by Poppet
“This is ours. Fuck them. You be you at home, just be their impression of perfection out there, in here girl you be 'Candy, the carnally corrupt.'”
This time he forces me under him, sliding back inside me, riding me slow, grazing his hips in an endless grind, rolling my g and c spots into a fresh spasm of surreal atomization. I'm panting, my throat caustic from breath, response, moans and squeals.
I'm diffused, floating on ethereal winds of change, and I never want to come back down.
~ Chapter 14 ~
Greet all the brethren with a sacred kiss
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:26
Candace:
I'm slowly brought into a new day with the incessantly soft stroking of my breasts, him smiling at me, his expression tender and soft and fabulous, leaning down and licking a hard nipple before saying, “Coffee's on the table. You have to wake up Blossom, Matt wants to see you and Mya for an extra catechism today.”
“Why?” I grumble, my elation and affection instantly smothered by the image of Matthew he's injected into my post-prandial world.
“It's eight in the morning, darling. It's time to rise and shine.” Sitting up, pulling myself so I can sag against the headboard, the sight of the livid hickey on his neck makes me chuckle. He covers it with his hand, looking like he's blushing, muttering, “Ha, I'm not the only one.”
When he leans to get his coffee the state of his skin horrifies me. “Oh my god! I shredded you!”
He looks at his arm where I must have scratched him at some point, “This? It's superficial babes, don't fret. You, on the other hand, aren't so lucky.”
“Why?” I panic, bolting out of bed to the closet mirror.
Turning slowly I have two perfect blue bruises on my ass and on both wrists, and hickeys casting constellations from the inside of my thigh to my neck. I look like I've caught some weird love disease. Which I totally have. Twisting to look at him, I grin, unable to suppress the smile, “It was fun though.”
“That it was,” he smirks, looking so happy that I feel a deep seated gut confirmation that despite dodgy foundations what we've built will survive a tornado. “I may have mentioned this yesterday, but we've more in common than you think. I knew you weren't boring and complacent.”
I'm still smiling, going back to my coffee, snuggling back into the warmth of the covers, reaffirming what he told me yesterday, “But it's between us. Not their business. If they ask you bend me over your desk, give me nine lashings, then I give you head and cry, and after that I roll over like a good bitch to let you tickle my tummy.”
He spurts coffee all over the duvet, laughing so hard he has tears coming out of his eyes.
“And I made you cry! Proof that I'm a wedged camel foot of evil.”
He pushes his fist over his mouth, snorting like he's having an attack, the laughter so loud and raucous that I'm now laughing too. Shaking his head, he guffaws, “Jezebel rang my bell all night long, the watchtower must be feeling redundant.”
“But AC/DC would totally approve of the current flowing between us. Who's Jezebel?”
“Not my ex,” he winks, patting my leg. “Have your coffee, shower, and make haste Blossom, I have to be at Selene's at nine.”
Looking at the alarm clock, I frown, “Have you been running already?”
“I have.”
“And you didn't wake me?”
He leans in, palming my face in that endearing way, saying, “I didn't have the heart. My little blonde tart melted and needed the rest.”
“Your tart?”
He smirks, “Like every good tart you have a lovely acerbic bite, nice and tangy, but very creamy and delicious.”
“Shurrup, now you're making me blush. And that wasn't a bite, it was a suck. I'll bite you next time, I don't show all my cards in the first hand.”
“But you did surrender the queen to the king while playing the jester.”
“Jesting isn't my style, Kenan. But I did rather enjoy the battering of the castle doors; the whole house of cards blew over when you did that.”
“Because you huffed and you puffed and blew me away.” He leans in and gives me a soft kiss, and I'm falling into his eyes, tasting the coffee on his breath, feeling giddy with burgeoning love. “Be careful, if you keep talking dirty I might forget I have to work for a living. I might just have to get my bitch to roll over so I can tickle her tummy.”
“And then your boss will be thumping on the door. Ugh, why doesn't he just leave us alone?” I complain.
“He will, eventually.”
