by ESBink
Rachel Has A Journey Into Sex and Submission
I had only been home a couple of times since Mom’s funeral, on leave from the Army. When I was discharged, I bummed around a few weeks. Then I hitch-hiked home. It was dark when I went up the front steps of the house. I was surprised to find the door locked.
I was even more surprised when a tall, dark-haired woman answered the door. She was full-figured, dressed in a tailored suit that showed off her curves. She looked thirty-five, maybe forty. I didn’t know what to say, but she said, “You must be Howard Jr. I recognize you from your picture. Please, call me Mother.”
I guess I just stood there with my mouth open. “Oh, you didn’t know your father remarried, did you? We wrote to your last known address, but the letter was returned, undeliverable, no forwarding address. Well, come on in. This is still your home, you know. Welcome. Would you like something to eat? A cup of coffee, anyway.”
I went on in, dropped my duffle bag by the door, and followed her to the kitchen. The place had changed. New curtains, things like that. Kind of spooky. “Where’s Dad?” I said.
He got a better job, with Carstairs. He’s on a run to Duluth. I don’t know just when he’ll be back. Sugar? Milk?”
“Black’s fine.” I had a thousand questions to ask, but I didn’t know where to start. “Uh, have you been married long?”
“About six weeks.”
At that point, there was a tentative knock on the front door. She motioned to me to stay put, and she went to the door.
A moment later, she was back, with a more slender version of herself, obviously her daughter.
“Howard, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is Howard, your step- father’s son. Say hello to Howard.”
“Hello, Howard, I’m pleased to meet you.”
The older woman pointed at the kitchen clock. Rachel looked at it and said, “I’m sorry, Mother. I know I’m late, and I’m truly sorry.” That seemed strange. It wasn’t much past ten, and Rachel looked at least eighteen, old enough not to have a curfew.
“Well?” said her mother, sternly.
“I suppose I must be punished.”
“Yes. Howard will do it, now that there is a man in the house. Rachel, prepare yourself.” Rachel meekly turned and went down the cellar stairs. “Howard,” her mother said, “would you like another cup of coffee, while we wait?”
“Uh, no, thank you. What’s this business about Howard will do it? Do what?”
“Admonish Rachel. She’s such an unruly child. I’ve had to discipline her, all these years, but it really takes a man’s hand. You won’t tell your father, will you? He doesn’t know how disobedient she can be sometimes. Now that you are here, well, I’m sure you will be a good influence on her.”
“I’m not sure I go along with that. I don’t want to…”
“Howard! I am your step-mother now, and I insist you to live by the rules of the house. We are orderly here, disciplined. You must do as I say, as long as your father is absent. Tell me you will.”
“Well, OK. I guess so.”
“Well, I think it’s time you did your duty,” she said. She got up and pointed toward the cellar stairs. She followed me. It was pitch black, as soon as she bolted the door. I felt my way down the stairs and waited at the bottom. A match flared, and she lit some candles. I couldn’t figure out why, as there were electric lights down there.
The first thing I saw was a huge crucifix, in full color, with blood flowing from Christ’s wounds. Then I saw Rachel. She was standing there, stark naked. The candle light gleamed on her skin, casting strange shadows, which seemed to ripple across her
breasts and linger between her legs. I couldn’t help it. I got a hard-on.
Her mother went to an old cupboard which used to hold Mom’s canning jars. “Rachel?”
“Yes, Mother.”
The mother handed me leather cuffs with a short chain between them. “Howard, put these on Rachel.”
I hesitated. “Do as I say,” she said, pleasantly enough, as if she were giving me a cooking lesson. Rachel walked toward me, her breasts standing tall; I could see that her nipples had been pierced, and through each one was a gold ring, like an ear ring. I also saw she had no pubic hair, as if she’d been plucked or shaved. I could see her kind of swelling out, between her legs, and the slit down the middle. I’m no virgin, but I’d never had a view quite like that before. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see everything.
“Uh, Rachel, I really don’t like this. I…”
“Master,” she said, “we must all do our duty. I have it coming to me, for disobeying Mother.” She turned her back to me.
She had long, dark hair, which fell down her back like a curtain of black, all the way to her waist. She reached back and held her wrists a few inches apart. I buckled a cuff on each wrist, wondering what the hell I was doing there, but going along with
it, anyhow.
Mother pulled a rope down from a pulley on a beam overhead. She snapped a snap-hook over the chain, and told me to pull on the rope, the other end.
As I pulled on the rope, that raised Rachel’s cuffed hands behind her, making her bend over, so her ass stuck out behind, and her body was about level. Her long hair now hung down around her face, almost to the floor. The rings in her nipples hung free. I was told to keep the rope taut, and to wrap the free end around a cleat on the wall.
Mother handed me a wooden bar, about a yard long, with leather straps on the ends. “This is for the ankles, Howard.”
Reluctantly, I put a strap around each of Rachel’s ankles, which spread her legs and put more weight on her wrenched arms. It must have been uncomfortable, yet Rachel did not complain, didn’t say a thing. As I raised up from my task, I found myself right behind her, my face inches from her crotch. Her vaginal lips, entirely hairless, were spread slightly now, and what had been a demure crease was now opening, showing pink within. Mother stood beside me, holding a candle so I could see better. Silently, she reached down and spread Rachel’s outer lips, so her ragged inner lips became visible, glistening with moisture. They, too, had been pierced, and there were three gold studs fastening them together.
“Doesn’t that hurt her?” I asked.
“A necessary precaution, lest she misbehave with boys.” I was speechless. “Rachel must remain a virgin until the day she marries, as the Good Book tells us. You would never let a boy touch you there, would you, Rachel?”
“No, Mother.”
“But Master Howard, he can touch you there, can’t he, if I say he can.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Mother, however, did not authorize such a thing. She handed me a long thin rod, like a fishing pole, with a handle on the end. “I think, at first, twenty strokes, for a warm-up. Rachel, you will count the strokes.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I’ve never done anything like this, ” I protested. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“It is your duty, Howard; spare the rod and spoil the child. I will instruct you,” said Mother. She pushed me aside and stood, feet apart, almost like a batter in the batter’s box. The limber rod swished through the air and went splat, bending itself around Rachel’s right buttock, rebounding like a spring, leaving a red mark across her ass.
