The Ultimate Submission (Jacqueline's Story)
By Gato Medio

Chapter 19

[The 'Marquis de Sade']

"Put on these clothes whenever you're ready," Ramon said
as he handed me a tracksuit and a pair of trainers.
"We're going for a ride, and then you'll go for a walk,"
he added.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I replied and put on the
clothes he'd given me. It seemed to be a 'one-size-fits-
all' model which was hanging on my body like it belonged
to someone else and made me look completely unremarkable.
It was in stark contrast to all the other clothes he had
given me so far, which had all been designed to show off
my figure to best effect. Besides, I would feel very hot
if I'd have to walk any distance in these clothes. I
would have preferred to wear shorts and a T-shirt.

Ramon must have read my thoughts. "These clothes are just
for the journey," he explained.

I had called him the day before and told him that I was
ready to start the next phase of my purification. He had
told me to come to the apartment the next morning and
advised me to have a hearty breakfast before I left. He
had also instructed me to inform the people at the
University that I would be away for some time.

He hadn't given me any details then and he wasn't
offering any explanation now.

I'm not in the habit of paying much attention when I'm in
the car with Ramon. I trust him and always feel he knows
where he's going. But this time I looked out for
landmarks that I knew, places I recognized, to have an
idea where he was taking me. Not because I trusted him
less, simply because I was curious about the destination
of our journey.

Soon after leaving Paris we turned off the main highway
and entered a narrow road with little traffic. The
scenery turned rural with villages where chickens were
freely crossing the road without much concern for the
oncoming car. I remember that I was surprised to find
this kind of tranquillity less than an hour from Paris.
After we had passed the last village, the road became
narrower and wound gradually uphill through a forest.
Eventually it turned into a single lane road with
occasional passing bays. After a while, Ramon pulled into
a lay-by and told me, "Here we are."

He pointed to a sign saying '_Eglise Ste. Jacqueline_'
with an arrow pointing to a footpath leading slightly
uphill into the forest. I couldn't see any building or
anything else that would indicate the existence of a
church in this forest. The footpath made a right turn
after a while. From the gap between the trees I could
guess where it might continue but couldn't actually see
it.

"In the olden days, sinners used to come to the church of
Sainte Jacqueline to ask for forgiveness for their sins.
It was particularly popular with women guilty of the sin
of wantonness. They used to make the whole way to the
church on their knees. I don't think that will be
necessary, but you should make the pilgrimage on your
bare feet and dressed in the sinner's garb. It's okay to
change here, nobody will see you."

Ramon handed me a bundle made of rough sack-cloth. There
were two parts, a skirt and something that might be
described as a shirt. I took off the tracksuit and
trainers and handed them to Ramon. Then I put on the
clothes Ramon had called 'sinner's garb'.

The skirt was held up by a piece of string which was
threaded through the top, but no matter how I tied it,
the skirt wouldn't stay in place. It kept sliding over my
hips, and I had to hold it in place to keep it from
falling down to my ankles.

Ramon knows exactly what size I wear. He knows my body
better than anybody else, possibly including myself. He
has designed several garments which fit me like a glove,
without ever using a tape measure. If he gave me a skirt
like this to wear, then he either intended it to fall, or
he wanted to create the discomfort of having to hold it
up.

The other garment, the one that vaguely resembled a
shirt, was really a piece of sack with two holes on the
side through which I could stick my arms. The openings on
either end of the sack were the same size. This meant
that the shirt kept slipping down my shoulders, revealing
a good part of my breasts and threatening to slide all
the way down. Walking with these clothes would be very
awkward. I would need one hand to hold my skirt in place
and another one to keep the shirt from sliding all the
way down. I was sure that this awkwardness was exactly
what Ramon intended.

"The building has been abandoned for some time and has
fallen into a state of neglect. However, the monks from a
nearby monastery have recently started to restore the
church. It's possible that you'll meet some of them. If
you do, make sure you don't fall foul of their strict
moral principles. They don't take kindly to women who try
to corrupt them, make them break their vow of purity.
They have been known to castigate temptresses who were
guilty of unchaste behaviour severely. There are also
some unconfirmed rumours that some monks did not resist
the temptation and raped immoral women before they
punished them."

