Chapter 1

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Rape, Coercion, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Slut Wife, Wimp Husband, Sister, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, Rough, Light Bond, Humiliation, Interracial, Black Female, White Male, White Female, Oriental Female, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Clergy, Public Sex, .

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A young American lady learns about submission and her own desires at the hands of the new English priest

Eleanor, "Elle", Easton finished applying the last coat of vivid red lipstick to a plush set of lips. Narrowing her green eyes, she studied her appearance in the mirror of the hotel suite she and Marcus had booked for her brother's wedding. Sweeping a hand through her thick hair, she spritzed a bit of hair spray into the wild black curls to tame them. They fell thick and heavy down her back. Satisfied, she stood up and contemplated the bridesmaid dress. Well, it could have been worse, she supposed, eying the deep navy fabric that hung to the floor. Navy was not a colour she particularly liked, however, the dress was rather pretty, if a bit conservative for her tastes. It was tight around the bust, with a halter around her neck, sweeping down to her feet in a straight fall of dark blue fabric. Plain and modest, Elle had tried to convince her sister-in-law, Blair, to choose a different dress but Blair had insisted these were the ones she wanted.

Elle made it work, as she did most things. She was naturally pretty, with fair skin that contrasted starkly with the jet black of her hair and the vivid emerald of her eyes. She was petite, but the five-inch heels she'd paired with the gown gave her height. Her breasts looked great in the gown, though it was not low cut by any means, but the halter lifted them high and displayed what was beneath the fabric, as it was hard to ignore the swell of her heavy breasts.

The tight bodice defined her slim waist and the curve of her hips looked nice in the sweep of falling navy gown. She grabbed her perfume, sprayed some on her wrists and neck, and snatched her clutch from the bed. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. Where was Marcus? Her fiancé had terrible time management skills and she worried he would make her late for the ceremony. Tall, with wide shoulders and dark brown hair, he had been her manager at the publishing company. Wealthy and charming, she had quickly fallen for Marcus Stearns. Within a year of dating, he'd proposed. Their own wedding was booked with the same priest as her brother John was using.

Elle's smile grew as she pictured the priest. Enigmatic and wildly alluring, he looked more suited for the cover of CQ Magazine than the pulpit of a Church. Even beneath his clerics it was hard to hide the well-toned body of that man. He was probably gay or a eunuch, she mused. Why else would someone like him decide to take vows of celibacy? But it was fun to daydream naughty thoughts of him, especially when Marcus was working late and she needed to ... relax.

Before her thoughts of debauchery could continue, the door to the hotel room opened and Marcus hurried in. "Sorry, sorry. I was getting a drink with the guys downstairs and lost track of time..."

"Fix your tie, it's crooked," she murmured, even as she fixed it herself. "Let's go before we miss the damn ceremony." Simon De Montford grunted slightly as the beautician tore the wax from his pubic area.

The petite Filipino girl worked hurriedly, not looking up.

Simon smiled in amusement at her obvious nervousness. Allowing his mind to wander as a distraction from the discomfort of her work – he thought back to the events which had led to his recent transatlantic location.

In hindsight the fact that certain of his ... appetites ... had come to the attention of Cardinal Worsley had proven to be a blessing. Rather than being sent to some monastery in the back of beyond, it had instead provided the opportunity to present the Cardinal with the photographical evidence De Montford possessed of Worsely's own less than holy behaviour. In the current climate the newsworthiness of a boy fucking Cardinal would have far eclipsed the unfortunate account of his own conduct with the young, but legal and just about consenting, Ms Barnes.

To buy his silence the Cardinal had arranged for De Montford's transfer to the US to a parish situated in a pleasant East Coast suburb. If the appointment had initially raised some eyebrows with his American brethren, and indeed the local parishioners, his forceful charisma, and no doubt his good looks, had quickly won them over.

The beautician stood away from the treatment table head bowed, the waxing complete.

Simon swung his long legs from the table and stood admiring conceitedly his naked form, now totally denuded of body hair. Due to turn 40 this year, he was young for a priest, and his body was equally incongruous with his calling: well over six foot, his frame carried no fat and was firmly muscled, the recent change in climate was already beginning to show in a darkening of his previously pale skin – though there was an absence of any tan lines. His torso was covered in several places with distinctly ungodly tattoos and this coupled with an oft-broken nose hinted of participation in violent pursuits.

