The Wicked Girl



 
The Wicked Girl:
BDSM Stories
2010-02-25
It made no practical sense in the modern world for a young woman of
eighteen to be standing like a guilty schoolgirl before a Bishop as her
father looked on with stern, scowling disapproval. That thought occurred
to Jamie as her father hauled her to the chapel and informed the Bishop
of the wickedness inhabiting his daughterís mind.

She blushed darkly as she stared down at her sneakers, huddled within
her jacket, listening to her father describe how her mother had caught
her naked and engaged in sinful and wicked fondling of her own bodyís
"genitalia". Her face grew hot and nearly desperate as her father
described - thankfully through second hand knowledge - her naked sex,
and her motherís belief this constituted some bizarre and perverted form
of sexual depravity.

The Bishop was Ernest Manning, a tall, rake thin man with a perpetual
frown on his narrow face. He sat, ramrod straight behind his desk,
frowning at Jamie as she stood before his desk, guessing perhaps, that
despite her red face she was less than repentant for her misbehaviour,
and, true to his form, said so.

Jamie had, on occasion, thought it impudent that the Mormon Church
styled the leader of each congregation "Bishop", especially when he was
a lay preacher selected by the congregation, and not a true leader and
man of the cloth as in other Christian Churches.

"Your face betrays you, Jamie," he said. "I see no repentance there. I
see some shame and guilt, as should be present, but I see resentment, as
well, towards your parents and your God for refusing you the right to
take pride in wicked thoughts and feelings."

He stood up and walked purposefully around the desk. "You trouble us,
Jamie Lynn. You have troubled us for some time. It has been obvious that
you have an arrogance about you which puts your own desires above the
council of your God and community."

"I donít, Bishop Manning," she mumbled.

"You donít? And yet you directly contradict me here in the chapel. You
dress in a slovenly manner, despite the earnest efforts of your saintly
mother to persuade you to dress like a young lady. You do poorly at
school. Your father must constantly remind you to do your chores, and
you speak to him in obstinate disrespect. And now this lewd infatuation
with your naked flesh. No, Jamie Lynn, we are not pleased with you. God
is not pleased with you."

He turned to her father, his face troubled. "I think you should leave
her with me for a few days, David. I and Mrs. Higgins will see what can
be done to bring this young girl back into the fold of Christ. Can you
spare her from chores or should I ask one of the young lads to drop by
to help out?"

"She does precious little without my watching over her," her father said
with a scowl. "Belike it takes more effort getting her to work and
watching her do it than itíd take to do it myself. I can manage well enough"

The Bishop nodded and her father rose, then took her arm roughly and
gave Jamie a shake which brought her chin jerking up.

"The Bishop will beat some sense into your wicked heart, girl," he
growled. "And if he fails to Iíll do the job myself!"

He stomped out of the room, leaving Jamie together with pastor Manning,
squirming a little at the thought of the pastor beating her. Sheíd been
expecting a beating since sheíd been caught, of course. That she was no
longer a little girl was irrelevant. In her community misbehaviour led
to beatings, especially when anyone not yet married was still considered
a child. But sheíd thought her father would beat her. Having the Bishop
do it added a strange little tingly anticipation to her mind.

"How often do you think about sex, Jamie Lynn?" Bishop Manning asked.

Jamie swallowed anxiously. "Hardly ever, Bishop," she said in a small,
embarrassed voice.

The Bishop sat and gazed at her. "And when you do think about sex, what
do you think about?"

Jamie shrugged, embarrassed, and the pastor slammed his open hand down
against a nearby table, making her jump in alarm.

"You will do me the courtesy of replying when I ask you a question," he
snapped.

"I - I donít know," she gulped.

"That is a pure lie," he said. "What you meant to say was that you did
not wish to tell me. Is that not correct?"

Jamie licked her lips. "I-I guess."

"But you will tell me. And you will not lie to me again. Is that clear?"

She shrugged again.

"Is that clear!?" he roared in the enormous, angry voice which filled
the meetinghouse each Sunday morning.

"Yes, Bishop!"

"Do you think about menís sexual organs, Jamie Lynn?"

Jamie hesitated. "Sometimes," she said, in a small, quavering voice.

"And when you think of their genitals does it arouse you?"

"S-Sometimes," she gulped.

"And do you imagine these genitals making contact with your own?"

Jamie shrugged helplessly.

"You believe you are beautiful, do you not?"

"No, Bishop!" For she really didnít.

"You take pride in your young body, do you not, the body which God hath
given thee?"

"Uhm, not - really," she said helplessly.