Ramon kissed me and wished me success on my mission. "One
final word: Once you have started your pilgrimage, don't
turn back. You won't find me here if you return this
way."

The path was covered with fallen leaves and needles and
felt quite pleasant under my feet. But beneath the soft
cover of the leaves lay sharp stones, thorny branches and
spiky plants, all waiting to pierce my bare feet. I
picked my way slowly forward, testing the ground with
each step before I put my full weight on the probing
foot. The rough material of the 'sinner's garb' felt
uncomfortable on my skin, particularly my nipples felt
sore as the cloth rubbed against them with every step I
took.

The skirt didn't help my quick progress either. Being a
straight sack, as narrow at the hem as it was at the
waist, it only allowed me to move forward by small steps.
I decided to tear a slit in the side of the skirt so that
I could make larger steps. As the devil would have it,
the rough material tore all the way to the waist. This
gave my movements more freedom, but it also meant that
with each step my entire leg became visible.

This made me think about Ramon's warning not to expose
myself to the monks should I meet any. Should I take it
as an instruction to behave like a chaste pilgrim, or
should I understand it as a hint that there was a chance
of being raped and punished for it afterwards - if I were
to provoke or anger the holy men. Did he expect me to
step out of line as a sign that I was ready to start the
third phase of my purification process?

As I made my way along the path, a gentle climb up the
hill, all my attention was focused on where I put my feet
and on keeping my clothes from falling. I was so absorbed
by these tasks that I didn't notice the group of
buildings I was approaching. They were set on a clearing
in the middle of the woods, the largest one being the
church of Sainte Jacqueline. Nor did I notice the figure
which was leaning against a tree near the path.

By the time I noticed the monk - at least that's what the
figure looked like - I was already quite close to him. He
had his back to me; his eyes were glued to the book he
was reading and he seemed unaware of my presence. He was
dressed in a dark brown habit. The hood covering his head
didn't allow me to see the colour of his hair. I
remembered that Ramon had told me I wouldn't find him at
the start of the path if I returned that way. Could it be
that he had come around the hill and was now waiting for
me, dressed up as a monk? I was pretty sure that this was
the case. And what a fine monk Ramon made!

The sudden, close presence of this monk excited me. I
wanted to make myself noticed. And I wanted to give him a
good look at my charms and a reason to punish me. I
rested my right foot on a boulder which lay in the path,
bringing my entire leg out into the open. I also let the
shirt slip until my breasts were almost completely
exposed. Then I cleared my throat to catch his attention.

He didn't react. I would have to call out to him to make
him notice me. But how do you address a monk? Father? No,
that was for priests, which isn't exactly the same thing.
Your Holiness? No, that was reserved for the pope.
Merciful brother? I knew that there were merciful
sisters, but were there merciful brothers as well? I
wasn't sure. In the end I decided that a simple 'Sir'
would have to do.

"Good morning, Sir. Excuse me for bothering you. Does
this path lead to the _Eglise Sainte Jacqueline_?"

When he turned around, I realized that it wasn't Ramon!
He was visibly surprised by what he saw, almost as
surprised as I was to be confronted with a complete
stranger. Was this a real monk?

The expression of surprise on the monk's face soon gave
way to one of anger. "Have you no shame, woman? How dare
you approach a man of the cloth in such unchaste attire.
You deserve to be castigated for your shamelessness, and
I'll see to it that you'll never forget the punishment
you'll receive."

Without giving me a chance to say anything in my defence,
he grabbed my right arm and dragged me behind him. He
pulled me away from the path, across the forest, towards
a small stone building which was set in the shadow of the
church. I found it difficult to keep up with his pace but
he just pulled my arm even harder, apparently in a great
hurry to get to where he wanted to take me.