The thought seems to have soured his mood and he stands, saying on his way to the door, “Get in that shower before you tempt me to spray DNA laced moisturizer all over those saucy tits.”
Smiling at him on the threshold, I say, “Well now, that will make them saucy. They do say white sauce goes with everything.”
He leans his forehead against the doorframe, aiming a rascal grin at me, “God help me, you have a one track mind worse than mine. Taking you into the wild has made you an insatiable bush bunny.”
“And I don't wear underwear on third dates. When's our third date?”
“Come and gone, Blossom.”
“It may have cum but it hasn't gone. We can always make it cum again.”
“Young lady you are sorely testing my resolve to give you space.”
“I'm not that demanding, I don't want space or the cosmos, just that gorgeous smile, your delectable accent, and our little corner of the galaxy.”
I burst out in nervous giggling when he kicks the door closed with his heel, pulling his t-shirt off and diving on top of me.
•
Candace:
Friday rolls around in a fog. This week has flown by in a state of grace. We're happy, we're acclimating, and I love my life now. I worry endlessly about the NSA, that Jan told me so much about, finding me, coming to take me away and lock me up for crimes she's framed me for.
But my arm no longer hurts and the ear piercing only aches now and again, and teething gel sorts that out. We've even started cooking dinner together. He's an exceptional cook and I think it's a crying shame that it's my duty to make dinner because basically he's tutoring me to replace his own talent. I feel entirely inept and a female failure. I know it's assumed we're born with the cooking gene fully activated and raging to produce domestic goddess dishes, but if memory serves me well most of the best chefs in the world are men. Men don't do it at home because they're lazy, not because they're culinarily challenged.
At least I know he likes these recipes. I suppose I couldn't escape being a home maker and resident chef all my life. However, my catechism with Matthew and Mya was to introduce us newbies to the now compulsory butt plug which is mandatory (no exceptions), so that we don't tear when we have our little bottoms penetrated for the first time. Oddly I think I can handle that level of kink from Kenan, it's just the lecherous bastard administering my tutelage that worries me in that regard. Apparently my cell phone is something I have to earn back (and my purse with my keys, bank cards, identity and life in it). He's waiting for me to prove myself before I'm rewarded with my own fucking belongings. He says not until I'm inducted and baptized will it even be up for consideration. We also both got a video on how to properly administer a full body massage, and have been told to practice daily, even on our female friends, until we get it right.
I've had brunch once with the W.I. and they are so awesome! They waltz around in sexy body stockings and pencil skirts, wearing shoes that made me purple with envy. We all went to the salon together and had our nails done, then we went to the park and played on the childhood playground gear like a gaggle of degenerates. It was so much fun that I'm really looking forward to our next brunch, which is on Tuesday.
I'm becoming accustomed to their oddities and quirks, feeling better about myself now that I am secure with Kenan. There are certain ground rules I wasn't aware of, the first being that when I shop online I'm not allowed to buy jewelry. That is a man's domain and I
'll step on toes if I do that. I was also advised to only buy designer, which they helped me with, starting with ordering a heap of make-up and beauty products from Chanel, Dior, and Clarins. Apparently Christian Dior has the best pantyhose and stockings, They don't ladder or hook like run-of-the-mill brands, plus they have some fabulous designs to choose from. I have to admit that I got carried away and spent enough to buy a new car in one go. The guilt afterwards made me a very salacious girl when Kenan got home.
Free of my egg and butt plug for a night, it's seven-thirty on Friday evening and here we are again, standing on the lodge's doorstep. Wearing nothing more than long crimson cloaks is still bizarre, but I can handle this. Like Kenan said, focus on him, he'll get me through it.
Boris opens the door, admitting us, leaving our cloaks on our bodies this time, and handing us masks. Putting them on we accept the potion on the tray, taking our tablets, and then with my hand in Ken's we stroll straight to the reception gallery, skipping the erotic museum this time.
