by Derek
Amiko came to one elbow and watched Mary’s face intently, perhaps eagerly. “A penance, Sister?”
Mary nodded. “Yes, the final one before you go. I hope God will protect you in your new life.”
“If it is the will of God, then I am His servant,” Amiko confirmed.
“Even as an adult, you are so young,” Mary pointed out, sitting up. “Go to my bag and bring back the flogger to me. We shall begin our penance.”
“Yes, Sister,” Ami said, hurrying to do as she was bid, her breasts bobbing prettily as she rushed. Within moments she returned with the cruel horsehair flogger she’d come to know and respect.
“Kneel and hide your face from the anger of God,” Mary ordered.
Amiko obeyed, as Mary moved to stand beside her where she knelt with her face pressed to the floor.
“Do you wish to be forgiven for your evil carnality?”
“Yes! Pray God forgive me!”
“How can you make yourself worthy of his forgiveness, sinner?”
“By suffering! By humbling myself before him!”
“Now roll to your back, sinner, and open your legs. Show God the depth of your depravity! Pray for forgiveness!” Mary watched, raising her voice heavenward, praying for Amiko’s salvation. “God, this unworthy sinner kneels before You! See how she suffers in Your name in order to be redeemed! Take pity upon her, Lord!” The horsehair flogger was immediately applied to Ami’s most vulnerable, exposed areas—her pussy and nipples. "Forgive her, Lord, for she is weak!” Mary cried, as the flogger struck the penitent’s right nipple, leaving pink streaks of pain behind. “Forgive her, Lord, for she is foolish!” she cried, as the flogger struck Ami’s cunt, causing her bottom to rise up from the agony. “Forgive her, Lord, for she is repentant!” was the third cry as the flogger struck at the left nipple, matching those streaks with the right. This litany was repeated over and over, until Amiko’s screams crescendoed and her body pulsed with orgasmic bliss. Her sweet pussy and nipples were bright red, oozing lymph where the skin had been scraped raw.
That was Mary’s signal that God had granted Ami forgiveness through the abnegation of her flesh. The nun bowed her head and caught her breath “Remember, Amiko, that your virginity belongs to Christ. Do not give it to someone unworthy.”
Ami’s tear-stained face turned toward her lover-confessor. “Yes, Sister,” she whispered brokenly. “I’ll give it in His name.”
“Pray for me, Amiko,” was all Mary managed to say before her throat constricted with a sob.
Amiko rose to her knees, trembling though she was, and folded her hands in prayer, mouthing her rosary silently, and begging for God to forgive Sister Mary Thomas for her carnal sins.
After several minutes, Mary moved, this time to lie upon her back as Amiko had done, spreading her knees. She looked to Amiko, desperation on her face. “Please, Amiko, my sweet, sweet friend. I can only ask this of you once. I know it is foreign to your nature, but I beg of you to help me touch the hand of God as you have done. Please, Ami, take the flogger and show me the way.”
Hesitantly, Amiko reached for the instrument, its weight and size distinctly odd in her small hand. She sought approval from Mary silently with her eyes.
“Do it, Ami. Please.”
Crying pitifully, and praying aloud, Amiko began to do the task she’d been asked to do by her one and only friend. Each time she tried to stop, Mary would grind out between her tightly gritted teeth, “More, Ami. The rapture has not come to me yet.”
And so she would apply the flogger to Mary’s breasts and pussy another few times, not always hitting the targets she intended as the fog of her tears overcame her again and again. Mary finally whispered, “Stop,” and Amiko threw down the flogger and buried her face in the pillows on her sleeping mat, hysterical at what she’d done. Mary’s nipples were welted deeply, her pussy oozing from a thousand tiny cuts. She had not achieved the state of forgiveness. Again, God had not seen fit to accept her penance and grant her redemption.
Mary threw the huge black habit over her broken body quietly, grimly, and gathered up her things. “God go with you, my dear,” she said softly from the doorway.