My feet hurt as he rushed me across the forest and I was
no longer able to pay attention to where I was stepping.
My clothes were sliding down even further; my breasts now
completely uncovered, my skirt in danger of slipping down
below my hips. I used my free hand to hold the skirt in
place, not so much out of modesty, but for fear that I
would stumble and fall if it were to slip down any
further.

As we entered the building, I could see several beds, a
few chairs and a table, all very simple, made of roughly-
hewn wood. These were obviously the monks' living
quarters. My captor threw me onto one of the beds and
ripped off what was left of my clothes. When he pulled
his cowl over his head, I could see that he was not only
angry but also very aroused. I wondered why a man who
possessed such a fine specimen had decided to take the
vow of celibacy. Should I simply spread my legs and
invite him in? Or should I resist to give him the sweet
taste of victory?

I didn't have time to reach a conclusion. He forced my
thighs apart and dropped to his knees between my legs,
ready to commit a mortal sin.

                         -----

"Brother Antoine! What in heaven's name are you doing?"

Neither my abductor nor I had noticed the two monks
arrive at the scene of the near-rape. Brother Antoine
froze. He had been close, so close! His disappointment
was palpable. It would be almost impossible to finish
what he had started. The disappointment mixed with his
embarrassment as he covered himself quickly and then
tried to justify his action to the other two monks.

"I was about to punish this temptress for accosting me
dressed in indecent attire, for making me think impure
thoughts, for trying to seduce me."

"It looks like she nearly succeeded," one of the monks
remarked dryly.

"What kind of a punishment is this? You can't chastise a
sinner by becoming a sinner yourself," the other one
added.

As I listened to their discussion about the most
appropriate action to take, I wondered if I had by chance
stumbled on a group of real friars and had nearly caused
the moral corruption of one of them. Maybe I should have
taken Ramon's warning literally and not interpreted it as
some kind of veiled hint.

Brother Antoine was the youngest of the three and seemed
to need some guidance from his older brethren,
particularly in moral matters. They advised him to offer
his thanks to the blessed virgin as it had surely been
her influence which made them arrive at the lodgings just
in time to prevent a catastrophe.

As far as I and my punishment were concerned, they
decided that I should be brought before the abbot who
would decree what my punishment should be. One of the
monks - the one the others had called Brother Pierre -
told me to get up from the bed and cover myself.

My clothes were in shreds. They hadn't been very robust
to start with and Brother Antoine's impatience had put an
end to their useful lives. The monks were unmoved when I
showed them the tattered rags that I had retrieved from
the floor. That was none of their concern; I had brought
my nakedness upon myself, now I would have to endure it.

The three monks escorted me out of their quarters, across
a badly neglected lawn full of thistles, along a gravel
path and through a side entrance into the church. Each of
the older monks held on to one of my arms to make sure I
wouldn't escape and Brother Antoine walked ahead. The
thistles scratched my ankles and the coarse gravel hurt
my feet, but the monks had little concern for my comfort.
On the way we passed a group of monks who were working on
the restoration of the church. They stopped whatever they
were doing and stood silently as the procession passed.

Inside the church my captors took me into a small
anteroom which was located in the side nave, beneath the
clock tower. Brother Pierre stayed with me while the
other two went to inform the abbot. They returned after a
short absence, reporting that their superior wanted to
see us in his chamber.

My sense of reality took another turn when I came face to
face with the abbot. It was the man who had called
himself 'Marquis de Sade' when I met him the first time!
My mind went into a spin. What did this mean? Did he lead
a double life, sometimes member of a religious order,
sometimes 'Consultant in Education and Discipline'? Or
was this whole order a sham, something which Ramon had
set-up with the help of the 'Marquis' as part of my
purification? I didn't think this possible. The monks
seemed so real, such devout followers of their faith - at
least two of them!

The abbot didn't give any indication that he recognized
me. "What happened to her clothes?" he asked his
disciples.

"They tore as she fell, trying to escape," Brother Pierre
replied without batting an eyelid.

