Purifying his sins

For today's story, I had to pull out some of the stops. Yesterday and today were both for professionals in the kink scene, but today I was trying to hit a fantasy that she didn't quite realize that she wanted, one that was tongue in cheek, but still intense enough to still interest one of the most wild and interesting people I've ever known.

On the other hand, this was a two-fer. I both got to do her request AND fill out part of the List and cover the nun fetish.

Which reminds me: this story might bother some of the more religiously inclined. It's a definite sexualization of the whole thing, and you should know that going in. It's erotica; what do you expect?

Purifying his sins

Right Said Fred played from the speakers, and Carol smiled. She pulled off her shirt, because she was too sexy for it. She was also too sexy for her pants, too sexy for her bra, and too sexy for her panties.

The chorus began, I'm a model she clapped twice with the song, hands up above her head you know what I mean, and I do my little dance on the catwalk. She powdered her skin to help everything go on more easily and to cut down the sweating, then did a little turn. On the catwalk.

Carol slid the on the latex lingerie, dancing and singing along to herself. She slid the stockings up her legs and clipped them into place. She pushed her feet into the boots that laced up just above her knees, zipping them up tight, glad she'd tied them earlier. Knowing she was too sexy for her car (too sexy by far), she opened the front clasps of the corset and held it over her head to make the double clap again at the start of the chorus. She laid the corset against her back and hooked it together at the front, then began pulling the laces tighter and tighter.

She breathed out as far as she could, then pulled the laces tighter again, her posture forced into position as she shook her little touche. On the catwalk. The Lacisstant made tightening the corset so much easier and faster that as the song told her that he was too sexy for his cat (poor pussy, poor pussy cat), she was able to tie it off and take the latex habit and bunch it up.

As she was informed that he was too sexy for the song, she dropped the habit over her body, letting the latex slip down her skin, pushing her arms through the short sleeves. There was a brief moment, when she was pushing her head through the collar, that she did not feel all that sexy. Thankfully, the song was over, and while the next song to come on didn't say anything about being a gimp, Carol was pretty sure no one could see her anyway, which kept her embarrassment to a minimum.

Madonna's voice started to curl through the air, insisting that life is a mystery. Carol smiled.

She smoothed down the latex, tugging here, pressing there, twisting that part and turning this bit until it laid tight against the curves too extreme to have occurred in nature, knowing that, despite what the song said, she would never be down on her knees. She slipped the wimple over her head, tucking the crimson locks away as best she could. One stray red strand refused to be hidden. Carol decided that was okay. Even though nuns weren't supposed to show any hair, one bit of rebellion would be good, she thought. It made her a little bit bad. A nun who might, maybe, need to be punished for her sins.

She smirked as she rolled the white latex gloves up her hands, over her elbows, almost all the way up to her shoulders, disappearing under the quarter sleeves of the habit.

She looked at herself in the mirror to make sure her makeup was still perfect. Just like a prayer, I'll take you there. It's like a dream to me.

She winked at her reflection, hands on her hips. She turned off the music, opened the door to her little dressing room, and stepped out into the studio.

On a table outside the door was a long crucifix necklace and a knotted string that looked vaguely like a rosary she could wrap around her tiny waist. The cross at the end of the rosary was big and rounded, a good solid grip. She slipped a foot and a half of ruler into the rosary belt and walked towards the center of the room.

Every step she took made a sound that demanded attention. Everyone in the tiered seating quieted down, knowing that the show was beginning.

Carol walked slowly, her heels echoing in the sudden silence. All eyes were on her as she walked over to the pew sitting under a bright spotlight. She stood next to it, resting one hand on the polished wood, and smiled out at the crowd, knowing the black and white latex was practically glowing under the lights. She posed for them, one foot crossed, the toe pointed on the floor.

She tapped her fingers against the pew, trying to look both bored and impatient.

The door on the other side of the room opened, but Carol didn't bother to look. She knew who was coming. She watched the audience as they watched him walk across the stage towards the pew. She ignored the sound of his loafers sliding on the floor. Her eyes were drawn to the flare of his jacket as he pushed it out of the way and straightened his tie on his way down to his knees. He knelt on the pew and put his hands together on top of the pew, ready to pray.

Once he was settled, Carol took a step away so she could look him up and down. Given how nice the suit looked on him, how well cut the fabric was and how perfectly it framed his body, it was almost a shame what she was going to do.

“What do you have to say for yourself, little boy?” she asked, her voice icy cold but loud enough to carry through the room.

“Forgive me sister,” he said. “I am a sinner.”

She put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “A sinner?”

He sighed. “I have had impure thoughts,” he said. “And I have taken impure actions.”

“Have you touched yourself?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Have you?” she slapped her latex gloved hands down on the pew on either side of his elbows.

He looked up into her glaring eyes and swallowed hard. It was as if he had suddenly realized this wasn't just a show. “Y-yes,” he said, his voice weak.

She reached forward and grabbed his chin in her hand. “Yes what?”

“Yes Sister Carol,” he said, his voice louder, but somehow even more weak. “I have been touching myself.”

“In dirty ways?”

“In filthy ways.”

She smirked. “Remove your jacket,” she said. “And prepare to repent.”

He pulled his jacket off and folded it over the pew. She reached out a hand and grabbed his tie, yanking him to his feet without warning. She walked him around the pew, then pulled him over it, resting his stomach on the top of the pew. “Stay,” she said.

She clipped the shackles to his wrists, then stepped slowly back around the pew, squatting on her heels to pick up the other end of the shackles. She pulled his wrists further, connecting them under the pew to his ankles. Once she moved away, he made a show of struggling a bit.

“How many times have you had impure thoughts, boy?”

“Twice, Sister Carol.”