Amiko couldn’t even bring herself out of her morass of self-loathing long enough to tell her dearest friend good-bye.
* * *
Amiko’s trunks had long-since been delivered to a storage facility which was holding them for her arrival in Paris. Weariness warred with the excitement of being in a new city as she came off the plane. She had only one small bag, carried onto the plane with her, and so went directly to Customs, avoiding the other 300 jostling travelers who had deplaned with her. Once through customs, she stood at the exit doors of the terminal and eagerly sniffed at the Parisian air.
Paris! Finally, to be away from the convent, away from confinement and poverty.
She turned to hail a cab and was nearly felled by a man moving quickly through the throngs. Her purse, the only link between her and her new life as a student at the Sorbonne, left with the thug at a much greater rate than he had approached. Screaming, cursing, pleading, Amiko ran after the thief to no consequence. Suddenly, a large man came out of the crowd ahead and stuck out a beefy arm to halt the criminal.
Amiko’s papers, her small funds, addresses, proof of scholarship, everything that her life hinged upon was saved by this one act of heroism. To say that she was grateful to the man was a gross understatement. Innocently, she praised the big man who introduced himself as Marc Maroten. Ami further explained her circumstances to him, telling him in her academic French, that she had only just arrived in Paris for the first time and would be seeking lodging near the University. Classes were due to start in three weeks. Did he know of a modest boarding house she might find near there?
Marc had immediately offered the lovely nineteen-year-old a suite in his home. He told her that he was a bachelor living in an old house that was really too big for him alone and yet was too valuable to be sold at the current market prices.
Over lunch, fascination for the man easily overcame Amiko’s reticence to take such offers from strangers. He was large, but muscular, and well-groomed, with a dark beard and moustache and deep, deep brown eyes. His smile was engaging, and his sense of humor was universal. As it turned out, he owned an import/export business in Paris and had done considerable business in Japan. The smattering of Japanese he’d picked up worked into the conversation to help Amiko’s French.
In time, her fascination for Marc grew beyond her ability to restrain her curiosity. Staying in his home was comfortable, and though he was often busy and away, whenever he was home he was affectionate and teased her in ways she’d never experienced before. At first shy, Amiko learned accidentally that her nudity brought her greater attention from the big man, drawing his eyes as she walked from the bathroom to her bedroom one afternoon when she thought he was out. She’d gone beet red with embarrassment that time, but couldn’t seem to help herself and found herself seeking more opportunities to tease his gaze toward her.
He, too, began to allow her to see him nude. When it first happened, a blush suffused her entire body, but Ami could not turn her eyes away. Never before had she seen a man like that, and the differences between their genders caused her flesh to tighten and her breath to catch. A few days later, he asked her to come scrub his back in the bathtub, and that same tightness cloaked her along with the irresistible entrancement.
As she scrubbed his wide back, she’d taken note of the firm texture of his skin, the paleness of her hands against his olive tones. Gently, he asked her to remove her clothing so that he, too, might admire her beauty. Caught in the act of admiring him so openly, Amiko was compelled to comply to his request. She peeled off her clothing and again knelt by the tub to touch him with soap and washcloth.
His eyes held hers intently, as slowly, he reached forward to touch a hard-pointed nipple. Her gasp seemed to encourage him to further touches. Amiko’s body responded to the familiar and yet new sensations his
large, hard fingers brought about, and there was clear evidence of his desire for her. Her eyes widened and went immediately to his.
Wordlessly, he moved her soapy hand from his shoulder to his raging hard-on. At first she resisted, knowing it was sinful, knowing that it wasn’t right in God’s eyes. But he held her hand in place on him, teaching her the stroking rhythm he enjoyed despite her weak attempts to withdraw her hand. His excitement wasn’t only written largely with his cock, it was also potently clear on his face and in his eyes. Amiko found that incredibly intoxicating—that she could produce such a reaction in him was amazing and she wanted more!