"Well, I'll be damned," I thought to myself. "Isn't lying
considered a sin anymore?"

The monks told the abbot how they had found me loitering
half naked in the vicinity of the church in search of men
I could seduce. They spared Brother Antoine any further
embarrassment by omitting the fact that he had fallen
for my guile, taken me to their quarters and would have
raped me but for the quick intervention of his brethren.

When the abbot finally turned to me, his interrogation
was brief. I informed him that I had come up the path on
bare feet, dressed in the sinner's garb to beg for
forgiveness, but he just called me a liar. As far as he
was concerned, the devil had taken possession of my body
and the only way I could be saved was to exorcise the
demon without delay. He told me that there would be a
service in veneration of Sainte Jacqueline, the patron
saint of the church, later that day. He would use this
opportunity to perform the rite. In the meantime, I was
to be kept as his ward. He charged Brother Antoine with
the task of making sure I wouldn't escape.

When he had finished his admonitions, the abbot revealed
a streak of compassion. "Are you hungry?" he asked me.

When I nodded he ordered Brother Antoine to also look
after my bodily needs.

"And cold," I added. The stone floor of the church was
cold, there was hardly any sun shining inside. I had
started to shiver.

The Abbot looked at me with a wry smile and ordered
Brother Antoine to also provide a blanket for me.

Brother Antoine locked me into the anteroom while he went
to get some food for me. He returned with a large earthen
bowl, filled with a thick, steaming soup, and a chunk of
bread.

"You forgot the blanket," I said after thanking him for
the soup.

"First the soup," he answered.

"But I'm freezing," I exclaimed, pointing to the goose-
pimples which had formed on my skin and letting my teeth
chatter to reinforce my point.

"If you promise that you won't try to escape, I'll take
you to the inner patio, behind the sacristy. It's quite
warm in the sun."

I promised. He was in no hurry to get the blanket for me.
It seemed that he wanted to enjoy looking at my naked
body for as long as possible. He watched me closely as I
wolfed down the soup and tore pieces off the bread. I let
him watch, making sure he had a good view of my charms,
while I took a closer look at him. His curly blond hair
framed a handsome face. I had already been able to see
that his body was slim, not quite athletic but without
too much excess fat. I guessed that he was only a few
years older than me. He wouldn't have any problems
finding willing sex partners if he were to look for them
in the outside world.

Watching this young monk as he tried to reconcile his
desire with his faith made me reflect on the strangeness
of my situation. This was crazy. The monk sitting there,
unable to take his eyes off me, was no fake. His desire
and his agony were real. But how did this fit into the
purification process which Ramon had brought me here for?
If the monks were real what was the 'Marquis' doing here?
They respected and obeyed him. Was he a leading member of
this order? Was he a religious fanatic who also offered
his services to would-be masters? My list of unanswered
questions was growing longer by the minute.

When I had finished my meal, I stretched out on the stone
bench to enjoy the sunshine. I was oblivious to the
torment which the display of my naked body must have
caused my warden. All he had to do was bring me the
promised blanked and I would cover myself. But he
preferred to suffer as he ogled the forbidden fruit.

"Have you witnessed many exorcisms?" I tried to get an
idea of what was awaiting me.

"None so far," came his honest answer.

"Do you know what they are going to do to me?"

He didn't. His answers were vague and evasive. The only
thing he kept repeating was that it wouldn't be very
pleasant for me. I concluded that his knowledge of
exorcisms - like mine - was limited to certain Hollywood
films.

The blanket never arrived. After I had lazed in the sun
for a while, the other two monks came to get me ready for
the rite. Unlike Brother Antoine, they didn't trust me
and held on to my arms as they frogmarched me back into
the church.

There was an empty space in the central nave between the
first pew and the steps leading up to the altar. Four
ornamental brass posts were fixed to the floor, each one
in one corner of an imaginary rectangle. My guess as to
what the purpose of these posts might be was confirmed as
the monks lead me into the middle of this rectangle and
ordered me to lie down on the floor. They quickly tied my
arms and legs to the four posts so that I was lying
spread-eagled and more exposed than ever before on the
church floor.