He studied his face as he ran his hands through his short black hair, the increasingly prevalent salt sprinkles there causing his sharp blues to narrow in exasperation and his mouth to scowl - drawing tight the close shaven, pencil thin beard that followed his jawline.

Without turning around he spoke to the beautician "You seem nervous Su-Ling, is there a problem?"

"Ah ... you ... I..." the girl stumbled before replying quietly " ... I've never waxed a priest before Father"

Simon turned, smiling widely as he walked towards her, his arousal obvious and jutting.

"Indeed ... but then I'm not like other priests"

Firmly holding her shoulders he forced the girl to her knees and pulled her mouth upon him

"and be quick you little slut – I've got a wedding to perform in half an hour" Eleanor took a breath, glanced at Blair's slightly dorky looking cousin who had been paired up with her to walk down the aisle, and proceeded down the red carpeted lane. She gave a smile to Marcus as she passed him in the pews, and then focused her attention on the front of the church. Immediately, she was distracted by the face of Father De Montford...

Jesus, it should be illegal to be so attractive ... and a priest. She nearly stumbled as his piercing blue gaze met her green one and with a quick thank-you-God, she managed to walk the rest of the procession without mishap. As she came to stand beside the other women in the bridal party, Elle took a deep breath and tried to focus her attention on anything other than Father De Montford. Her gaze kept fluttering towards him, wondering what his throat looked like beneath his white collar. Wondering what it would feel like to dip her tongue into the hidden hallow there.

Oh, she was so going to Hell.

The music changed and abruptly Eleanor had something to focus on: her soon-to-be sister-in-law Blair, as she approached her brother. Poor John looked like he was going to shit himself he was so nervous. But Blair looked lovely in a mermaid style gown, tight to her slim hips and small bust, her blonde hair swept elegantly up into a mass of curls. Simon stood impassively before the alter, taking the time to appraise the approaching bride, imagining she was being presented to him for far more carnal purposes than a wedding ceremony.

He felt himself stirring in arousal, contemplating her lingerie beneath the virginal white gown.

He allowed himself an inward smirk - though Blaine was no virgin, as she'd admitted, squirming with embarrassment as he quizzed her under the guise of a pre-wedding instructional.

He'd had high hopes for Blaine, but whilst physically beautiful she proved vapid and lacking of the sense of spirit he sought.

His gaze shifted, conscious of the gaze of one of the bridesmaids, for a moment he struggled to place a name to her face, not recognising her in her formal attire.

Ah, the soon to be betrothed Ms Easton. She had said little in their brief contact when she had sought an appointment for her own wedding - the intolerable matriarch of her future husbands family had chattered incessantly throughout.

Her husband, urgh, a man equally as banal - he should have married Blaine and had equally banal offspring, thought De Montford.

He met her gaze evenly, until she looked away blushing.

Masking his amusement with a welcoming smile he surveyed her body, noting the luscious curvature of her cleavage - far more prevalent in the formal dress than it had been in the other meeting.

Simon effortlessly switched into formal mode and commenced the ceremony smoothly. He made sure to emphasise in the homilies the authority of the husband, but subservient to the authority of God ... and his holy instruments of the Church.

The ceremony proceeded elegantly, though keen observers may have noticed the Priest standing overly close to the kneeling bride, though surely that was an oversight - he couldn't possibly appreciate the proximity of his crotch to her face?

Blaine, as befitted a bride blushed deeply throughout the ceremony, and many near to her were surprised to see her crying ... No doubt tears of elation.

Finishing with the nuptial blessing, Simon stared intently at Eleanor, who in common with the rest of the congregation had her bowed on prayer.

She surreptitiously glanced up and he caught her gaze and winked - almost salaciously before concluding the rite with no further look towards her. Elle was still flustered and wondering if she had imagined that wink from Father when applause broke out for the kiss between Blair and John. Shaking herself inwardly, Elle clapped along with the rest of the crowd. As the newlyweds made their way down the centre aisle, Elle waited a bit for them to reach the doors and then began to follow.

"Congratulations, John," she said and gave her brother an enthusiastic hug and a kiss to Blair's powdered cheek. There was an hour before the reception began at a nearby hall. Elle figured she and Marcus could have a quick snack and relax for a bit before heading out. Thankfully, most of the photography had been earlier this morning.