There was little resistance left in her. Amiko had to encourage him to take her further, faster as his hands moved back to her breasts. Kneading, pinching, finding her vulnerable to the pain/pleasure principle, he brought her over the edge with a resounding climax. Gasping with reaction, her body still shuddering its release, he lifted her by her narrow waist and brought her into the tub to lie atop his body.
As his large, hard tool began to prod her virgin interior, a tiny panic overtook Amiko. She struggled, pleading with him to let her go, and striking his chest and face with her fists until he caught her hands and held her still. He simply held her there, not impaling her further until her panic deserted her in favor of the sweet roughness of his palm stroking her bottom. He murmured calming words, tender loving phrases generously sprinkled with soft vulgarities which excited her further.
Becoming more comfortable with her body pressed so intimately to his, Amiko raised her bottom against his palm, only vaguely aware that she was doing so. Several times, she forced his palm to greater pressure on her soft flesh. She moaned with delight as he tentatively tried a single wet spank. Encouraged, he applied a few more, then reached between her legs to the center of her excitement.
Whispering in her ear, he raised her hips slightly, sliding his engorged cock along her slit as she arched backward. She felt lithe and young, the blood-filled head of Marc’s prick popping up between her virgin cunt lips and then out again along her clit. Slowly, slowly, he lowered her on his phallus, halting at the presence of the hymen. He murmured questions about her innocence, establishing her lack of experience. And although she was embarrassed by her carnal need and lack of sophistication and became suddenly shy, she wanted to encourage him.
She complained in a moan of it hurting to have him stretching her, and he made her admit, teasing her unmercifully as he took things slowly, that she enjoyed the pain and craved his cock. Soon enough she admitted her sinful lust and begged him to stop teasing her. He hesitated. Amiko squirmed against him, whispering the words for “more” and “please,” in French. Warning her of the searing pain she might expect, he pulled her down forcefully onto his large endowment, and she screamed and thrashed against him, even while her body naturally drew him in further and further.
A few drops of virgin blood stained the water as she rocked against him, and not long after, she accepted Marc’s seed and found her own stunning release.
Amiko stayed with Marc for two years, learning his way of doing things and experiencing the sensations he gifted to her. The first thing he taught her was contraception, which was a practice Amiko knew went counter to the Church’s teachings. She was not struck dead by God, though, so maybe it wasn’t so bad as she’d been taught. Very soon after, Marc taught her about the heightened delight of a man’s strong fingers on her nipples. The harsh pressure gave her an electric jolt directly down to her core.
His tongue on her sweet pussy wasn’t anything like Sister Mary’s. His was relentless, never allowing her to squirm away, no matter how intense the sensations, no matter how many times she came with earth-shattering force. His hands on her slender hips were strong when he tilted her bottom upward and took her from behind.
The sounds and smells, the rampant heat of his cock, were all highly intoxicating and she never tired of them, constantly wanted more. She was always wet, always ready.
Near the end of their second year, he started teaching her the positions of submission. It delighted her no end to get down on her knees and kiss his feet. She knew obeisance from her experience in the convent. It was comfortable and familiar, and besides, she truly was worshipful of Marc. He had given her so many moments of great pleasure; it was the least she could do to give him the servitude he deserved.
Each day, she went off to school and he to work, but at night, as the glittering lights of Paris came to life around them, so too would their secret life awaken.
She greeted him upon his homecoming, naked, or wearing only the skimpiest of thong panties. As he closed the door, she would drop to her knees and kiss his shod feet, waiting for him to call her name. He always had a kind word for her, asking about her day as she rose to hug him and enjoy a tender kiss.
He would give her a sharp spank on her bottom, and she would giggle and hurry away to pour him wine. Marc sat in his favorite chair, and told her what would please him that day.
“Rub my feet,” or neck or shoulders, was a frequent request, but not long after, he’d finish his wine and rise and she would follow him into the bedroom where she removed his clothes and offered him more comfortable ones to change into.