"Yet you kneel before a mirror and worship this body, you stare at it in
fascination and imagine doing lewd and disgusting things with it. You
are an unmarried woman and yet you fill yourself with carnal images that
only a husband and wife may partake in."

Jamie shrugged helplessly.

"Disrobe, Jamie Lynn."

Jamieís heart skipped a beat, and she raised her chin to stare at the
frowning Bishop.

"You have such pride in your flesh. You should, therefore, feel not
difficulty in displaying it openly even here in the Chapel. Disrobe. At
once!"

Obedience to the bishop was deeply ingrained in Jamie, and her fingers
were already tugging off her loose jacket as he spoke. Yet her chest was
tight, her stomach twisting, and her mind filled with dismay at the
thought of baring herself before the stern man, especially here in a Chapel!

Yet she had no choice in the matter, and so, squirming inside, she
remove her clothing, down to her bra and panties, and then, at a brusque
gesture from the Bishop, removed even them to stand straight, legs
pressed together, face flushed red as she stared down at her feet.

"Look at me, Jamie Lynn Anderson," the Bishop ordered.

Face hot, Jamie raised her eyes, almost stunned with being nude before a
man. Yet despite her fearful embarrassment and shame there was a dark
heat lurking at the back of her mind, a wicked excitement which was
making her lower belly hum.

"Do you feel arousal at showing your body so to a man, Jamie Lynn?" he
asked.

Jamie winced, fearing suddenly that the Bishop could read her mind. "No,
Bishop," she squeaked.

"I think you lie again, Jamie Lynn."

The Bishop rose and moved to stand before her. Jamie quivered but held
still, dropping her chin again until the Bishop took it in his hand and
jerked it upright to stare down at her.

"You will obey an order when it is given. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Bishop Manning," she gulped.

He released her chin, and then moved slowly around her, his eyes
examining her body in a which made Jamieís loins begin to throb, and
even despite the humiliation threatening to choke the breath from her
she felt a strange, dark heat beginning to fill her belly.

The Bishop moved to a corner, and there picked up a long, thin hickory
switch. Jamie felt a shock of alarm, followed almost at once by a kind
of excitement which oozed into her belly and mind. For she had spent the
previous two months filled with the thoughts of punishment and sex, sex
and punishment, torment, bondage and submission, and they were all
linked together in her mind with pain and beatings. The prospect of a
man who was not her father beating her gave her a sudden, almost heart
stopping jolt of excitement.

And yet she continued to feel a deep shame and humiliation, her mind
twisting and spinning with shocked embarrassment and anxiety.

The Bishop raised the long, thin switch and pressed it against the
underside of her right breast. Jamie did not move, but thought she could
actually feel her breasts swelling with heat, could feel her nipple
tingling as the switch lifted her breast up slightly.

"These breasts were made by God to nurture your children," he said in an
angry voice filled with passion.

The switch pulled back, turning on end so that the point pressed into
the soft, throbbing flesh of her now fully erect nipple. "They were made
to suckle babes, to feed them, to give them life!"

He eased the switch down and snapped it lightly against her right hip.
"These hips were made round to provide space for your young children to
grow."

The switch slid between her thighs and then up against her sex. Jamie
gasped aloud.

"This opening was made for a man to pass his seed, and to bring forth life."

He pulled the switch back, circling, and then swept it around hard so
that it snapped sharply and painfully into Jamieís bottom.

She yelped, staggering forward and catching herself on the edge of the desk.

"And your bottom was made for sitting," he said. "There is no part of
your body which was meant to serve perverse lusts and desires. And I
will show you the error of thinking otherwise. Bend over the desk, Jamie
Lynn."

Her bottom already stinging, Jamie felt a sudden, terrible sense of
anxiety and fear. Yet even more strongly, more irresistible, was a
dawning sense of anticipation and an almost electrical sexual tension as
she felt a part of a fantasy come to life. No, she had never dreamed of
the Bishop punishing her, yet even so, her sex felt a throbbing need as
she bent herself across his desk and awaited her punishment.

Jamie was at the same time both desperately unhappy, even miserable, and
deliciously excited. She felt the shame of her position, as the Bishop
intended, felt the disappointment of her father, and guilt in her sinful
and wicked ways. She knew very well what she had done was wrong, wrong,
wrong. And knew she deserved a terrible punishment for it. Yet even so
she felt an awful certainty that she would become helplessly aroused
when the Bishop began to bring the switch down upon her backside.

She closed her eyes and prayed to God both for the strength to withstand
the pain, and to withstand the pleasure. And if she could not do the
latter, she begged God to help her hide her sinful, wicked pleasure from
the Bishop.