"I'll see you soon," she said and then waited on the steps for Marcus to come out from the crowded church.

It was lovely outside, just cool enough that she wouldn't sweat but warm enough that she could forgo a shawl. Idly, she picked at the flowers in the bouquet she still held. A pair of leather shoes appeared in her line of vision and a pair of lean legs in black slacks. She looked up. "Hi baby--"

It wasn't Marcus. She blushed furiously. "Forgive me, Father. I thought you were my fiancé." Eleanor offered a nervous smile and cleared her throat. "Lovely ceremony." Her heart was beating faster than it should be and she licked her red lip-sticked lips, shifting her gaze to the sky. "Perfect weather as well," she added lamely. Simon watched the conclusion of the ceremony impassively, amused in a supercilious manner at the interactions.

His peripheral vision never left Eleanor, admiring her form, evaluating her potential ... mmm, certainly worthy of further investigation he mused.

He glided silently from the sacristy and shucked from his robes and into a plain black Armani suit, the fashionable cut of which was definitely not humble or in keeping with a man of the cloth.

As he adjusted his cufflinks, he pondered silently to himself for a moment, before making a decision and unlocking a concealed draw in the credens. From within he removed a small leather wallet and tucked it into his jacket before heading outside to meet the congregation.

After favouring a few of the guests with platitudes he spotted Eleanor and ensured he circled towards her as he moved through the milling guests.

He laughed inwardly when she inadvertently mistook him for her fiancé. Saying nothing he simply stared into her green eyes, his own sapphire gaze glinting with possibilities, until embarrassed she glanced away.

As she licked her lush plump lips, Simon smiled warmly "I've been called many things Ms Easton, but never 'baby'..."

He trailed off admiring her slender neck as she gazed towards the sky murmuring something about the weather ... a neck that would look so pretty bound with a collar he mused.

"I will speak with you later Eleanor" he said simply, deliberately using her forename before moving away to talk with the bride's parents as Eleanor's fiancé finally came out of the church, deep in a business orientated conversation with another male guest. Her gaze snapped back down at his comment and she could only blush harder, but a small smile tipped up the edges of her lips. So the priest had a humorous side! Before she could say anything else, however, he was saying his goodbyes. The sound of her name on his lips tightened her lower belly and she lost her ability to breathe for a moment. She liked the way it sounded, spoken soft but firm, the syllables enticingly pretty as she detected his evident non-American accent ... What in God's name was the matter with her?

Elle found herself watching him leave, enjoying the view of his backside in a well-tailored, obviously expensive, suit. She pursed her lips at that. What man of the cloth wore Armani? And she knew it was Armani because Marcus favoured that designer as well. Something was definitely not ... right. But she couldn't put her finger on it. Perhaps she would join the church he was head of, she mused, maybe play detective.

Her train of Nancy Drew sleuthing was interrupted as Marcus came to a stop beside her, and put a hand on her arm. "Thank God that's over," he said with a chuckle. "I hate long frivolous ceremonies! Our's will be short and sweet..." Elle nodded distractedly and patted his arm.

"Now why the fuck do we have to wait an hour before the reception? I could use a drink," he scowled.

Elle rolled her eyes. "Marcus, don't curse in front of a church. And lower your voice. I told you, Blair and John couldn't book the times close together, and the quickest interval was an hour between. We can go back to the hotel and relax a bit."

He stepped closer and nuzzled her neck. "Or we could work up a sweat..." he mumbled, running his tongue along her ear.

Elle stepped back. "Seriously, Marcus, my family is everywhere. Stop making a scene! How much did you drink back at the hotel?"

He narrowed his eyes and straightened his perfectly fit suit jacket. "I had one scotch, Elle."

One, my ass, she thought. "Give me the keys," she said and held out her hand. Marcus' eyes narrowed "Fine! Take the damn keys" he said petulantly, slapping them into Eleanor's palm

"I'm going to the Shamrock with Brad and the guys – I'll meet you at the reception"

Without waiting for a response he turned and left an open-mouthed Eleanor to join a loud braying group of men where Bradley Henessey-Wright III was holding court.

None of the details of the little contretemps escaped the attention of Father De Montford.

He was familiar with the Hennessey-Wrights, the only local family wealthier than the Stearns, and had no doubt that Eleanor disapproved of her fiancé's choice of best man – though he understood that Marcus and Bradley had long been best friends.