She laughed at him and shook his head. “And a liar, too.” She pulled the ruler out of her belt and laid it against his ass. She swatted once, and he jerked at the impact. “You will count,” she said.

“One.”

She slapped again.

“Two.”

She stopped. “Those are for the thoughts you admitted,” she said. Then she reached around and unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, and slid them down to his ankles. She yanked down his underwear, leaving his ass bare.

She raised her hand all the way up and slashed down, the ruler slicing through the air and smacking into his bare skin with a sound that sent shivers down Carol's spine.

It took him a few seconds to be able to speak. He gasped for breath, pulled against the bonds, and bit back a tear. “Three,” he said.

She laughed at him. “That was just one,” she said. “It seems you can't count very well either, you dirty boy.”

She took another swing, slashing the ruler against his ass as hard as she could. There was already a welt forming from the first hit, and she knew there would be another one from the second.

“Two!” he yelled.

She shook her head. “Tsk tsk,” she said. “You were supposed to start over. Stupid little sinner.”

The third strike on his bare ask dragged a sob from him. He took deep, racking breaths, his entire body shivering. “One,” he said, his voice cracking even with the single word.

“Better,” she said. Then she took another strike, making sure to cross over the three clear lines already forming on his skin.

It took nearly a minute before he could speak again. When he finally croaked out the word “Two,” the skin on his ass was burning to the touch. Another few hits, she knew, and she'd have broken the skin.

Carol didn't have to tell him to hold still while she unhooked his ankles. She doubted he could move yet anyway, and he was smart enough not to. She walked back around even more slowly, running her finger up his back, feeling the sweat sticking his shirt against his flesh like a second skin. That gave her an idea.

First, she bent down to grab his wrists. “Be good,” she whispered, “or I'm going to put on a strap on and fuck the sin right out of you. If you think your ass hurts now, just think about what that will feel like.”

She took his whimper as agreement, and stood up, taking the chain at his wrists with her. Up above them, a steel chord with a latching hook waited. She checked to make sure the wrist shackles were on right, the leather spread out enough to distribute his weight, and then put the chain between them onto the hook. At a gesture, the steel chord began to move up again. She stopped it while his toes were still on the floor and began taking off her rosary.

“Our father,” she said, gripping the cross in one hand and running her other down his shirt. “Who art in heaven.” She ran the knotted rope over his shoulder, “hallowed be thy name.” She teased the rope against his legs. “Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done,” she slid it against his burning ass, and he whimpered. “On earth as it is in heaven.”

She stepped around to his front and looked him in the eye. Even dangling as he was, she was still able to look at him without tilting her head. “Now all you have to do is say a Hail Mary,” she said. “Say it perfectly, and I won't make you go through the rest of the rosary prayer.”

He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and started talking. “Hail Mary, full of grace--”

She took a swing with the knotted rope, lashing against his back and watching it whirl around his chest. She pulled back at the last second, snapping the whip at the very end.

He looked at her, sweat beading on his forehead.

She gave him an innocent look. “Go ahead,” she said, pushing the strand of red hair out of her face. “I didn't say stop.”

“The- the Lord is with thee,” he said. She lashed again, snapping the knotted whip against his shoulder and around to his stomach. “Blessed art thou--” another lash from the other side made his voice crack again. His face was bright red, and she knew there were tears mixed in with the sweat dripping down his face. He gritted his teeth and spoke through a clenched jaw “among women.”

He paused, but Carol had taken a step away, taking the whip by the top and leaving the leather cross to hang free.

“And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,” he said.

She let loose a massive swing, the cross slamming into his balls with enough force that Carol heard people in the audience shifting in their seats.

“Jesus!” he gasped, curling up, a ball of pain hanging by his wrists over the pew.

Carol laughed as she put the rosary back on. Then she grabbed his ankles and yanked him back to a straight position, which made him yelp in pain again. He tried to curl again, and she grabbed his crotch tight.

“Stand straight,” she said, her voice full of menace. She squeezed.

He whimpered, but forced himself to stand.

“How many times?” she asked, her hand still tight on his crotch. “How many times did you touch yourself, you disgusting sinner?”

“Five times,” he said. She squeezed. “Five since my last confession, Sister Carol!” he screamed.

She let him go, and he whimpered again.

“Five,” she said. She rolled her head, cracking her neck. She gestured, and he was lowered towards the floor, far enough that he could, just barely, get his knees on the floor. “Then it will take five kicks to purify you,” she said. “Five kicks that you will accept with open legs. You will thank me for your penance. Do you understand, sinner?” She kicked him between the legs. Not terribly hard, but hard enough to make him squeeze his eyes tight in agony.

“Yes Sister Carol.”

“And when you have taken your five kicks,” she kicked him again, just a little bit harder, “You will thank me for saving your soul.”

“Yes Sister Carol.”

“It won't be that bad,” she said, patting him on the head. “Just five more kicks.”

He whimpered, but knew better than to correct her.

“Five kicks. And then,” she took a step back to measure the distance. “Then you can thank me by taking that tongue, the source of your salvation, and you can lick my boots. You can lick the instruments of your penance.”

“Yes Sister Carol.”

“And you can lick the taste of your filthy sinner cock off them. Say thank you, boy.”

“Thank you, Sister Carol.”

She took a big swing, kicking him as hard as she could. He was lifted almost to his feet, and crashed down so hard that if he hadn't been held by the chain, his knees would have slammed against the concrete. Carol wondered briefly if his shoulders would be okay. But while he sobbed in agony, he never once said his safe word.

Four more, a nice boot cleaning, and then she'd see if there was anything else she wanted to do. Anything else that might help... purify him.

The smile on her face was chilling to see when she took her second kick. He screamed. She moaned in sadistic pleasure.

Three more kicks. Then a boot licking.

And she was just getting started.