The old clock on the mantel over the fireplace chimed, and Jamie started
at the sound. She felt almost surreal as she bent over the desk. The
room was small and musty with the age of the old books occupying nearby
bookshelves. The desk itself was an antique, and as she lay across it
her breasts pressed down against the soft wood, some papers, and an old
bible. Ahead of her was the window behind the desk, and sunshine
streamed in through the part in the curtains to light up the otherwise
quiet, shadowed room.

She kept her knees tightly together, yet she had gazed at herself in
this position many times in her mirror, and knew full well that the man
standing behind her could easily see her naked sex as well as her soft,
round, taut buttocks.

It was hopeless. Jamie could not control herself, and a frantic thought
brought a jolt of raw sensual heat as the switch slashed down across her
bottom. She cried out in pain, jerking upright willingly, consciously,
half twisting around as she darted a hand back down to her aching,
burning bottom.

"You will bend over and hold your position," the Bishop snapped in anger.

"I-It hurts, Bishop," Jamie moaned.

"That is the point, girl!" he snapped.

His hand against her bare back sent a shock of excitement through Jamie
as she allowed him to bend her over again. And this time her legs eased
a little further apart, despite the additional embarrassment this gave her.

The switch slashed across her bottom a second time, and again she jerked
upright, half twisting around, moaning in pain.

"If you will not hold your position, girl, I will be forced to tie you
down!" Bishop Manning growled.

"Iím sorry, Bishop Manning," Jamie said in a tearful voice which was not
at all feigned. "But I canít help myself!"

"You are weak. You must be strong."

Yet even as the switch snapped down across her bottom for a third time
she was jerking upright once more.

The Bishop growled angrily, and strode across the floor. He slid open a
large cupboard and searched within, then returned with a length of soft
white rope.

Jamie dropped her eyes in shame, but her heart pounded furiously as she
held out her hands, crossing them deliberately as the Bishop wound the
rope around and pulled it tight. He turned her abruptly, and roughly
bent her over the desk, then led the remainder of the rope forward and
over the opposite side. He pulled it straight down, disappearing from
her view as he bound it somewhere, and Jamie, while he was gone, twisted
and turned her wrists within the rope, feeling almost dazed with the
raw, carnal heat beginning to flood her body.

She was wicked, horridly wicked to be lewdly and evilly convincing the
Bishop to bind her for her own foul and dark excitement!

And yet, that excitement was too powerful to resist.

She laid her body down fully atop his desk, her soft breasts pillowed
beneath her against the hard wood as she waited the switch. And when it
came she cried out, jerking against the ropes and grinding her hips
against the edge of the desk.

"Your wicked and wanton ways will find no home within this Church!" the
Bishop growled.

Again the switch came swishing through the air, and cut across her
upraised buttocks with hot, sharp, stinging force. Jamie cried out
again, jerking against the ropes. Yet the blow seemed to send a
shockwave right through her lower body, right through her burning skin
and soft meat, through her bones and muscles to the soft, throbbing
centre of her being. Her pussy spasmed around nothingness, and she
helplessly pressed her groin against the edge of the desk, wishing there
were something there to rub against.

Another blow, and Jamie again cried out, yet the pain was such that her
right foot jerked up and back almost instinctively.

"Keep still or I will bind you further," the Bishop warned.

And Jamie could not resist the thought. Again the switch cut across her
bottom. Again her groin trembled with the echo of the blow. This time
she jerked her leg up and back deliberately, even as tears filled her
eyes. It hurt terribly, and her shame grew more potent, for she knew she
was using the unwitting Bishop, a man of God, in a vile and disgusting
way to fulfil her own lewd fantasies.

She almost but not quite kicked him, and the Bishop set down his switch
and found more rope. Yet as he bent behind her she felt a massive sexual
storm roll over her, knowing his face was bare inches from her sex. At
the same time she felt an awful fear that he would be able to see how
wet her sex was, and realize she was deriving lewd pleasure from the
beating.

She was truly sinful and wicked!

Her guilt did not stop her mind from moving, ferret quick, to understand
that he intended to bind her ankles together, and resist. She pulled her
ankles apart with a quavering "Noooo," spreading her legs wide,
resisting desperately as he tried to pry them together to bind them.

It did not at first occur to her that this would not have worked, should
not have worked, if the Bishop was determined. She had little leverage
to resist, and the Bishop was a strong man. However, he settled for
binding her left ankle to the left leg of the desk, overcoming what
resistance she mounted. Then, with only one ankle to attend to, he
pulled it wide apart, and bound it to the other leg.

Jamie was now utterly open and exposed, and could barely contain her
breathing as she let her weight roll her chest atop her breasts,
squeezing and grinding them into the wood.