“One,” gasped Rachel.
The second blow was a backhand across the left buttock.
“Two,” grunted Rachel. Mother swung again. Leaving a stripe across the backs of Rachel’s legs, right at the top, where the skin creases. “Three.” Bent over as she was, the rod had also hit her puffy cunt lips, bruising them painfully. Juices began to run down Rachel’s legs, gleaming in the light of the candles.
“Observe, how effective it is to lay two blows on the same place.” She swished the rod exactly where she had before.
This time a cry of anguish escaped Rachel. “I didn’t hear you, Rachel,” said her mother.
“Four.”
Mother handed me the rod. “You may commence the punishment, twenty strokes.”
“But she already had four.”
“That was just to show you. They don’t count. The twenty must come from her master. Do you need any more instruction?”
I knew I had to do it. I went ahead and gave her twenty whacks with the rod, with her counting each one and sometimes breaking into sobs, which made me stop and, as Mother pointed out, just prolonged the punishment. If I didn’t hit Rachel hard enough, her mother made me do it over. I tried not to hit the same place twice, which meant that Rachel had pink stripes up and down her backside from above her knees to the small of her back.
When she had called out, “Twenty,” she added, “Thank-you, Master.”
“That was not bad, for a beginner,” said Mother. “Note the effect of a good caning.”
She held a candle close to Rachel’s ass. Her cunt was drenched with juices. Mother guided my hand over the inflamed skin of the buttocks and thighs, over the damp skin of Rachel’s cunt lips, which, I swear, quivered when I touched them.
“Howard,” said Mother. “I see that you are aroused.” I couldn’t conceal the fact that my penis was pushing up on my belt buckle. “Rachel, don’t you think you should thank your master, for what he has given you?”
“Yes, Mother. Thank-you, Master.”
“I meant you should thank him in a more tangible way, with, perhaps, some little service which would please him.” Mother pulled on Rachel’s arms, to get some slack, then unhooked the rope from the chain between Rachel’s wrists and let her sink to her knees. “Until now, Rachel has trained only with rubber goods. Now that you are here, she should learn with the real thing.” Mother undid my belt and unzipped my fly, pulling my pants down enough to let my meat stand tall. “Rachel, you can thank Howard for a little while, while I watch.”
Rachel, with her hands still cuffed behind her back and her legs spread by the bar, moved on her knees across the concrete floor. “Do you want me to take those things off?” I asked.
“Mother wouldn’t like it, Master.” Without hesitation, she put her lips around the knob of my prick. Oh my, it felt good.
I reached down for her tits. “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked.
“Master, I am pleased to have received your blows, for which I thank you. It would be sinful to want more. You are a very good disciplinarian. I fear I may find myself misbehaving more often, now that you are here, Master. If I should backslide, it would be your duty to punish me more harshly.”
All this talk delayed the blow job, and Mother said,
“Rachel, I thought I had taught you better than that. Can’t you make him come?”
Damn, the mood was spoiled. I had been about ready to shoot into Rachel’s mouth; but with Mother watching, I couldn’t. Somehow, it put me off.
“A little more diligence, Rachel,” said Mother, “or you shall be punished additionally.” Rachel slurped at my rod, her head bobbing like a woodpecker’s. I wanted to cum, but the more I wished it, the harder it became.
Mother told Rachel to stop. “Rachel, you have failed your womanly duty. A man must never be left in that condition, lest he be tempted to the sin of Onan and spill his seed upon the ground.” My prick was standing there, still wet from Rachel’s mouth, and I watched, helplessly, as Mother hooked Rachel’s chain to the rope again. “Rachel, you will find this unpleasant, of course, but that is the price of a poor performance.”
Mother went to the cupboard, took out a long rubber hose, and went to the laundry tub. She let the water run until it was hot, then turned it off and screwed the end of the hose onto the threaded faucet. On the other end was a rubber bag, like a big balloon. Mother approached Rachel from the rear and deftly inserted the hose into Rachel’s ass hole. Rachel must have known it was coming and relaxed, or it would have hurt, with no grease or anything. Mother put my hand on the hose and said, “Please hold it in, Howard.”
She turned on the hot water tap, not very far. I could feel the hot water flowing through the hose, and I knew it must be almost burning Rachel’s insides. The big balloon was slowly filling with water, working its way deeper and deeper into Rachel’s rectum. Rachel, almost hanging from her taut arms, began grunting, gasping, as if in great pain, as the rubber bag, uncomfortably hot, stretched her insides.
Pretty soon the pressure inside was so great that the rubber bag began to stretch her anus and bulge out of her enlarged opening. Fascinated, I watched as her little asshole stretched, an inch, two, until I was afraid she might tear or something. I let go of the hose, and the rubber bag, big as a football, came oozing out, as if she was having a baby. “Ahhh!” she cried; I don’t know whether it was pain or relief from the pressure.
The hot water bag plopped on the floor, and I stared at her stretched anus, not yet closed, showing pink inside. “Well, what are you waiting for, Howard? Fuck her in the ass.”
My prick was ready. In seconds I plunged it into her, and her muscles clamped down on it ten times harder than her lips could have. I grabbed her hips with both hands and bucked and pushed and fucked her ass. It was so hot and tight. Rachel was going “Oh, Ah, OHHH!” Either she liked it, or she was a great actress.
In seconds, I unloaded into her. It was the first time I had ever fucked a woman in the ass. I suppose I should have used a condom, to prevent infection, but one thing about butt-fucking, it doesn’t get them pregnant.
My step-mother seemed satisfied. “You have done well, Howard. I believe I will retire, now. You do whatever you think necessary, but remember, the studs stay in.” She went up the stairs, left the cellar door unlocked.