"The floor of the cathedral is hard and cold".

These words flashed suddenly through my mind. They came
from Caroline's horror trip, the first time I met her,
when she had mixed 'uppers' with alcohol. She had never
been able to explain what made her say this particular
sentence. I had told her what images these words had
evoked in me, but nobody else knew about my fantasy. Was
this mere coincidence or was my being tied up on the hard
and cold floor of this church in any way connected with
what I had confided to her?

Caroline had also talked about being pressed down onto
the stones by someone's weight and I had told her what
desire that had awakened in me. Was there going to be
someone pressing me down onto the stones with his weight?
Some more entries for my list of unanswered questions.

When they had finished tying me up and checked that I
couldn't free myself, the monks left me on my own and
busied themselves with other chores.

For the first time I noticed the huge stained-glass
window behind the altar, the main source of natural
light. It was so large and right in the middle of my
field of vision that I couldn't possibly miss it. The
artwork depicted a scene which I had come to know as 'St.
George and the Dragon', a heroic knight on a horse,
thrusting his sword deep into the heart of a fierce-
looking dragon.

In the version right in front of me, the dragon slayer
was a woman - Sainte Jacqueline, I assumed. I could tell
that it was a woman by her long, flowing hair and by her
bare breasts. To be precise, the right breast was covered
by her raised arm, but the left was clearly visible. I
was amazed to find an image of a bare-breasted woman
inside a catholic church. It just didn't combine with the
image of the chaste woman the church was postulating.

There was something even stranger about this portrait. At
the place where Sainte Jacqueline's left nipple would
have been, a small hole had been cut into the glass.
Whereas the light shining through the rest of the window
had the quality of a hazy luminosity, this little hole
let a ray of unfiltered sunlight fall into the church.
The ray hit the floor not far from my left foot. I
observed that, with time, the position where the ray hit
the floor changed. Or, to put it more precisely, as the
earth continued its daily rotation, the angle at which
the sunlight shone through the hole changed. To the
casual observer, it looked as if the sun was moving
across the church floor. And I already had a clear idea
where the ray would end up.

This little gimmick surprised me even more than the bare-
breasted saint. Our ancestors possessed detailed
knowledge about the movement of the sun, the earth and
other planets long before Christianity was invented. They
left behind a number of monuments - Stonehenge is a prime
example - which were based on the position of the sun at
sunrise on one particular day of the year. Those
monuments are considered pagan temples, dedicated to the
worship of the sun god or some other deity.

Christianity, the catholic church in particular, had
discouraged astronomy and related sciences. For a long
time, its system of beliefs included planet earth as the
static centre of the universe. Anybody who dared to voice
a different view had been persecuted. Had I discovered
elements of a sun cult within this ancient church, or was
this another inexplicable coincidence?

My thoughts about pagans past and present were
interrupted by the sound of a fanfare. Doors on either
side of me opened and a number of monks bearing torches
filed into the church. As they lined up on my left and
right sides, I counted a total of twelve monks, six on
each side. There was another blast of the trumpets. This
time eight women, all dressed in the sinner's garb
entered the church and placed themselves between the
monks and me. They were carrying large, white, as yet
unlit candles. As I had expected, the single ray of
sunlight coming through the hole in the window was now
shining straight on my sex.

"Light the flame of purification on the heat of this
satanic cunt!"

I recognized the Marquis' voice but I couldn't make out
where his order came from. The women approached me and
with the help of a magnifying glass and a concave mirror
lit one of their candles on the sunray, right between my
legs. Then they passed the flame to the other candles.
When all candles were lit the women returned to their
original positions.