The reference to The Shamrock, the church social club, had also not escaped him and his mind raced through the opportunities now presenting themselves. He subconsciously tapped lightly on his breast, where the mysterious wallet now resided in the suit pocket within. He had intended to use the contents on Eleanor, but now a more convoluted plot began to form in his mind, one that would allow him to ensure the young doe-eyed Ms Easton was separated from the protection of the herd ... he smiled at his own imagery, as he extricated himself from the crowd to ensure he arrived at the bar before the local frat boys.


Forty minutes later Marcus Stearns lent in heavily on unsteady legs towards Simon de Montford, slurring heavily as he spoke,

"Yerrrrr know what Father ... yer pretty damn cool for a priest..."

Simon nodded as he sipped at his own whiskey, his face set in a façade of camaraderie as he mentally counted down the minutes till the rohypnol he had mixed into the drink took effect, "With hindsight" he thought, "I could probably just have got this oaf incapacitated with the whiskey".

"Drink up now Marcus, it'll be time for you boys to be leaving to get to the reception" he said to the wider group.

No sooner had he spoken then with a crash, Marcus slid into a nearby table. The furniture was upended in a fountain of spilled drinks and broken glassware. Brad and the other guys hooted uproariously at Marcus's predicament.

The burly Irish blue collar workers who had been drinking at the table were not amused and stood up menacingly – only the presence of the priest staying immediate violence.

Simon smoothly stood between the two factions "Let me sort you out with drinks gentlemen" he said to the locals before turning to Bradley and his friends, "I think it would be best if you all left now - don't worry about Marcus, I'll get him back to his hotel".

The frat boys filed out of the bar only too ready to avoid any potential beating, while the barmaid brought the remaining patrons their replacement drinks.

"Thank you Kelly" said Father de Montford as he with surprising ease picked up the barely conscious Marcus and moved towards one of the empty booths at the side of the bar.

With a quick glance around to ensure he was unobserved, Simon surreptitiously removed Marcus' mobile phone. After first finding Eleanor's number he placed the phone in his own pocket, and then called Eleanor,

"Ah, Ms Easton, this is Father de Montford. I'm afraid your fiancé seems to be a little worse for wear, I wonder if you could come and collect him? I'll be happy to help you get him back to your hotel and then return to the reception with you..." Elle grabbed the phone, not recognizing the number, and said a hesitant hello. Elegant brows arched in surprise at the voice on the other end and then quickly drew down in an angry furrow. Oh for Christ's sake! Aloud, she said "I'll be right there, Father. Thank you." Abruptly she stabbed the End button and nearly threw the phone at the wall.

Fucking idiot! Now what would she do? She had no option but to lie and say Marcus had contracted a 24 hour bug or maybe food poisoning. Grabbing her keys, she stalked out of the hotel room, her heels slapping angrily against the carpet.


Scanning the room, Elle quickly spotted Father and made her way over. Seeing the condition of her fiancé, Elle pursed her lips, cheeks colouring with humiliation and anger. For a priest to have to come and help her inebriated fiancé to the car ... the priest who was to marry them!

"I'm very sorry about this. Thank you for calling me, Father." Elle swung her gaze to the priest and sighed. "The car is right out front. I'll hold the door." Elle was nearly shaking with anger at the embarrassing scene Marcus had caused. She dared not look around the room.

With a hard swallow, she smoothed her dress and moved to hold the door as Father easily swung Marcus up off the booth and towards her. Together, the managed lay him in the backseat.

Elle held the keys out. "Would you mind? I'll give you directions. My head is pounding." Simon de Montford chuckled softly to himself as Eleanor rang off, he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was barely supressing incandescent rage at what she perceived to be her fiancé's outrageous behaviour.

His voice laden with insincerity he spoke to the unconscious Marcus "oh dear, poor Marcus – I think we're going to be in a lot of trouble when we wake up ... Not that I think Ms Easton will be in the mood for anything few days, but let's make sure you aren't interested either"

With a cursory look over his shoulder to make sure they remained out of sight of the few remaining patrons of the club, Simon delivered a sharp, brutal punch to Marcus' testicles with such intensity, that even in his anaesthetised state, it elicited an incoherent groan of pain from him.