She knew it would hurt more when the Bishop brought the switch down upon
her bottom now, for her buttocks were more tight and there was less meat
to take the blow. But she in her heady state of arousal that hardly
mattered.

"You will learn to behave!" The Bishop growled.

And then he began to beat her. The switch came down again and again, in
slow, measured blows which set her bottom on fire with pain. She cried
out, jerking against the ropes at every blow, twisting and writhing in
her bonds as pain rolled through her and was buried by a powerful flood
of sexual heat.

"Does it fill you with excitement to so expose yourself to me, Jamie
Lynn?" he demanded, pausing in his cold, calculated beating.

Tears filled Jamieís eyes, and she moaned and shuddered atop the desk.

"N-N-No, B-Bishop," she sobbed.

And then she gasped as she felt the tip of the switch press up against
her sex, wincing as it jabbed against one of her sex lips, spreading it
open and revealing the glistening pink flesh within her.

"I think you are lying again, Jamie Lynn," the Bishop said. "I think you
have the mind and body of a whore!"

And with that he slammed down the switch. With his left hand he grasped
a fistful of her thick, untidy brown hair, yanking her head up and back.
With his right, he grasped her sex, her entire mound, digging his
fingers into the soft flesh, and squeezing roughly, mercilessly, jerking
her sex up and forward.

Jamie cried out, eyes bulging.

"Are you a whore, Jamie Lynn!? Is that your desire!? Is that what you
wish to do with your life!? Do you choose to give yourself into Satanís
embrace!"

"P-Please!" Jamie gasped, the pain digging into her mind, her scalp
burning as he pulled on her hair.

"Do you so long for a male organ that you can think of nothing else!? If
so I can sate your whoreís desire!"

The Bishop had jerked her head back painfully, so that Jamie was almost
looking at the ceiling. When he abruptly let go her head fell forward
and her chin smacked painfully against the top of the desk, dazing her.

At the same time he released his painful grip on her sex. Jamie moaned,
eyes slightly glazed as her cheek lay against the desk, not
understanding at first as she felt something warm and soft press against
her mound and force its way through the tight lips of her sex.

"I will show you that this unnatural obsession of yours is for nothing
good or pleasurable, Jamie Lynn! I shall show you the falseness of a
whoreís desires!"

Jamieís eyes cleared and then widened as she realized what the Bishop
intended, and a wild clamour of shocked delight filled her as he moved
his manhood up and down her slit, sawing it between the lips of her
throbbing sex, and then angled it forward and thrust it into her body.

She cried out in pain as his rigid cock was driven violently into her
belly. It hurt terribly, but she recognized at once that this was the
Bishopís intent, and so it only fuelled her heat.

"Oh! Oh please!" she cried.

His cock tore through the soft, moist folds of her sex as he forced
himself deep into her quivering belly.

"Is that what you wanted, whore!? Is this what you dream about!?"

Jamieís head rolled and twisted as her arms and legs pulled against the
ropes. It was her fantasy come to life, and the pain only made the
pleasure more intense.

He gripped her hair again, yanking her head up as he buried his angry
staff in her sex hole and ground his pelvis against her wounded bottom.

"Are you pleased, whore?" he demanded. "Will you continue to stare at
yourself and dream about what pleasure your wickedness can bring you?!"

He reached beneath her, filling his hand with her right breast, and
roughly squeezing and kneading it. More pain assaulted the helpless
young woman. To no avail. She was feverish with the sex heat filling her.

"This is what whores are used for, Jamie Lynn!" Manning cried as he
slapped her bottom hard and twisted her breast in his hand. "This is the
future of a woman who turns her face from God!"

He thrust into her now, his hips working in and out harshly, violently,
using his cock as a weapon to punish her, to show her the error of her
ways, to demonstrate the falsity of her fantasies.

Or so he told himself, or tried to tell himself. But his own heat was
growing too deep, and it was becoming more and more difficult for him to
convince himself that he had no impious thoughts towards the girl he was
rutting against.

He had known Jamie Lynn almost since birth. He had baptised her, and
seen her in his chapel every week all her life. Her shyness and the
manner of her dress since adolescence had hidden from him the full
extent of her womanly figure. She had always worn loose, bulky clothing,
even in the summer. Despite her many faults he had never had to preach
to her of modesty, as he had of so many other teenage girls.

And so he had been surprised when she had disrobed, and shown not a
pudgy, pinkish body, but a slender, athletic frame with womanly hips and
tight, firm bottom. Her breasts, full, yet amazingly pert, the small
pink nipples turned slightly up with the resilience of youth, had made
him think wicked thoughts for a moment before he had recited psalms to
clear his head.