The trumpets sounded for a third time. I still hadn't
figured out where the sound was coming from. There was
some movement in the shadow behind the altar. As the
figure came down the altar steps, I recognized the
Marquis/abbot, dressed in a black, flowing robe, so long
it swept the floor behind him. When he reached me, he
opened his robe and let it fall to the floor. My eyes
widened. He stood there naked, his penis fully erect. It
was thinner than Ramon's cock but visibly longer. It
wouldn't be easy for me to accommodate the full length of
this rod. The Marquis dropped to his knees between my
legs, ready to penetrate me.

"Stop!"

The female voice echoed through the church. The Marquis
stopped dead in his tracks. The command had been
expressed so forcefully, so uncompromisingly, it didn't
allow any dissent, didn't leave any room for negotiation.
This was the second time in one day that someone was
about to fuck me and was stopped at the last second. I
wasn't sure whether I should feel pleased or annoyed
about this.

I turned my head in the direction the voice had come from
and was presented with a magnificent sight. There was
Caroline, dressed exactly the way mistresses are usually
portrayed in magazines. She looked like she had stepped
off the pages of a black-and-white comic strip. But
stereotype or not, she looked ravishing. I could imagine
dozens of men and women crawling at her feet, begging her
to punish them.

She wore a short black bodice which - I guessed - was
laced tightly at the back. The quarter cups pushed her
breasts up and made them look even fuller and rounder
than usual. Her areolas and nipples had been darkened
with kohl or some other kind of make-up. The straps
attached to her bodice held up black fishnet stockings.
It looked as if she had dyed her pubic hair, because her
triangle looked much darker than her natural colour.
Stiletto heels completed her outfit. Her skin looked
paler than usual, almost alabaster. It was a magnificent
display of black-and-white contrasts.

In her right hand she held a whip with several lashes.
'So this is what a cat o' nine tails looks like', I
thought to myself. I had heard about this implement, seen
pictures and wondered what it might feel like, but this
was the first time I came across it in real life.

Caroline punished the stone floor with her whip, sending
clouds of dust into the air as she walked towards the
Marquis who hadn't moved since she had commanded him to
stop.

Then something unbelievable happened. Caroline whipped
the Marquis. First his back, his ass, then she aimed at
his cock. He managed to reduce the impact of her fury by
bending forward to protect his pride and joy. But her
onslaught was relentless. She called him an impostor and
defiler of virgins. The Marquis lay on the floor next to
me, rolled into a ball like a hedgehog to protect
himself. Caroline called him a wimp and a coward. She put
one foot on his rear, the stiletto heel right at the
entrance to his hole. "Turn around or I'll step on you,"
she warned him.

The Marquis had no choice. Who knows what the pointed
heel might have done to his ass. He turned around,
exposing his front to Caroline's attack. The whip rained
down on his chest, his thighs and particularly his cock.
When Caroline was finished, the Marquis was rolling on
the floor, whimpering, begging for mercy. Caroline was
breathing heavily from the exertion; sweat was running
down between her breasts, along her thighs, down her
back.

I couldn't believe that this was happening. The man who
had brought me to tears in less than a minute when his
cane bit into my tender bottom was lying on the floor
sobbing, his body covered with marks from the whipping
Caroline had inflicted on him.

Much later Caroline would tell me that this had been the
compensation for the treatment she had suffered from the
hands of the Marquis' henchmen when she first visited his
office to discuss my 'case' with him. The reception
committee had made her take off all her clothes, in spite
of her protests that she was my mistress, not a slave.
Probably because she was such a stunning female, they had
subjected her vagina and rectum to an especially detailed
inspection to make sure nothing was hidden inside these
orifices.

When Caroline finally came face to face with the Marquis,
she made him retrieve her clothes from his helpers. She
considered his apologies much too puny for the treatment
she had suffered. She made it clear that she had enough
money and influence to have his operation closed down for
good unless he agreed to a compensation - not in money
but in humiliation. Grumbling, the Marquis had accepted
her conditions and the whipping had been included into
the choreography of my exorcism ceremony.

At the time I saw Caroline give the Marquis a thorough
thrashing, I was completely unaware of this background to
this extraordinary event. I didn't know what on earth was
going on.