He saw Eleanor when she entered the bar, the flushed countenance and shallow breathing in her rage making her even more attractive to him – all traits which he intended to provoke in extremis with her shortly.

As between them they lay Marcus on the back seat of his BMW, Simon ensured the positions of their respective bodies was unduly close, with the back of his hand "accidentally" pressed across her breasts.

As they separated, Simon accepted her offer of the car keys – deliberately stepping around to the right hand side of the car, only to then pretend to realise his error. With an effected shrug of embarrassment he apologised "ah, sorry – you'd think after three months I'd have got accustomed to driving on the wrong-side".

They drove in silence for the most part, de Montford proving to be surprisingly skilful at handling the luxury car left hand drive notwithstanding. He was content for her rage to grow at her hapless fiancé, and he was also conscious that she was on more than one occasion endeavouring to appraise him through her peripheral vision.

In short order they arrived at the hotel and again, Simon manhandled Marcus' inert form with minimal effort, allowing himself to be guided by Eleanor. As she held the door open to the hotel room, de Montford glanced tellingly at the double bed and the open suitcase which clearly held Eleanor's clothes before depositing her fiancé on the bed.

"Sharing a room before you're married Ms Easton?" he said arching his eyebrows sternly.

He held the moment for a heartbeat longer than would have been called for had he been joking, before relaxing and adding with a smile,

"I can keep a secret if you can Eleanor".

Then feigning as though only then recollecting something he said,

"Oh no, I've just realised – I've left my gift to the newly-weds at the rectory. Could you possibly take me there en route to the reception once you've sorted your fiancé?" Elle let the door swing shut behind her and watched as the priest lay Marcus across the bed with minimal effort. She supposed even priests worked out. Or maybe it was only him. He was, after all, an anomaly to her ideas of a Catholic priest. She thought she had done a good job at being surreptitious in her inspection of him during their drive.

She walked over to the bed, her anger having subsided marginally, and drew the covers down. She tugged off Marcus's shoes and then covered him with the blankets. She wanted to scream. How could he do this on her brother's wedding? Her entire family was at the reception!

Elle unclenched her hands with effort and was startled to find the priest so close to her. At his question, she could not tell if he was joking or not. Before she could come up with a retort, he smiled and said he could keep a secret. Elle smirked. "You should be adept at keeping secrets, Father."

"I'd be more than happy to stop at the rectory for you. After helping with Marcus it's the least I can do. And you seem to like the BMW. Drive on, Father." A shadow momentarily passed over de Montford's face before quickly disappearing when Eleanor had said he should drive - he had intended to use the opportunity to study her form better.

No matter he would conduct a ... thorough ... investigation shortly.

"Of course my child" he said magnanimously, then gesturing to her outrageously high heels "whilst they have many admirable qualities, I'm sure they're a bitch to drive in".

Without waiting for a response to his colourful comment, Simon headed back out towards the car, and slid comfortably into the driver's seat.

Once Eleanor was seated in the car, Simon flipped the automatic over to sports mode and accelerated off at pace - now he was certain of his route he deliberately drove with reckless speed, forcing Eleanor to scramble for her seatbelt.

"This 5 series is ok, but I prefer the M3 I had for a while" he murmured through a particularly sharp bend which had the tyres squealing in protest.

He slowed as the car pulled onto the gravel of the driveway leading to the rectory. He sighed wistfully at the ornate gothic building, certainly the church once knew how to use its power and influence he mused.

De Montford got out from the driver's seat and opened the door to a clearly flustered Eleanor,

"Come Ms Easton - I have a delightful Sancerre for the happy couple and it would please me to show you my wine cellar - my secret if you will" he said gesturing up towards the front door of the rectory. Cars, expensive, sexy suits, wine cellars ... what was next? Elle blinked and slowly swung her legs out from the car. She exited gingerly, careful of the gravel driveway and her heels. But of course, in her attempt to be overly careful, she got tripped up anyway and almost went down had she not reached out and latched onto De Montford's arm. Not unexpectedly, the bicep beneath her fingers was firm and muscled. She could feel the heat of his skin through the jacket of his suit and a scent of delicious cologne as she leaned her weight against him in an effort to keep herself from falling onto her ass. Flustered, Elle stepped back and cleared her throat. "Lead the way, sir," she said and forced a grin.