I took off the cuffs and the leg spreader. Rachel just stood there, gleaming in the candle light, her hair damply over her shoulders. Her backside and thighs were pink from her whippings, though the color was fading. I took a candle and held it close to her face. She rose up in her toes and kissed me on the lips. I kissed her back with real enthusiasm.
“Rachel,” I whispered, “I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”
“Don’t be sorry, Master,” she replied. “I am truly fortunate that you are here.”
“But I whipped you.”
“My mother would have whipped me harder.”
“The hose. That must have hurt.”
“Mother would not have released it so soon.”
“And then, I…”
“I am used to that, but my mother uses a very large rubber dildo. I liked having you in me. I gave you pleasure, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes.”
I led Rachel up to the bathroom, and we showered together. I soaped her all over, being careful not to pull on her nipple rings. It took a long time, to get every nook and cranny clean. Then she soaped me and scrubbed me. I came in her hand.
When we had dried each other off, I took her to my old room, and we shared the bed. I didn’t fuck her again. We just cuddled and talked and got to be real good friends. And, of course, we slept in each other’s arms.
PART 2
It was great, waking up to find Rachel’s naked body snuggled up against mine. The previous night, at her mother’s insistence, I had beaten Rachel and butt-fucked her, but Rachel says she is so happy that I care about her. I was confused; I’d had less than eight hours to get used to the fact that I had a step-mother and a step-sister.
We went downstairs, and Mother suggested Rachel cook breakfast. We ate, behaving as if nothing strange had happened the previous night. Rachel left for work, and I went out to look
for work.
Rachel got home minutes after I did, and Dad showed up, back from a run to Duluth, just in time for supper. He kissed his new wife at the door, and then he saw me.
“Howard!” he yelled, “You are home.” He pumped my hand, hugged me, told me how happy he was to see me. “You’ve met your Priscilla and Rachel, I see. Aren’t they a pair of beauties?”
“Yes, I’ve met them. And yes, they are quite a pair.”
Mother smiled at me approvingly.
Dad and I monopolized the conversation over dinner, as I filled him in about my life in the Army and he told me about his new job and meeting Priscilla. He’s a deacon of the church. She just showed up one Sunday, and one thing led to another.
“You know,” he said to me conspiratorially, “after your mother died, I wasn’t much interested in women. But Priscilla, she’s something special. When I realized how she could turn me on, I just had to marry her. I tried to invite you to the wedding, but I couldn’t contact you; you’d already been discharged.”
After dinner, Dad handed me a twenty and said, “Son, why don’t you take Rachel out tonight? She doesn’t have to work tomorrow. Stay out late, at least until midnight.” He glanced at Priscilla, who smiled back at him.
I was happy enough to do that, to give him and his bride some privacy. Rachel and I changed into more casual clothes and stepped out onto the front porch. “Rachel,” I said as we left, “should we stop at Riley’s for a drink?”
“I don’t touch alcohol,” she said.
“An ice cream soda, then?”
“Let’s just go for a walk.”
We walked around town until it got dark, and we found ourselves close to home. Rachel led me quietly across the lawn and lay down in the grass, close to a cellar window. It had been painted over with black paint, but there were some scratches in the paint, like peep holes, and a corner of one pane was broken out. We lay side by side, holding hands, and peered in.
It was the same part of the cellar that we had been in the night before, lighted with several candles. My father was there, still in his work clothes, pacing the floor. Then Rachel’s mother came down the cellar stairs.
She was wearing a bizarre outfit. She had on a black hood and cape. Around her throat was a leather band, like a dog collar, with gleaming spikes sticking out. Her ample breasts were held up by a leather bra, each cup a kind of network of narrow leather straps, with a gleaming metal stud riveting each intersection of the straps. The tip of each cup was open, so that her nipples stuck out. Unlike Rachel’s, they had no gold rings through them. Beneath the bra was a tight leather corset which went from her tits to her hips and gave her an hourglass figure. She had high-heeled black boots that reached halfway up her ample thighs. Between the black of the corset and the black of the boots was only pale white skin and a triangle of curly black pubic hair. Chrome plated chains criss-crossed Mother’s torso, draped across her belly, and her arms had metal bracelets above and below her elbows.
“Did you miss me, when you were away?” she said.
“Yes, Mistress.” His prick hung limp.
“Don’t deny it, you have sinned,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress, I confess, for he who has lusted in his heart has committed adultery,” said my father. “I deserve whatever punishment I get.” I had never seen him like this; he always dominated my mother when she was alive.
“Take off your clothes.”
He did, hanging them neatly on nails in a floor joist. I had never seen my father naked. Rachel just looked and said nothing.
While Dad was getting undressed, his new wife shed her cape and hood and went into the dark part of the cellar. She came back dragging a thing that turned out to be a pillory, like the pictures of old New England. Submissively, my naked father put his head and hands in the notches of a lower board, while Priscilla fastened the upper piece over them. After that, we couldn’t see his face, just his naked body bent over with his ass toward us.
“How many times did you sin, Husband?”
“Many times. I lost count, Mistress.”
“Then you have much repenting to do,” she said. She fitted a black cup over his balls and laced it into place. Then she ran hot water from the laundry tub faucet. From the cupboard she took out an enema set, poured some liquid soap into the bag and filled it with hot water. She slipped the slender nozzle into his anus and let the soapy water flow. “Don’t let anything come out,” she ordered. She fitted a bridle-like thing over his face, with a bit in his mouth, which gagged him. Father patiently endured this and his enema. All this was new to me; I didn’t remember our ever owning an enema bag, before Priscilla came.
Then she lashed his ass with a cat ‘o nine tails from the cupboard. I realized the whip must have been soft rubber or something like that, for it didn’t do any real damage. The cup over the balls protected them. Still, each blow left nine pink stripes on Dad’s ass, until it was pink all over. Priscilla surveyed her handiwork and walked around her pilloried husband, commenting on the consequences of sin. Soap bubbles oozed out from between my father’s buttocks, and Priscilla screamed, “Hold it in, or I shall give you twice as much next time.” She gave him three more lashes, as hard as she could. A stream of soapy water poured forth.