It became a routine whenever he was in town. If she forgot anything, or neglected to put things to rights in order for the housekeeper to do her job the next day, she was spanked soundly. Although it often made her squirm and cry, she loved the sting of his hand on her bottom and the hot redness there afterward. She craved the release of tension as she sobbed at his feet, the total freedom of knowing that her actions had consequences and she had the choice to obey or be punished.
They made love every night, sometimes more than once. But Marc, in his early thirties, occasionally went out with other women closer to his own age and didn’t come home overnight. Amiko was unhappy and restive on those nights, turning to her own fingers and a secret vibrator to meet her needs.
* * *
She confessed to Renee that it was the vibrator that caused the irreconcilable rift between her and Marc. He had forbidden vibrators, claiming that they would be too intense on her tender flesh and would ruin her for the more subtle sensations of fingers and tongue. But, stubbornly, Amiko kept her vibrator for lonely nights.
* * *
One night, however, he came home earlier than expected. Ami didn’t know why the evening was shortened, but it didn’t matter in the end. As he quietly entered the bedroom, careful not to wake Amiko, he must have heard the buzzing of the forbidden contraption coming from Amiko’s padded pallet on the floor.
“Amiko!”
Immediately, she turned it off. The silence was thick. “Marc?”
The light flicked on and he stood in the bedroom doorway, thunder on his bearded face. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I missed you,” she tried, sheepishly.
“Bull shit. I ought to make you eat that thing,” he raged. “If I didn’t think you’d enjoy it, I’d shove it up your ass and make you sit on it overnight!”
“I’m sorry.”
He stormed into the room and went right to the closet where he rummaged around for a few minutes, finally emerging with a large canvas bag. “Get your sorry ass over here, girl.”
Crawling, Amiko contritely came to him, kissing the toes of his shoes submissively and keeping her head down on the floor after the obeisance.
“Stay there.” It took him a few minutes, but soon he’d removed his clothing and lay prone on his big bed. “You will give me head. You will do it the way I taught you, and you will not be allowed to come at the end as you usually do. You will remain silent. Not one sound. I plan to pretend you’re someone else and I don’t want to hear Amiko noises. Do you understand?”
His rejection of her as a person stung deeply, but she replied, “Yes, sir,” from her position on the floor.
“Now!”
* * *
He watched her approach on her knees, admiring the curve of her hip a
nd the gentle sway of her small breasts as they hung from her chest. Her long, black hair draped around her like an ebony scarf, glinting blue-black in the light of the bedroom lamps. Marc was furious with her, but also resigned. It was time to move on. They’d come as far as they could go. She was too young to solidify the relationship into something more traditional, and he was certain that none of the traditionally-minded women he’d choose as a wife would want the young beauty around to create competition for his affections. The idea of two women squabbling over his time and attention didn’t appeal either. He wanted children and the comfort of a softly padded wife around.
Amiko climbed on the bed and raised her head to look up at him, seeking permission to touch him. He nodded.
Immediately, she began to kiss his thighs, running her hands over his belly and legs, feather-light, stirring the hairs on his middle ever-so-slightly. Her mouth drew nearer to his growing cock. By the time her pink tongue touched the place where his balls began, he was fully erect and losing his anger. Relentlessly, she stroked him with tongue and fingers, reserving her tongue for his cock alone. One of her hands caressed and kneaded his balls as her tongue made its way up along his phallus to the dark pink head. She held him steady as she laved the head carefully, paying careful attention to the critical place where she knew he was most sensitive. The scent of her was floral soap mixed with excited woman. He made a small sound, barely a vocalized exhalation of air, at once both interested and stern-sounding. Marc wanted her to know that she was to continue to please him in the way she’d been taught, as well as that he had not forgotten her misbehavior.
She gently passed her teeth over the bulbous head and he reached out to run his fingers through her hair, finally wrapping a handful around his fingers to tug, reminding her exactly who was mastering whom. Amiko was quiet, only the sound of Marc’s roughening breathing stirring the stillness of the room. Her tongue snuck around and around, up then down until she paused, licking a drop of pre-cum off with greedy quickness, as though Marc was going to withhold it from her out of pique.