He reached out and lightly took her arm--to be certain she remained upright, Elle told herself-- and together they proceeded to the front door of the rectory. She was highly aware of being too close to him. He's a priest, he's a priest, he's a fucking priest ... She kept telling repeating that mantra as they stepped into the foyer.

Safely on solid ground, Elle moved out of his grasp and looked around. It was lovely, the sitting room was equipped with large floor to ceiling windows that allowed sunlight to naturally make the place bright. She had a flash of thought of what it would be like to be fucked against those windows with nothing but his arms supporting her. Elle cursed softly and moved to observe a large towering grandfather clock to clear her head. Stairs led upwards to what she assumed was a bedroom and probably a bathroom. The kitchen, what she could see of it was modest but very nice with high end appliances. Odd for a priest- but what wasn't odd about him?

"Quite a rectory, Father. It must be nice to come home to." "Home?" repeated de Montford, considering the question "mmm, yes I suppose it is. Though this turned out to be a most welcome feature-" he gestured towards a dark oak panelled door set below the stairs, which at first glance appeared to be no more than an under cupboard.

Reaching within his shirt, de Montford pulled forth a small brass key on a fine silver chain which he dangled for a moment before Eleanor's eyes before turning to unlock the door, revealing a set of oak stairs fashioned from the same material as the door, which led down to a softly lit cellar.

"Please ... be my guest Eleanor" he motioned down towards the stairs, his dark blue eyes glittering enigmatically.

Simon fancied he could see the conflicting emotions and concerns racing through her mind, as Eleanor hesitated with uncertainty before easing gracefully down the stairs

He followed behind her, the wooden door shutting with a soft click of the latch. the only way of unlocking the door, the key once again nestling against his chest.

"One of my predecessors fancied himself as a frustrated Sommelier" he narrated "and had this basement converted into a wine cellar"

The stairs led out into a surprisingly spacious, yet snug room, the temperature slightly cooler than ambient, but by no means cold. a slight smell of sandal wood and incense, as well as more illicit fragrances hung in the dry air.

Each wall of the room held countless racks of wine bottles, some covered in light coatings of dust, some clearly freshly placed there.

There was little furniture in the room: a reasonably sized oblong desk, approximately the size of a single bed and two chairs - one a leather bound high backed chair and the second a plush velvet chaise long.

De Montford watched Eleanor intently his anticipation at what was to come growing greatly.

Patience, he reminded himself.

Pausing before a series of glasses on the wall he selected two large crystal goblets and placed them in her startled hands.

He tapped his chin pondering as he walked along the length of a wall. "Ah, here we are" he said in answer to an unvoiced question, selecting two bottles next to each other.

He placed one of the bottles on the desk "for your brother and the lovely Blair"

With a swift economy of motion, and clear experience, he opened the second bottle, liberally filling the two glasses held by Eleanor, her eyes wide.

Reaching for one of the glasses, his fingers brushed her hand and he almost smiled at her startled expression.

Taking the glass from her, he delicately chimed it against the one she continued to hold, the crystal resonance ringing loudly in the sudden quiet.

"To life's pleasures" he murmured his eyes fastened on Eleanor's above the rim of the goblet as he took a long sip ... Elle found herself descending the staircase despite an innate sense that it was not a good idea. She told herself she was being foolish.

As she followed into his wine cellar, she admired the stunning array of bottles and his rather good taste in vintages. Her eyes took in the chaise lounge and the smell of wood and incense. The priest placed a wine glass into her hands, his long fingers brushing hers and making her startle. Why such a benign touch made her pulse ratchet, she didn't want to contemplate.

A little stunned, she could do nothing but state as he poured wine into their glasses and clinked his to hers. The sound seemed to echo through her head. What, exactly, was she doing?

His blue eyes sparked with an emotion she couldn't name as blue met green over the rim of his glass. "To life's pleasures," she echoed without really thinking. Her gaze was locked to his lips as he drank, to the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

Dear God this was not good.

She felt something aching and hot in the pit of her stomach, and her dress felt too tight across her breasts. She took a sip from her own glass, the flavour exploding across her tongue and unintentionally let out a soft mew of pleasure. It was delicious. Sweet yet subtly tangy, dry yet smooth.

Elle noticed her lipstick left a scarlet smudge on the glass. She wondered how that red smear would look against his pale skin. The flesh of his delicious ass that was hard to miss in that suit. The concave dip of his hip bone...

