lord.

  Lord was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. 6’5”, 240lbs of carbonized steel. His ebon flesh looked as if it had been chiseled out of living night. It rippled with hard muscle and glistened liquid black like a pool of oil. His dark eyes gleamed with a cruel wisdom that made him look as ancient as the earth. He walked with the confidence of royalty and his every word seemed to hold power beyond its meaning. He inspired fear and lust in equal quantities and his every gesture was pregnant with the threat of violence. Lord appeared to be just what he wished his subs to believe he was . . . a living god. Almost immediately Anja had pledged herself to him. From that moment her true education in pain and debauchery had begun.

  Lord was as gentle and patient as he could be cold and cruel. The same hand that held the whip could also provide the most tender caresses. Soon Anja could no longer decide which she preferred. Her identity dissolved in endless waves of pleasure and pain, the blessings of her new lord. She lost herself in him and for a while that was all she desired. That escape. That oblivion. But soon she wanted more. She wanted to hold the whip. So Lord showed her how.

  She’d served as his slave for three years before she realized that she preferred being a top. Luckily, back then Lord had been willing to switch. He’d taught her everything a dom should know about bondage, pain, and humiliation. On the day that she announced to him that she could no longer be his or anyone’s sub, he confessed that he had never let anyone dominate him before her and that he’d only let her do it because he loved her. Anja replied by telling Lord that she needed to change her role in life to something more empowering. She needed to hold the whip, to be the inflicter of pain, the punisher and humiliator of men, rather than the punished and humiliated.

  Lord resented her for it and had forcibly thrown her out of his dungeon. That resentment had continued right along with their friendship, which was still just as strong, or weak, today as it was then.

  Once Anja had located a suitable location for her dungeon and began accepting clients herself, they had flooded through the doors in startling numbers. Big Lucy had been her first client and Anja had delighted in taking out her frustrations on the big woman, finally able to experience the power and control men like Lord, her father, and her uncle had exercised on her for so many years. She’d quickly found herself intoxicated by it, drunk with power. When men, some of them very wealthy and even famous, had begun to patronize her dungeon, she’d discovered depths of depravity within herself she’d never even been aware of. Many of the men had found her brand of sadism far too extreme, but many more had stayed. Anja had never realized how many people there were willing to pay good money to get a woman’s spike-heeled boot rammed into their asshole.

  At first it had been exciting. Her own lusts, her own pain, had found release in the pain she dealt out to others. But now Anja was getting tired, bored with it all. As one of the Bay Area’s most infamous dominatrices, Anja had seen every manner of perversion imaginable. Acts that would send the most hardened street prostitute screaming for their lives had for her become mundane. She had grown callous to it all. The flesh held no mystery and little power to inspire her anymore. There were few people who could relate to the banality of sexual deviancy once the limits of imagination had been reached. Anja had now worked in the sex industry for over a decade. She was now at the point where perversion had become routine and orgasm a memory. She needed something to expand her sexual horizons before she slit her own wrists out of boredom. With a sigh, she got up and walked down stairs to the basement to prepare her dungeon for business.

  ***

  Anja was almost done abusing her newest slave; a fat, slovenly, pig of a man who was heavily into humiliation. She couldn’t wait until this session was over. Anja understood these type of masochists the least. They taxed her energy trying to devise new ways to humiliate them. It was so much easier working with your traditional bottom who only wanted to be spanked, or whipped, or paddled, or caned, or even cut. No imagination required. This was real work!

  She tugged on the rope, which hoisted her client’s legs and arms into the air. She tugged harder until his arms were pulled between his legs and his feet went back over his head, effectively folding him in half so that his genitals dangled in front of his face. In the real world his name was Marcus Giles, a wealthy local art dealer. In here, his name was Slob.

  “Let’s play, squirt the clown, Slob.” She cooed mischievously; tying the end of the rope to a hook in the wall and pulling her black latex gloves on tighter.

  Anja squirted Astro-Glide into the palm of her glove and began jacking-off the corpulent businessman who dangled helplessly from the complex pulley system in the ceiling. He began to quiver and moan, trying to resist the orgasm he could feel building within him.

  “Say, ahhh.” She instructed and Slob obediently opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue. He jerked and convulsed as a powerful orgasm shot a stream of thick, warm, salty, semen down his throat causing him to gag and choke.

  “Squirt the clown!” Anja giggled delightedly as cum splashed across his cheeks and dribbled down his chin. With a spoon, she scooped up the rest of the cum, and shoveled it into his mouth like a mother feeding a young toddler. He winced disgustedly and tried to turn away but she gripped his jaw in her glove and forced the spoon into his mouth. When he tried to spit it out she gave his scrotum a smack, which instantly restored his compliance.

  After he’d licked the spoon clean, she let him down and removed his blindfold. “Kneel Slob!” she commanded.

  “Yes Mistress,” he replied with the appropriate awe and humility. He dropped to her feet to kiss and slobber on her boots. It was his favorite thing to do.