“Howard,” she said, “I’m disappointed with you. You disobeyed me.” She repeated the enema procedure, twice. I was amazed that Dad could hold it all, a gallon or so of hot, soapy water. When she had removed the nozzle, warning him again not to spill a drop, she postured in front of his face, taunting him. She fingered her bushy cunt, while he was unable to do anything. Finally, she said, “All right, Howard, you may let go of the water now.” Water gushed out, spraying soap suds on the floor. The soapy water ran slowly toward a drain in the floor. Then let him free of the gag and of the pillory.
His penis now stood tall. Priscilla bent over a padded bench, presenting her backside to him, the curly fur coat of her cunt contrasting with the pale white skin of her ass and thighs. “I wife should never leave her husband in such a state of arousal, Howard. You may relieve yourself, now.”
My father plunged his prod into her from behind and fucked her violently, holding her hips as I had held Rachel’s. Priscilla must have been aroused, too, for Dad’s prick slipped right in. It didn’t take long before he was pumping his semen into Priscilla’s cunt.
When Dad had withdrawn from her, she lay down on her back on the bench, with her feet on the floor either side of the bench and her knees spread. “Howard,” she said, “wash me, with your tongue.”
Submissively, my father got down and put his head between her thighs. She reached down to hold his face against her as he lapped at her damp bush.
“What do you suppose they’ll do next?” I whispered to Rachel?
“I think they’ll be a while, doing that. Mother seems to enjoy that. We can’t go back in the house until they are done. They will expect us to stay out until midnight.”
“Has anyone ever done that to you?”
“No, never. You are the first man who has ever touched me there.”
“Where should we go now?” I said, quietly into her ear.
“There’s the old barn, behind the house,” she whispered back.
I helped Rachel to her feet, and we tiptoed across the darkened lawn to the garage.
Rachel and I slipped into the old barn by the back door. It had once been a stable, but there had been no horses for years. It simply smelled of old hay and dust. An ancient Hudson sedan was parked behind the big sliding barn door, up on blocks. To our dark adapted eyes, just enough moonlight seeped in so we could find our way.
Rachel, without being told, climbed the ladder to the hay loft. She climbed a great mound of hay and sprawled across the top. The door in the gable, where they had hauled the hay up, was open, letting in the ghostly moonlight. Through the door we could see the back of the house, but, of course, no one could see us, deep in the shadows. A light was on in our parents’ room.
“Rachel,” I said, “you are the most beautiful woman in the state.”
“You are just flattering me.”
“No, I mean it. Just looking at you makes me wild with desire.”
“It is not right for a woman to so tempt a man. If I could hide myself, I would.”
“You know I have seen you naked, soaped every bit of your body. We slept naked in each other’s arms. You can’t take the memory away from me, so it would do no good for you to hide.”
“But still, it is wrong for me to incite lust in you.”
“Take off your clothes.”
“No.”
“Do I have to do it for you?”
“Yes.” I reached for her, but she rolled away. I reached for her again, but she threw a handful of hay at me. “I mean to have you naked, Rachel.”
“You will have to do it yourself.”
I chased her across the unsteady surface of the hay; she was quick and agile. At last, I caught an ankle, and she tumbled, face down, in the hay. Quickly, I sat on her legs and dragged her skirt up over her back. There wasn’t much she could do to stop me.
I had to reach behind me to take off her shoes, one by one. She wasn’t wearing pantyhose, just white cotton panties. I pulled at the waistband, trying to pull them down over her hips. She wriggled, as if trying to escape, by the effect was to make it easier for me. However, I could slide the panties only as far as her mid-thighs, for I was sitting on her knees.
When I shifted my weight, to pull her undergarment under me, she squirmed and tried to get away. I rolled her on her back, and she put both feet against my chest, trying to kick me away. In the resulting scramble, I grabbed her wrists and wrestled her face down, over my lap. I could hold her there with one hand, and with the other fondled her fleshy ass. She squeezed her legs together. I tried to force my hand between them, right at the top. “OW,” she squealed.
I gave her a firm but playful spank on her upturned buttocks and said, “Be quiet, wench.” She was quiet. I worked her panties downward until they bunched around her ankles. The white skin of her fleshy globes seemed almost to gleam in the gloom. Tenderly, I stroked the smooth skin with my finger tips. Rachel just lay there, lying across my legs, her face in the hay, her knees pressed together.
For a long time, it seemed, I was content to fondle her ass and to trail my fingers up and down her thighs or tickle her behind her knees, which made her squirm. Whenever she moved, her hip would rub my tall pole, through my jeans, and I thought I might ejaculate just thinking about her.
I found a dried weed stalk in the hay, and I used the end to gently prick her tender skin. It caused her to giggle and wriggle on my lap, and that really turned me on. I pulled her blouse free of her skirt, reached up her back and undid the hooks of her bra. But then I couldn’t keep myself from attending to her beautiful bottom, stroking, poking, squeezing, until I could hardly control my lust.
Without warning her, I wrestled Rachel onto her back and pinned her down with my weight. Her skirt was bunched at her waist, and in seconds her blouse and bra were pushed up to her arm pits, exposing her beautiful breasts with their rosy nipples.
On her back, Rachel could have used her arms to push me away, to scratch and fight, but she lay there, passive, allowing me to do what I would. I kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her ears, her mouth. Then I addressed each breast in turn, kissing, then licking, then gently sucking, taking each of the gold rings carefully into my mouth.
“Why do you torment me so?” she whispered. “Have I displeased you?”
I wedged my body between her knees, spreading them wide. I kissed her belly, there below the bunched up skirt, and said, “Rachel, my love, I am not punishing you. I am worshiping you.”
“That is sacrilege. One can worship only God,” she said, but she drew her knees up higher, contracting her stomach muscles, so I could get an even better view of her upturned slit. Reverently, I kissed her mons, kissed each vaginal lip. I lifted her knees with my arms and shoulders, so that she didn’t have to exert herself, and I began to blow on her inner thighs. Rachel sighed, relaxed, and lay back in the hay.