Worse had come when she had bent over. For the sight of her lovely
bottom had gripped him deep in his groin. The bare lips of her sex did
something terrible to his mind, and it was impossible to ignore the
sensuality and sexuality of the lovely young woman bent over so
invitingly before him.

With her face turned away, her bottom and sex raised and positioned so
perfectly, he had found it more difficult to resist the dark urges
within him, urges which twisted his thoughts and tried to convince him
of things he knew to be wrong.

And now he was raping her! No! He was demonstrating to her the - no,
raping her! And yet she deserved to be raped! The whore! And she loved
it! He could see that! Oh she was far gone, this evil slut! Even now her
vile body was working on him, her sex squeezing and sucking on his penis
as he rammed himself into her.

Her body was so beautiful, so soft, so warm, and she was a whore! How
could God not expect him to sheath himself in a willing whore like
this!? For was it not Godís imperative that man procreate? And was not
Jamie Lynn Anderson a perfect breeding mare for his seed?

And even so, he knew it was wrong. He thrust himself into her with
growing violence as he sensed the depths of his impropriety, and blamed
her for luring him into it.

"Whore," he snarled. "Slut!"

He rammed his blood engorged cock deep into the young slutís belly, his
hips smashing against her supply buttocks as he used her, as he switched
her, feeling growing anger and despair at his own weakness. Again and
again he tried to attain the strength to pull free of her vile womanly
seduction, but again and again he thrust his manhood deep into her
depths and felt her body close around his sensitive glans and caress it
with unnatural strength.

Tears of despair filled his eyes, yet his fingers dug deep into the
young slutís hips as he thrust himself forward, helpless before the
lewd, enticing lure of her naked flesh. And then the girlís body began
to shake and writhe and pull at her bonds. Yet she was not attempting to
free herself, not protesting his carnal attack.

Bishop Manning had never seen it in his own wife, never heard a woman in
the throes of orgasm, yet the shocked man understood nonetheless when
the slut began to gurgle and thrash, to convulse as if possessed by
demons. A small part of him felt a surge of pleasure, of conquest, but
that was overwhelmed by shocked anger that the slut was enjoying what
was to be her punishment.

He had soiled himself, allowed himself to be drawn into her fleshly
embrace in an effort to show her that sexual relations were meant not
for pleasure but for procreation. And yet she was twisting and grunting
and gurgling like a bitch in heat, clearly not deterred from her indecent

obsessions!

Fury twisted his features as he stared down at her, and now he found the
strength at last to pull free of the slutís body even as her writhing
and twisting began to ease.

"Whore!" he spat. "Foul, filthy slut!"

He picked the switch and swung it overhead, bringing it down vengefully
across the back of the whore who had defiled him. She screamed in pain,
her head twisting up and back, and he knew a moment of pure vengeful
satisfaction.

"You have soiled me!" he cried, slashing the switch down across her back
a second time, and a third, and a fourth, slashing and whipping the
thin, flexible wood across her pale white shoulders, leaving ugly red
lines of pain as she wept and cried out and again pulled against the bonds.

Ah, but she was not writhing in pleasure now, was she, he thought
savagely, bringing the switch whipping down across her lower back again
and again.

"Your whoreís body will not further infect the male community of this
town!" he cried. "I will see to that! I will see you banished!"

He cracked the switch down across the sobbing girlís back, panting for
breath, chest heaving, enraged that she had worked her evil, womanly
wiles upon him and seduced him into sin and wickedness. Line after line
of red pain appeared across her back, each a sign of the Lordís
vengeance, a sign of the pain she must endure for her wickedness. And
when the flaring red of her back began to outshine the strips on her
buttocks he slashed the switch in sideways, lashing them until they
burned just as red.

And then, even in the midst of his anger, he paused in astonishment as
he realized the writhing, twisting, thrashing movements of the girl he
was beating had masked from him the lewd and unnatural rhythm of her
hips as they worked up and down, up and down, grinding her hips against
the wood, rolling her shapely bottom up towards him again and again.

Disbelief and outrage warred with another surge of heat. His cock was
still throbbingly erect, and beating the girlís bottom and back had done
nothing to diminish the heat gripping the Bishopís privates. With a
curse, he thrust himself deep into her oozing sex opening again, gripped
her hair with both hands, and began to ride her with frantic, hungry need.

"God forgive me!í he moaned. "God forgive me!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the ebook: The Wicked Girl, by Argus
Argus books have been published by Virgin Nexus, Silver Moon, Star,
Olympia, Chimera, and Beeline. His ebooks can be downloaded at
http://www.ebookblue.com

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