  “Did you like my little game Slob? Did you like playing squirt the clown you filthy little maggot? You cum drinking little fag boy?” She said using her boot to lift his chin to look her in the eye.

  “Yes Mistress,” the fat businessman replied enthusiastically. His voice quivered nervously along with the rolls of cellulite around his waist and beneath his chin.

  “Yes Mistress what?” Anja snarled contemptuously.

  “Yes Mistress, I loved drinking my own cum.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am a filthy little maggot; a cum drinking fag boy.”

  “With a pathetic little dick.” she added, slipping her foot underneath his scrotum and bouncing his flaccid penis on the toe of her six-inch stiletto hip boots.

  “With a pathetic little dick,” he agreed. Actually, he was hung like a pony. She would never understand masochists like him.

  “I have a present for you Mistress.”

  “What do you have Slob? What could you possibly give to me except your adoration, obedience, and your money?”

  “A book. The book! The Book of a Thousand Sins!”

  Anja’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in suspicion. She had heard of the book. Everyone in the scene had. It was legend. To own it was every sadist’s, every masochist’s, wet dream.

  There was only one copy. It was rumored that the book was originally written in Latin some two thousand years ago by a mad pagan monk who had converted to Christianity and then rebelled against the teachings of Christ to become the world’s first reputed Satanist. Unconfirmed accounts have it that the Marquis de Sade had translated it into its current French while imprisoned in the Bastille, adding his own perverse embellishments to it along with some colorful illustrations, before the original version was discovered in his
cell and destroyed. Reportedly the book had later been pillaged from a private collection in France and brought to Nazi Germany at Hitler’s request sometime in the 1940s. There it was reported that it had been restored and bound in the leathered skin of a recently deflowered virgin right after she’d been sodomized and tortured to death.

  Many reports have it that top SS officers had used it in sadistic orgies in which prostitutes, prisoners, and rare exotic animals were forced to perform all kinds of unspeakable acts inspired by illustrations in the first chapter. These orgies often led to grievous injuries including frequent fatalities (not to mention animal rights offences). The infernal tome had been found in Hitler’s bunker after it was stormed by the allied forces and then smuggled into America by a young soldier. That soldier was later found dead in his apartment with the bodies of nearly a dozen tortured, raped, and gruesomely mutilated prostitutes surrounding his own corpse, which bore the scars of horrifying self-inflicted mutilations. He had died of internal bleeding caused by the business end of a steeple-size crucifix which still protruded from his prolapsed anus when he’d been found; his face twisted into a gruesome rictus of impossible agony or unfathomable ecstasy.

  Years later the book disappeared from a police evidence locker and surfaced in an S&M club in Manhattan. It had since been passed from hand to hand around the bondage and fetish clubs in San Francisco, New York, and L.A. where its reputation for inspiring acts of violent sexual deviancy that pushed the boundaries of sanity and legality had grown.

  It had never been reproduced or reprinted. It had been years since anyone had regarded it as anything more than a guide to impossibly perverse and abhorrent sexual practices. It was much more than that however. Much more.

  One anthropologist who’d studied it believed it to be an audition for a seat amid Hell’s hierarchy. He reasoned that hell was so overcrowded that there were not enough demons to torture the infinite influx of sinners for the prescribed eternity. There could only be a few hundred of the original fallen angels/demons compared to the countless millions of sinners. So hell was auditioning new talent. The Book of a Thousand Sins was the aptitude test. According to legend, only a very few had passed.

  The anthropologist committed suicide soon after publishing his treatise on the sadistic grimoire. He’d threaded a crucifix through his urethra and had tried to fuck himself with it. He died of severe blood loss and shock.

  ***

  Anja spent all night reading the book, pausing occasionally to masturbate to the good parts (and they were all good parts) using a vibrator wrapped in sandpaper. Her French was not the best but it was good enough, and she kept a French/English dictionary by the bed to help her with the more difficult passages. The more she read, the more she believed the archeologist’s theory that the book was some type of test to become an arch demon of hell. She decided to call Lord in the morning to ask him about the book.

  Lord was a student of human depravity; well versed in all things deviant and perverse. If anyone would be able to decipher the mysteries of the Book of Sins, he would. She hated going to him for anything though. He had a way of making her feel like a slave again.

  Lord was a failed divinity student with a doctorate in philosophy and theology. He had been studying to be a priest when he’d realized two things about himself that had forever turned him away from the church. First was his discovery of his perverse sexual appetites. That alone wouldn’t have prevented him from joining the priesthood though. There were plenty of perverts in the clergy. The church had a long history of tolerating things within its ranks that they frequently condemned in society. It was his second self-discovery that kept him from ever wearing the collar as more than a fetish item . . . he didn’t believe in God.