I found, as I licked her, that her pubic hair was beginning to grow back. In contrast with the silky smooth of her ass and inner thighs, there was just enough stubble in her crotch to increase the friction of my tongue on her most private places.
“Oh, Howard,” she moaned, “you make me think impure thoughts. You mustn’t.”
I slipped the tip of my tongue between her outer lips, which parted easily. I could taste the pleasant juices which drenched her cunt. When I tried to lick her inner lips, the metal studs which sealed her tunnel got in the way. But above the studs was another bump. Her little clitoris, like a pea, was accessible in her gaping groove.
I clamped my lips upon it, and she moaned. I sucked it into my mouth until I could flick it with the end of my tongue, and she gasped for breath. I opened my mouth and licked furiously. “Oh. Oh. Aaahh,” she cried, and she tried to clamp her thighs over my ears.
To have a woman respond like that is the thrill of a lifetime. I licked and sucked without relenting, as Rachel moaned and heaved her hips and pleaded, “Oh, Howard, don’t torment me. I can’t stand it.” I couldn’t count her orgasms, as she writhed under me, thrashing her arms, turning her head this way and that, and making animal-like noises in her ecstacy.
At last I released her and sat back. My face was wet with her juices, and my tongue ached from hard work. Rachel was utterly spent, sprawled there in the hay like a rag doll, covered with perspiration. The wet, white skin of her breasts and thighs reflected the faint moonlight, contrasting with the darkness of the barn.
I noticed that the kitchen light was on in the house.
I knelt beside her and kissed Rachel on the mouth.
Dreamily, she put her arms around me and kissed me back. My hand fell on her breast. “Mmmmm,” she hummed through our kiss.
Then we just held each other, lying together, there in the hay. My prick still strained at my jeans, but Rachel was so relaxed, so dreamy, that I wouldn’t ask her to take care of that. There would be time, later.
The kitchen light went out, and a minute later, the bedroom light went out. “I guess we can go home now,” I said to Rachel.
“Mmmm?”
“Time to go home.” I helped her up. Her panties were still around her ankles, full of hay. Had I simply pulled her panties up, she would have had bits of hay pressed into her crotch. It was easier just to have her step out of them. I fondled her breasts, briefly, and put her bra back where it belonged. We tucked her blouse back in her skirt and tried to pull the hay from her hair and clothes.
In the solitude of the summer night, we walked together across the lawn, holding hands. A gentle breeze stirred her skirt, and she shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling of cool air on her naked cunt. Quietly, we let ourselves in the back door and made our way to our room. I had been home for only a day, but already I was in love.
PART 3
Father went on another long, interstate delivery run, and my step-mother grew cranky and irritable. She accused Rachel of losing her mother’s favorite kitchen knife and ordered to the basement. When I refused to punish Rachel, Priscilla said she would do it herself.
Rachel undressed by candlelight while her mother and I watched. The pillory which Priscilla had used on my father was still set up. She installed Rachel with her neck and hands clamped in place, low enough that she was bent at the waist. I could not help admiring Rachel’s beautifully shaped buttocks, gleaming in the candle light, and my penis stood tall in my loose slacks.
“Stealing is crime enough to warrant your punishment,” hissed Priscilla, “but you have also sinned against God, with impure thoughts. You have tempted your brother to lust for you. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Rachel remained silent. Priscilla went to the infamous cupboard and returned with and assortment of hardware. She hung weights from the rings in Rachel’s nipples, pulling her breasts into pendulous cones, like stalactites. She put the leg-spreader bar on Rachel herself, not asking me to do it. That exposed all of Rachel’s genital area to view. She put clamps on each of Rachel’s beautiful, bare labia, the ones I so liked to kiss. She put a round pipe on blocks under Rachel’s feet, to raise her ass higher and to increase her discomfort. I seethed inwardly, to see the object of my love so abused, but there seemed little I could do.
“Confess your sins, Rachel, so we can get this over with,” said her mother. Rachel remained silent. “Since there is no repentance, the punishment is doubled: fifty blows.”
“No!” I screamed. “That would kill her.”
“What do you know, Howard? She is my daughter. I’ll punish her, while you watch.” She used the rod again, skillfully, methodically, striking hard, putting livid stripes across Rachel’s buttocks and thighs, while the tormented girl counted the strokes. At number sixteen, one of the clamps was jarred loose from Rachel’s cunt lip, leaving yet another red contusion. At twenty-two, the other clamp pulled loose. Rachel’s bruised outer lips gaped open; I could see the wet groove between them, and the three studs which fastened her inner lips together, to preserve her virginity. At twenty-five strokes, Rachel was still bearing up well to her punishment, but her mother decided to pause.
“Rachel, confess your sins,” she insisted. Rachel said nothing.
“Priscilla,” I said, “I know of no sin of which Rachel is guilty.”
“She causes her mother pain. I must sleep alone, while you and she share the same bed! You can’t tell me she has not tempted you to impure thoughts, perhaps even impure actions. How do I know that she hasn’t removed the studs and let you ruin her?”
“You know because I assure you that she has not, and I have not removed them, and even if they were removed, I would not participate in her breaking her promise to remain a virgin until she marries.”
“I will look for myself!” Rachel’s mother took a candle and held it close. I’m sure the Rachel felt the heat on her tender lower cheeks. She roughly spread Rachel’s cunt lips, wet with vaginal juices, and began to unscrew the studs, pulling each out as it came apart. She tried to part the pink inner labia, but, for a moment, they seemed stuck together.
“Perhaps, Priscilla, they have grown together, proof of her virginity.”
“Nonsense! I remove them every time she has her monthly period.” She pulled the tender membranes apart and peered within. Apparently satisfied, she replaced each stud and screwed it down tight, tight enough that Rachel cried out in pain. In spite of my promise not to touch them, I resolved to loosen them the first chance I got. I stepped closer to Rachel, appalled by the thoroughness of her beating, the degree of redness and swelling of her bottom. She would surely have to sleep on her tummy tonight. And the punishment by Priscilla was only half over!