Matthew spots us, striding briskly through the milling congregation with his horns on, coming straight to me, holding my face when he's upon us and kissing me with such force and invasion that it takes all of my self-control not to knee him. My hand is now shaking in Kenan's, and when Matthew breaks the kiss I look to Ken for an explanation, resisting the urge to wipe my mouth.
Matthew does it for me, patting my cheek with force, as if he'd rather slap my head off my shoulders than give my cheek a pat, saying, “It's biblical. Your lack of commitment is still a concern. In case your partner forgot to teach you god's ways in the privacy of your home, leaving it to me to step in because he's too lenient and lazy to educate you, the bible says you must greet all brethren with a sacred kiss. That was a sacred kiss, and we expect you to kiss every one of the brotherhood like that or risk insulting them. Next time I won't permit you to walk in without kissing us in greeting. We don't come to you Candace, you come to us. Prove you belong here or you leave me very few choices.”
Kenan's crushing my hand he's squeezing it so hard, and he looks ready to start a war when Matthew gives him a shit eating grin, doing a dramatic about face turn and going back to socializing with his flock of asscreeps.
Someone in a red cloak and black mask comes to me, leaning in and whispering, “Don'cha worry hon, you're just the flava of the month. It'll pass. He does it to all of us until new blood arrives to distract his royalness.”
Looking up, I frown, “Celia?”
She smiles, “Could be, who knows. Maybe I should kiss you like that so he can have a heart attack and be replaced with someone a little less inflated.”
Kenan chuckles under his breath, hissing, “Shut up, Celia. Women have been flogged for less.”
“Hey, I like a good spanking and flogging. It turns me on, hon. Just ask Bill.”
Laughing flirtatiously she walks away, getting lost in the crowd of clones. Banging starts upstairs, the quartet giving way to the voodoo drum and the bashing tips of walking sticks. A woman is brought in, put in the circle and turned around and around by Boris' twin brother. Well he looks just like Boris, but he's thinner.
Hey, that's Mya!
The gentlemen upstairs I now recognize as the men who take the box seats in the church auditorium, the elders and the elderly. Matthew stands with them, looking down haughtily on his minions, holding the extra set of horns for the contender who is selected.
Who is Mya's partner? Where is he? Is he one of those in the circle?
She points, finally stopping her spin, and a man I don't recognize steps forward, looking up for the coin cast down by the patriarch, catching it while the room shouts, “Son. Of. Cain! Son – of – Cain! Son of Cain!…”
He smiles at the image on his coin, throwing it back up for the crowd to inspect, turning his attention to Mya, undoing her robe to expose her body under its transparent gauze slip. He points to one of the circle, inviting another man into this initiation.
The butler taps the second man's shoulder, giving him a condom, which surprises me because I know that goes against regulation. Both men drop their cloaks, accepting the horns from Matthew, the first man lying down on the raising platform, pulling Mya onto him, the second making her kneel. The first man selected inserts his raging hard-on into her, the second rolling on the condom and assuming position, forcing into her anally. Two guys at one time, I know she's stupid but good lord that seems a bit unfair.
I look away when it starts getting rough, distracted by their noises and the black pearls around her neck. That's when I realize that every woman here is wearing the same necklace, all of them wearing a string of big black pearls, everyone but me.
“Deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory… deliver us from evil, deliver us from evil, deliver us from evil!…. POW-ER…. GLOR-REE…”
I know this, so chant along with it, watching Kenan's face, at the way his cloak is tenting in front of him, his focus riveted to the show on the stage.
Perusing the rapt audience I look up, my heart stopping when I find Matthew watching me. Dark eyes glint danger, his smile terrifyingly cold.
Shit, tonight is orgy night. He's going to… I know he is…
Stepping up on tiptoes, I ask Kenan quietly, “Afterwards, can anyone expect to have sex with me, or am I exclusively yours?”
He glances at me, stooping to answer confidentially, keeping his eyes trained on the scene on the platform, “You're still exclusively mine. If anyone tries they're going against the rules.”
As if reaching a decision he grabs my hand, tugging me behind him while he scythes a path through the crowd assembled behind us, escaping the spectacle of Mya's public degradation. Ken rushes us, his hurry a tad alarming, taking me upstairs, to the bedroom we used previously.