  The tremendous dom was in fact militantly against the idea of faith and even more adamantly against the idea of bowing in worship before a master without the courtesy to even show himself to his worshippers. Lord could tolerate no masters. Slavery of any kind was reprehensible to him. He didn’t know how any black person could bow and scrape in supplication before some great overseer in the sky considering their history. Lord had spent most of his life making sure that he would always be in the dominant position in any master/slave relationship be it emotional, physical, or spiritual. Lord bowed to no one and it was this that enraged Anja the most and also what attracted her. Lord had practically formed a religion around himself. Collecting worshippers and acolytes through his promise of sexual freedom and giving them a living physical representation of perfection to worship . . . himself.

  Anja decided she needed a dose of empowerment before facing her old master again. She called up Big Lucy and spent the evening fucking her in the ass with a dildo the length of an arm and the circumference of a two liter soda bottle, while flaying her back raw with a cat o’ nine tails. She nearly reduced the woman to tears even as she drove her from one powerful orgasm to the next leaving Lucy a quivering mass of welts and wounds drunk with sexual satisfaction. When Anja finally allowed the mannish, hyper-muscular dyke to taste her sex, which was dripping like a faucet after exerting herself stretching open Lucy’s rectum, it had still taken two vibrators, a razorblade, and a tasergun before Anja was able to achieve a decent orgasm. Lucy pledged her love to her even as Anja shoved her out of the house, slamming the door in her face. Anja lay back down with the Book of Sins, wrestling with its mysteries until just before sunrise when she finally fell asleep.

  She drove to Lord’s home/dungeon as soon as she awoke. She was now convinced that the book was her only hope for salvation.

  ***

  Anja stormed past Bruno, the off-duty cop, who served as a receptionist at the dungeon Lord ran. Here the city’s wealthiest connoisseurs of deviant sex paid exorbitant fees for his services and those of the dozen or so other tops and bottoms in Lord’s employ. She heard Bruno call out to her as she made her way up the stairs to the attic where Lord kept his most prized toys and brought his most prestigious clients.

  Lord launched across the room and caught her by the throat pressing a scalpel to her temple seconds after Anja burst through his door, startling him in the midst of his ghoulish sex-play. His face was a mask of blood and sweat and the woman chained spread-eagle to the metal table, was covered in fresh cuts and old scars. Her sex was dripping blood in a steady stream as Lord worked on her with surgical precision and concentration.

  Anja’s eyes widened in fear as she saw the blood lust boiling in Lord’s hard dark eyes. Then recognition slowly seeped in past the murderous passion and Lord relaxed his grip on her throat but did not release her entirely.

  “You of all people should know better than to burst in here unannounced. I could have killed you and raped your carcass before I even knew who you were.”

  Anja knew he was just showing off for his client. He would never have fucked her corpse. He liked live prey. But he very well may have killed her.

  “What do you know about this book?” Anja pulled out The Book of a Thousand Sins and Lord’s eyes widened in surprise just as Anja’s had when she’d first seen it. It had been Lord who’d first told her of its existence.

  Lord plucked the book from Anja’s hand and released her, walking back over to his captive client twirling the scalpel in one hand while carrying the book in the other.

  “Le Livre Des Péchés.” Lord read, pronouncing the French flawlessly, “The Book of a Thousand Sins. This is a very ancient text. If Sadomasochists had a bible, it would be The Book of Sins. The acts it depicts are so extreme that it would take a madman to perform those outlined in the first chapter alone.” Lord said with a tone of warning in his voice. He placed the book on the table and Anja quickly snatched it up, cradling it protectively against her chest. Lord smirked and shook his head as he ran his hands lasciviously over his bound slave, lamenting the interruption of Anja into his session but curious enough about the topic of conversation to delay his playtime for a moment. Occasionally, as he spoke, he would reach between his slave’s thighs to
nick at her clitoris with his scalpel.

  “No one has ever made it through the second chapter. Though many have died trying.” Lord said once again absorbed in the lure of the flesh; speaking to Anja without once removing his focus from the naked woman undulating in her own blood as Lord continued his razorblade foreplay.

  “No one?”

  “No one.” Lord replied.

  Anja was amazed and intrigued.

  “Not even you?” She asked and Lord smiled, sensing a test of his reputation.

  “I have very specialized tastes, Anja. I know exactly what will and what will not get me off. There’s simply no need to try such extreme experiments.”

  “Well, nothing really gets me off anymore. My senses are fried. Too much indulgence. My pussy’s completely numb to all but the most extreme stimulation. I have to practically put vice-grips on my nipples and clitoris, attach it to a car battery, and run like 1000 volts through my pussy just to cum. I don’t even think you could get me off now. ”

  “Sounds sad.” Lord commented as he knelt once again between his slave’s legs to cut paper-thin slices of tissue from her clitoris. He continued to talk as he carefully sliced away at her sex and she moaned low and soulful as if in ecstasy. Her clitoris began to look like a fan. “The simple pleasures Anja. You must learn to appreciate them. “ A wafer thin piece of the woman’s labia sliced off into Lord’s hand and he promptly popped it into his mouth and began to chew. He looked, quiet literally like the canary who had eaten the cat... or pussy as it were.