The twisted mother went to the cupboard and returned with a large rubber bulb which had a long, black tube protruding. I think it was from an auto store, for filling batteries or some such mundane use. Priscilla filled the bulb with clear fluid; I smelled turpentine. Then she spritzed Rachel’s red vaginal membranes.
“Oh, God, it burns!” cried my love. I moved to stop her mother, who quickly thrust the stiff tube into Rachel’s anus and emptied the rest of the bulb’s contents into her bowels. “Aaahh!” cried the victim. It was more than I could stand.
I wrestled my step-mother to the floor of the basement. She fought back, until I found a length of rope and tied her hands behind her. Then I released Rachel from the pillory.
My lovely “sister” was clearly in pain. I removed the weights from her nipple rings and tried to figure a way to relieve the burning inside her. From the cupboard I took one of the infamous torture hoses, hooked it to the faucet in the laundry tub, and turned on cool water. As best I could, I washed Rachel’s inflamed genitals, even directing the stream in between the studs, as he mother had injected the burning fluid deep into her daughter. What the hell, I loosened them and douched Rachel’s inflamed love tunnel with a powerful stream of water.
I had to pause, to hobble Priscilla, for she had struggled to her feet and was screaming imprecations, maledictory curses and threats. I tied her ankles together, my rage giving me extra strength, and then I tied her ankles to her wrists, making sure she could not get up again. Then I directed the stream of water into Rachel’s rectum, hoping the cool water would relieve the burning. Still, Priscilla shouted. “Priscilla,” I said, if you do not desist, I’ll have Rachel shit on you.”
“I couldn’t do that to my own mother,” Rachel said.
I forced Rachel to stand straddling her mother’s body, and I held the long hose in her anus, even after water began to leak out around the hose. “Howard,” said Rachel, “I’m going to explode.”
I pulled the hose out of Rachel’s rectum and watched with satisfaction as brown, smelly water gushed onto the woman on the floor. That shut her up. “Rachel,” I said, “bear this a little longer. Let me know if it hurts too much. I inserted the still running hose again, waiting until the internal pressure caused her anus to stretch and as much water leaked out as went in.
“This will clean you off, dear step-mother,” I said, as I released another fountain from Rachel’s bowels. I did it again and again.
“Please, Howard,” Rachel said, “stop.” I did. “I’m sorry mother,” she said. “I couldn’t help it.” I let Rachel go. She squatted over the drain in the floor and let the last of her awful enema drain out. I began to think that perhaps I had behaved badly, that I should release the wretched woman I had so degraded. The knots in her ropes were wet, hard to untie. I went to the cupboard to get something to help me release her. It was there I saw the knife.
“This is the same knife you accused Rachel of stealing,” I said calmly. “You took it, you framed her, so you could punish her.”
“So you could punish her, Howard.”
“Yes. The first night I was here, you made me punish Rachel and fuck her ass, knowing I would like that and be your accomplice in the future. The problem is, I’ve come to love Rachel. I don’t want to hurt her. On the other hand…”
I used the knife to cut the ropes which bound Priscilla’s feet to her wrists. I pulled her up and forced her neck and arms into the pillory. Then I locked her into it. I removed the leg-spreader from Rachel and placed it on my step-mother’s ankles, forcing her to stand on the pipe. Now, except that she was clothed, she was in exactly the same condition that she had placed her daughter in. Rachel cowered in the shadows, appalled at what I had done to her mother.
“Rachel, your mother punished you for a crime she herself committed. You should punish her,” I said.
“I can’t,” she said. “She’s my mother.”
“She’s not my mother,” I said. “I must administer justice myself.” I yanked at Priscilla’s cheap cotton house dress, without much effect. So I used the knife. I took my time, cutting away the shit-soaked dress, cutting away her underthings, leaving her entirely naked.
“Priscilla,” I said, “confess your sins.” She remained silent. “You stand convicted of bearing false witness. You shall be punished.”
I picked up the rubber bulb and filled it with turpentine. My step-mother’s bare bottom was thrust out, her cunt clearly visible between her spread legs. I fingered her furry cunt lips. I picked up the fallen clamps and placed them on her labia. She gritted her teeth, but would not cry out. I thrust the black tube deep into Priscilla’s vagina. Then I expelled the contents into her.
The effect was immediate. She groaned and made mewling noises through her clenched jaws, bouncing up and down on her toes and shaking her ass, as if that would lessen the burning of the fluid inside her. I refilled the bulb filled her rectum with irritant. “An eye for an eye, Priscilla; that’s God’s law,” I intoned.
“You gave Rachel twenty-five strokes,” I continued. “You shall receive the same. Count them out loud, Priscilla.” I whacked her with the rod. She didn’t count. “They don’t count, unless you count them, Priscilla.” I whacked again, as hard as I could, leaving a big red welt across her ass.
“One,” she croaked. Whack. “Two.”
On number sixteen, I slashed downward with the rod and knocked both clamps off her cunt. As they clattered to the floor, I was reminded of the weights. I put the fallen clamps on her nipples, and hung the same weights upon them which had tortured Rachel’s breasts. Rachel covered her eyes with her hands. “Let’s see, Priscilla, where did we leave off on the count?”
I whipped the rod just where I knew the tip would strike her swollen cunt lips. She gasped, then managed to call out, “Seventeen.”
After the twenty-fifth blow, she said, “Howard, I’m burning up inside.” I picked up the still running hose and adjusted it to its coldest and strongest setting. Then thrust the hose deep into Priscilla’s cunt. Water gushed out over my hand; I could see her inner lips fluttering in the flow. My prick was so swollen, I felt like fucking her then and there, but I restrained myself. Instead I applied the hose to her rectum.
She cried out, and almost instantly the pressure stretched her anus, so water spayed over my hand. I pulled the hose and watched her spew the contents of her bowels on the floor. I repeated, again and again, until only clear, cold water gushed out of her. I played the cold water over her inflamed, red ass cheeks; it probably reduced the pain a bit. Then I left her there in the pillory to savor the indignity of it all while I hosed off the floor and sluiced the last of the shitty water down the drain.