Having despatched my attacker, Caroline stood astride my
immobilized body. When she let the tips of the nine
leashes rest on my breasts and then trailed them slowly
along my naked body, across my belly and my pussy, to my
thighs, I assumed that the time had come for me to feel
the bite of her whip. My chances of protecting myself
were even smaller than the Marquis'.

But the whip never hit me. I saw Caroline rub the handle
of the whip along her pussy lips and then push it inside.
Her hand gripped the leather-coated stick firmly and
pushed it in and out of her pussy. Picking up speed she
gave off little moans to accompany the deepening thrusts.
Her movements grew faster, her moans louder; her body
jerked and I could tell that she had brought herself to a
climax.

"Lick," Caroline ordered as she thrust the whip-handle
into my face. I opened my mouth willingly. The masculine
shape and taste of the leather-coated shaft combined
perfectly with the exquisite coating of her juices. I
licked and sucked as if my life depended on it. Not only
because I didn't dare disobey her order after what I had
seen her do to the Marquis, but also because it was an
extremely arousing sensation to lick my mistress' juices
off this smooth rod.

As I licked every trace of Caroline's juices from the
whip handle, I coated it with my own saliva. Hopefully
she didn't expect me to return a dry whip to her. I
wondered if she would use the handle to do to me what she
had done to herself, when she made a signal with her free
hand. There was another fanfare.

As Caroline stepped aside, I could see another figure
coming out of the shadow behind the altar. My heart
pounded hard. I felt that I knew who this figure was, but
I had been wrong before, so I decided to keep my hopes in
check until I was sure.

The figure was clad in a long black cloak, just like the
Marquis had been. His face was hidden in the shadow of a
large hood. As he came closer I was sure it was Ramon, my
Master. Words couldn't describe how pleased I was that he
had come to see me, naked, tied, lying on the floor of
this strange church. Caroline now turned into the high-
priestess of the ceremony. She took the cloak off Ramon's
shoulders. There he stood in his full naked glory. His
cock was swaying gently in front of him. How masterly he
looked! Caroline went down on her knees and took his
member into her mouth. She was as impressive as a servant
as she had been as a mistress.

When Caroline was satisfied that Ramon was ready to fuck
me, she let him kneel between my legs and guided his rock
hard cock into my pussy. I was in seventh heaven. Yes,
his weight was pressing me down onto the stones. With
every powerful thrust my backside slid up and down the
rough stone floor. I would probably be bruised and sore
by the time he was finished with me. But what was that in
comparison with the joy I felt? My master was finally
fucking me! And all the monks and sinners looking on
could see how much he enjoyed it!

Ramon took me like an owner uses his possession. He
fucked me hard and without consideration for my comfort.
And it was exactly this treatment which turned me on even
more. When his cock erupted inside me, the flow of his
hot cum didn't want to stop. And if that wasn't enough,
as he came, he shouted into my ear, "I love you,
Jacqueline! I'll take you back as soon as you're ready."
Everything I had longed for had come true. Ramon was my
master and Caroline my mistress. My orgasms, like my
satisfaction, seemed to know no end.

                         -----

"Drive out the evil spirit from the body of this
possessed woman by the heat of your sacred flames."

I was lying on the floor, recovering my breath and
savouring the aftershocks of this wonderful experience,
when I heard the Marquis' voice. He seemed to be back in
action after the thrashing he'd received from Caroline. I
hadn't even noticed him getting up but looking around me
I realized that he was no longer cowering on the floor
near me.

Following the Marquis' order, the women dressed in
sinner's garb formed a circle around me. A strange chant
in a language which I did not recognize came from
somewhere, I guessed the far end of the church. The
women, holding the lit candles in their hands, danced to
the rhythm of the chant. At first they moved in a circle
around me, then they formed a figure of eight across my
stretched out body. As they stepped or jumped over me,
some of the liquid wax of their candles spilt over and
dripped on me. Luckily the wax had a long way to fall
until it hit me and had already cooled down a little by
the time it landed on my skin. Nevertheless, I felt a
distinct sting whenever it made contact.