Slamming the door and shutting out the hedonism, he pushes me against the wall, holding my neck again, whispering in my ear, “Just trust me. Imagine god is watching, don't say or do anything to displease him, okay? They want a show, we'll give them one, but you have to trust me.”
I nod, looking into his eyes, into the obsessive determination in them, happy to sink into his kiss and savor his warm lips. This time he leaves the masks on, securing me face down on the bed, opening the bedside drawer and removing 'toys'.
Uh oh, it looks like Celia's given him ideas.
I flinch and react when something flat and noisy connects with my tush.
•
Kenan:
I have the paddle, the wide one, using it because it makes the most noise with the least amount of impact. This time I have everything to prove, I have to show god that this woman is not corrupt, so if Matthew goes running to daddy he'll look like a raving idiot. During our little chat I pushed back, I gave him the wall of resistance, I projected aggression and confidence, but I wasn't feeling it. What I was was alarmed, and more than a little worried. I'm not willing to risk it all. I won't lose her to that prick. I won't let him destroy her the way he did Charlene.
It's show time babe.
Luke comes out and I wave him back, unwilling to blind her in this session. The hidden cameras positioned around the bedroom will have to suffice.
Feeling inflamed with purpose I unhook her wrists from the bed frame, picking her up and draping her over the spanking bench, putting the spanking skirt on her. Securing the cuffs to the bench, I lock her onto it, leaning over her to whisper, “Don't scream or complain. I'm being gentle.”
Looking at the camera trained on this apparatus, I do the hollywood force feign, looking like I'm really putting effort into connecting the paddle with her arse, but honestly I'm tapping just loud enough to make a satisfying noise.
Her skin is so soft and pale that despite my best efforts she gets pink cheeks, her little bottom blushing beautifully along with engorging vaginal lips. Oh hello! This is a new development.
Putting the paddle down I rub her tush to diffuse the burn, delving fingers in the exposed gap poised at the camera, the tell
tale wetness exciting me. Leaning back over her, I say just loud enough for the camera's feed to pic up, “Are you turned on?”
She nods, biting her lip, burying her face in her arm to hide the tears that escaped out the corner of her eye. Poor little munchkin, she's being so good for me. Since our pow-wow on the ride she's been compliant, easygoing, striving to compromise and be compassionate to my position. She's even started training in the mornings with me and it's sexy as all hell to watch.
Fingering her, I slide my tongue over her clit, agitating it enough to feel it raise and harden. Our cloaks are on the bed so there's no hiding my reaction to her being turned on. Leaving her bound and bent on the angled spanking bench, it reminds me so much of the bench at the gym we do leg curls on. But it's perfect for posing provocatively, boning her so that the camera catches every thrust, close up and explicit.
Doing my duty I quote scripture for the camera, “Let 'her' submit absolutely; there may yet be hope. Let 'her' offer 'her' cheek to the one who strikes it. Lamentations 3:29. If people are bound with chains and trapped by the cords of affliction, God - opens their ears to correction and insists they repent from iniquity. If they serve Him obediently, they will end their days in prosperity and their years in happiness. Job 36:8. No discipline seems enjoyable at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it yields the fruit of peace and righteousness to those who have been trained by it. Hebrews 12:5.” Grinning at the camera, pausing to orgasm, I pull out, leaking fluid onto her skin, bracing myself over her, saying honestly to the audience I'll never meet, “May your fountain be blessed and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth. May her breasts satisfy you always, may you ever be captivated by her love. Proverbs 5:18”
Untying her I pull her up, cradling her to my chest, kissing her softly, giving comfort because I know she hates this side of my life, she doesn't understand it but she tolerates it to preserve something precious between us. Cupping her face, staring into her eyes, I say for them and her, “I am satisfied by your breasts, my fountain is blessed, and I am captivated by your love.” That's a declaration to all of them, to god, to Matt, to the audience. “And now I'm taking you home so I can restore your joy.”