Rachel removed her hands from her eyes. “Howard, how could you do that to my mother?” she said.
“Justice must be done. Now, here I am with a stiff prick. I think I’ll fuck her ass.”
“No, Howard, no. Do it to me, instead,” said Rachel.
I went back to inspect my work, noting that Priscilla’s clitoris was standing tall, like a little penis. I went back to the cupboard and found a variety of appliances, at least half a dozen dildoes and vibrators. “I’ll bet she’s used these on you, hasn’t she, Rachel.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
I selected the items I needed and prepared for the next phase. First, I took the biggest dildo I could find and slowly pushed it into Priscilla’s vagina, stretching her inner lips with its thickness, pushing on her womb with its length. The dildo had straps, to hold it on when someone used it to fuck another person. The same straps could be used to hold it in. I buckled the waist strap, led another up between her buttocks to attach at the waist, behind. I took one of the hoses which had a balloon to hold it in place. Pushing the dildo strap aside, I inserted the hose and pumped up the balloon. It would not come out until Priscilla’s ass hole stretched to a couple of inches, perhaps not even then, as the dildo strap pressed the hose in. I connected the hose to the faucet and let a mere trickle of hot water enter the hose. It might take an hour to fill Priscilla; I’d let her savor the slow torment of her bowels, stretching slowly, inexorably, as the water gurgled into her. Oh, yes, one last thing. I selected a vibrator, slipped it into the hollow dildo, and turned it on. I could imagine the vibrations would be transmitted by the fluid in her bowels, until her whole abdomen shook.
I found a plastic covered mat and laid it on the floor in front of Priscilla, almost under her nose. I led Rachel to it and made her recline on the mat, placing a pillow under her lower back, to relieve the weight on Rachel’s battered backside. “Observe, Priscilla, how Rachel gets what she deserves.”
With the utmost gentleness, I began to kiss and caress Priscilla’s daughter, right there in front of her. As I had in the barn, I began by kissing her eyelids, her ears, her mouth, her neck, her breasts. I spent a long time on her breasts, sucking them into my mouth, licking them. I progressed down Rachel’s belly, until I came to her shaven mound. I kissed her reddened labia, licked them, then buried my tongue between them.
Rachel moaned and bucked her hips, raising her vulva to meet my mouth. She shuddered with a crashing orgasm. “Howard,” she cried, “I love you.”
I paused to let her relax, while I checked on Priscilla. The vibrator still chugged away, still stretched her sheath to the limit. It was drenched with wet; Priscilla was sexually aroused. Behind, I tested the hose. She was filling up, perhaps a few quarts had flowed into her, but the pressure wasn’t yet high enough to damage her. The fluid would be gurgling ever higher into her bowels, almost boiling her from within. If it was not yet causing her real pain, she was at least suffering from the anxiety, the expectation, that the ache within her would soon become an excruciating pain. How like Priscilla, who got her sexual kicks from inflicting pain on others, to suffer both pain and sexual stimulation simultaneously.
I returned my attention to Rachel’s crotch, quickly bringing her to a series of rapid-fire orgasms which left her sweaty and exhausted. Without a word from me, she got up, rolled over, and presented her bottom to me. “Howard,” she said, “I want you inside me.”
The studs were still in her inner labia; I could not enter her proper love tunnel. To do so would have been appropriate punishment for her mother, who had put the studs there in the first place, but Rachel had long ago accepted them and was resolved to preserve her virginity. It wouldn’t be fair to Rachel.
Instead, I took off my pants and very gently placed the end of my painfully stiff prick against the rosebud of her anus. I could feel her relax. It slipped in, and it felt so good, to be inside my Rachel, that in seconds I had ejaculated, pumping my seed into her. “Oh, Howard,” she sighed. “That’s wonderful.”
Almost reluctantly, I withdrew. “Rachel,” I said, “why don’t you go and get our bed warm. I’ll be up in a little while.” Rachel got to her feet, dreamily, and slowly climbed the stairs.
“You see, Priscilla, you have taught me well. I had never ass-fucked anyone, until you made me do it to Rachel. Some punishment.”
Priscilla replied in halting gasps, as if the pressure in her abdomen made it difficult to talk. “Howard, it has all gone according to plan. Rachel loves you, and you love her. I made it happen. No one would think a young man would fall in love with his sister, but I made it happen, in only days. Take good care of her, Howard. — Ah, I’m going to be ripped apart!”
I released the straps on the big dildo. The pressure in her bowels, squeezing her vagina, forced it out like a bullet. I grasped the hose, still secured by the blown up balloon inside her anus, and I yanked on it. Her ass hole stretched frightfully, and then the balloon was expelled by a gush of hot water like the stream from a fire hose. It splashed against the walls and ran in rivers toward the drain. It was followed by lesser squirts, as her gut contracted in spasms, emptying itself.
“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed Priscilla. “I haven’t felt such relief since Rachel was born.” I fingered her swollen cunt, and I’m sure she had an orgasm, maybe several.
“Well, Priscilla, what am I going to do with you now? I still owe you twenty-five strokes, but I don’t want to bother with that, now. Later, maybe, if you don’t behave yourself. I could just leave you there, in the pillory, but if your legs gave out, you might choke.” I released her neck from the wooden yoke, cuffed her hands behind her back, left the leg-spreader on her. I laid her, belly down, on the mat and threw an old blanket over her. “Contemplate your sins, Priscilla, while I make love to your daughter,” I said, as I blew out the candles and went up the stairs.
PART 4
When I woke with the dawn, my lovely Rachel still slept, on her tummy, her legs in a vee and her beaten backside exposed, for even the weight of a sheet would have hurt. She did not have to go to work, so I let her sleep. I turned on the coffee maker. Then I went down to the cellar, turned on the lights, and looked at Rachel’s mother. She was in the same pose. The leg spreader forced her legs into a vee, and she had managed to shrug the blanket off her well beaten ass. She looked so much like her daughter, except for a more voluptuous figure.