Initially, I assumed that the spilling happened by
accident, in the heat of the moment, but I soon realized
that the women were dripping the wax intentionally. At
first the wax fell on my midriff as they crossed over me.
Then they aimed for my chest. They were determined to
coat my breasts with wax and I was worried about what the
hot liquid would do to my tender nipples. Unfortunately,
the prospect also turned me on and, instead of
retreating, my nipples hardened and stood up proudly to
the wax raining down. I let out shrieks of pain whenever
one of the women scored a bull's eye and the hot liquid
hit one of my nipples.

When my breasts were one big wax-splattered mess, the
candle-bearers turned their attention to the lower part
of my body. Moving trance-like to the rhythm of the
strange chant, they tilted their candles, sending showers
of liquid wax down onto my pussy. One of the women stood
between my spread legs and aimed directly at my exposed
sex. I strained against my bonds, writhing and twisting,
but I was too restricted in my movements to avoid the
cascades of wax flowing from the ceremonial candles.

Once more I realized my ability to experience pleasure
when others would simply feel pain. My arousal rose
whenever I felt the stinging wax hit my pussy. I screamed
when my tormentors scalded my sensitive flesh, but I also
enjoyed the sensation of being so defenceless against
their attacks. In the end I urged them on to punish me
more, to increase my suffering and my pleasure. When they
finally stopped, leaving me exhausted, my whole pubic
region was covered with slowly hardening wax.

The ceremony was over. Just like the other sinners, I
would be taken to a cell where I would be kept for as
long as it took to free me from the influence of my
sinful mind. I watched as the monks put the other women
in chains, one by one. When it was my turn I knew what to
expect. The only difference was that I would be wearing
nothing but the chains while my fellow prisoners were
dressed in the sinner's garb.

One heavy iron chain was fixed to my legs with the help
of heavy cuffs. Another, shorter chain was attached to my
wrists in front of me, giving my hands limited freedom of
movement. Then an iron collar was fitted around my neck.
The short chain hanging from this collar was attached to
the chain which shackled my hands, restricting them even
more. Later, I would find out that the collar could also
be used to tie my hands behind my back. Luckily, the
cuffs and collar were lined with leather to prevent
chafing or more serious injuries to ankles, wrists and
neck. The foot chain was long enough to allow me to walk,
but its weight and the noise it made as it dragged across
the stone floor made any thought of escaping seem futile.

When all women, including myself, had been put in chains,
the monks lead us along the aisle to the left of the
altar. At the push of a lever, a stone plate in the floor
moved to the side and gave way to a staircase leading
down. Two monks went ahead, and then told the prisoners
to follow them. Below the church floor, where I had
expected a small crypt, there was a maze of corridors
with a large number of doors leading to individual cells
and some other rooms. Each woman was locked into one of
these cells on her own. As before, I was the last one to
be dealt with.

The only piece of furniture in the cell was a simple bed.
Along the walls and on the ceiling of my cell I saw a
large number of hooks, rings and chains and some other
contraptions which I didn't quite understand, but I was
sure that they had a use in restraining and disciplining
the prisoners. By some magic, the floor and the air below
were not as cold as in the church above. The walls and
floor of my cell looked as if they had been recently
redone.

The monk who locked me up removed my collar and hung it
on one of the hooks on the wall, but left the other
chains in place. The collar would be put back on whenever
they took me away from my cell. There wasn't any need to
keep me in chains; the locked cell door was sturdy enough
to withstand any attempt to escape. I could only guess
that the decision to make me wear those heavy chains all
the time was to remind me of my condition as a prisoner.

I realized that I was now completely in the hands of
these mysterious monks and their leader, the 'Marquis de
Sade'. I was sure that my being kept here had been
arranged with Ramon as part of my 'purification', but
nobody had confirmed that this was the case. I didn't
know how long I would be imprisoned here, or what they
were going to do to me. I decided to take things as they
came and tried to get some rest while I had the chance.

                    To be continued