I went to her room and got her leather bra and corset. I found some more things in the cupboard. Priscilla still slept, or pretended to, but I wakened her with a stroke of the cat ‘o nine tails across her ass. “Howard,” she pleaded, “let me go.”
“If I simply let you go, Priscilla, you will continue to abuse my father and your daughter. You have a choice. You can go, out of this house, leaving my father, or you can stay, and mend your ways. What will it be? Go or stay?”
“I’ll stay,” she replied.
“If you can’t take your medicine, you have only to dress and leave, but you won’t be welcome back.”
“I’ll take my medicine.”
“Priscilla,” I replied, “you need corrective training. Your sadistic impulses must be curbed. You must learn humility. By the time my father comes home, you will be a different woman.”
I picked her up, while her legs and wrists were still cuffed, and made her stand while I dressed her. I put the black leather corset on her, which went from below her large breasts down to her hips. I laced it tight, very tight. Then I took her leather bra, the one which was a net of leather, with metal studs at the intersections. I turned it inside out, so the points were inside, and put it on her, very tightly. The soft white flesh of her breasts squeezed out between the thin leather strands of the network cups, and her nipples bulged outward through their holes. From the cupboard, I took the bridle which she had used on my father and placed it over her face, the bit between her teeth. Then I released her hands and feet, so she could walk. “You will do what you are told. Do you understand?” She nodded. “Go into the kitchen and wait for me,” I ordered.
In the kitchen, I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Thirsty?” I asked. She nodded, standing there, naked from the hips down. I removed the bit from the bridle, so she could drink or talk, but left the straps in place, as a sort of symbolic gag. Then I took an empty plastic half-gallon milk jug and filled it with tepid tap water. “Drink this,” I said. Without replying, she began to drink. “You will drink half a gallon every hour, until I tell you you can stop, is that clear?”
“Yes, Howard.”
I fished an empty gallon jug from the recycling bag and set it on a chair. “When you need to pee, you will straddle this and urinate into it. Mind you don’t spill any. You will get nothing to eat, until you fill this jug.” I watched her drink the water. “Now, you will prepare a breakfast tray and take it to Rachel. If you are not sufficiently subservient and polite to her, I will gag you again.”
“Yes, Howard.”
“Rachel,” I said, when we had gone upstairs, “I don’t want you hurting yourself by sitting up. Your mother will feed you.” I watched as Priscilla, whose own ass must have been sore, fed her daughter breakfast in bed. Rachel remained prone, probably confused, while Priscilla fed her, scrambled eggs, toast, a bite at a time, and held the coffee mug to Rachel’s lips. When she was finished, I told Rachel that I wanted her to stay in bed all day, except for the bathroom, of course.
Downstairs, I watched as Priscilla began her task of collecting a gallon of urine, and I made her drink again. “I am going out for a while,” I said. “I want you to stay here until I return, unless Rachel requires your services, or you need to drink more water.” I went shopping, mostly at Radio Shack, and I bought a nice cigar. When I returned, the gallon jug was full, and Priscilla was standing patiently in the kitchen. I suppose it hurt to sit down.
“You didn’t cheat by adding water to the urine,” I asked.
“No, Howard.”
“Fix us some lunch.”
I went upstairs to See Rachel. She was still lying on her tummy, but she had a book on the floor and was reading. “Are you resting comfortably?”
“Yes, my love.”
One of my purchases was a large bottle of lotion which contained a soothing local anesthetic. I warmed some in my hands and smoothed the lotion over Rachel’s backside. She liked that. I put some on my finger and coated the inside of her anus. She liked that. I had her raise up on her knees, while I lay on my back between her legs and licked her love button until she came. She liked that. Then I had Priscilla bring her some lunch. By then, the lotion had relieved the pain, and Rachel sat up in bed to eat.
Back in the kitchen, I told Priscilla, “You are learning well. As a reward, you may bend over the table.” She planted her tits against the table and I smoothed the lotion over her sore ass. She liked that. I did not lick her cunt. When we had eaten, I went to prepare my next training aid, which involved using the tube which contained the cigar.
When I returned, Priscilla was in the process of filling another jug with her pee. “If that bra is hurting your breasts, I can fix that,” I said.
“Yes, please, Howard.”
I took it off, massaged her breasts with the lotion, and put the bra back on, properly, loosely, with the studs on the outside. “Thank you, Howard,” she said.
“When do you expect my father?”
“About four.”
“Good,” I said. “When he returns, I want you dressed just as you are. And this is how I want you to behave…” When I had explained all that, there was one more thing to do. I inserted the cigar tube, which now had little metal pimples on it, into her rectum. Her anus closed over it, so that all that showed was about a foot of plastic covered wire which hung limply between her legs. I held in my hand a small radio transmitter, from a toy car. “I will demonstrate this once. I trust I shall not have to do it again,” I said.
“Yes, Howard.”
I pressed the button on the transmitter. The radio signal pulsed the circuits in the cigar tube, sending about 100 milliamps of current through the muscles of her rectum.
“AHH!” she cried, stiffening, then relaxing, as the current ceased. “At the first sign of disobedience, I can do that again. And if that doesn’t teach you, I’ll put another in your cunt.”
“Yes, Howard, I’ll do whatever you say.”
“I’m going to give this to my father, if you don’t behave like a proper wife.”
“Yes, of course, Howard.”
I kept her busy the rest of the afternoon, cleaning house, doing laundry, preparing a special dinner for Dad. I didn’t have to use the new training device, and when we heard my father coming, I pulled it out.
Rachel and I watched surreptitiously as father came in the house. Priscilla was there to greet him, wearing her leather but stark naked from the hips down. “Well, this is a surprise,” he said.
“I thought you might have missed me,” Priscilla said. She dropped to her knees and unzipped his fly, right there in the front hall. “Let me make it up to you.” She began to suck on his penis, and it sprang to attention. In seconds, he had his pants off and was fucking her with enthusiasm.
“When we’re married, Howard,” Rachel whispered to me, “will you greet me like that?”
“Would you like that?”
“Yes, Howard.”