The glass was set down on the desk harder than she meant to and it nearly tipped over. "I should go. Um, we should go. It's getting late and I can't be late to the reception..."

Elle took a few steps toward the entryway. "I didn't say it was time to leave Ms Easton"

De Montford's voice cut through the air coolly, but with authority.

Eleanor's forward progress halted almost sub-consciously at the tone.

Simon tapped a remote control and music began from hidden speakers

"Mozart's Requiem Ms Easton, Dies Irae - 'God's Wrath'. Are you a fan?"

De Montford continued without waiting for an answer, casually placing his own goblet next to hers and removing his suit jacket.

As he spoke he walked in a large circle which would eventually bring him behind Eleanor who remained motionless like some small mammal frozen before a serpent.

"This cellar has full climate control"

He removed his cufflinks

"Humidity maintained at 60%"

He began to roll his sleeves up

"Temperature 13 degrees C"

He smiled apologetically

"That's 55 Fahrenheit"

His forearms bulged with muscles.

"But my favourite feature of this cellar is that it's completely soundproofed"

He was now stood behind Eleanor, their bodies virtually, but not quite touching.

De Montford lent in close to Eleanor's neck and ear, savouring the scent of her hair, half imagining he could already taste the soft flesh his lips hovered over

"Screaming is pointless ... though I would rather like it if you did" Elle froze at the tone of his voice, her body stilling without her even realizing. That feeling from before, that this was not a good idea, came flooding back. At the sounds of the classical composition that trickled from some hidden form of speakers, the hair on Elle's arms rose. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

The sound of clothing being ruffled made her turn around in time to see remove his jacket and lay it casually on one of the chairs. Her eyes watched his every movement, her fear increasing with each statement he made - so calm and collected.

"This cellar has full climate control," he said.

Elle swallowed hard and watched as he removed his cuff links with deft fingers. They clattered to the table top loudly.

"Humidity maintained at 60 percent."

Those long fingers rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscled forearms. What the fuck was going on?

Temperature 13 degrees Celsius" -- De Montford smiled and it was haughtily apologetic -- "that's 55 Fahrenheit."

Elle shivered. That smile revealed a dangerous man, not a God fearing priest.

"But my favourite feature of this cellar is that it's completely soundproofed."

She could not move. Not for the life of her. Jesus Christ, was she going to die? Was he going to cut her up into little pieces and leave her here to rot? Her breathing hitched as panic flooded her. He was behind her now and she could feel the contrast of the cool air around them and the heat from his body. He did not quite touch her but he was close enough that it was a hairs breadth difference. His breath was warm against the side of her neck as he swept her hair aside.

"Screaming is pointless ... Though I would rather like it if you did..."

Oh God. Oh God. Oh fuck. Elle's voice was stuck in her throat, stuck as the rest of her was, unable to move. Her fight or flight mode had been somehow removed. Her heavy breaths caused her breasts to heave, constricted beneath the tight bodice of the dress, and she felt light headed.

The only word that she managed to get out was spoken softly, whimpered really. She didn't even know if he heard it.

"Please..." "'Please'?" De Montford repeated in a soft enquiring voice, his nose gently brushing through Eleanor's midnight tresses, savouring her fragrance - a fragrance tinged now with terror.

"'Please ... let me go'?" He queried of her

His right hand fastened firmly on Eleanor's hip controlling her posture

"Or 'please me'?"

The priest's left hand traced delicately along Eleanor's exposed shoulder eliciting a shiver from the girl.

His fingers continued along her collar bone until his palm rested lightly, yet firmly on the nape of her neck with his fingertips feeling the riotous beat of her pulse.

"Or 'Please take your pleasure of me Master'?"

As he felt Eleanor tense beneath his grip, de Montford forced her bodily forward - first against the table where her thighs met the edge of the oak furniture, and then using this as a fulcrum he forced her head down - the table being purposefully designed to be such a height to facilitate the position Eleanor now found herself in: fully bent over at a right angle, her hips and bottom pointing slightly upwards.

Simon easily maintained his control over the poor girls body, his left hand firmly pinning her by the nape of her neck, cheek down to the table.

He forced one of his leather brogues between Eleanor's dainty feet, and pried them apart, as his right hand moved from her hips and began to hitch the navy dress up the length of her silk encased thighs.

The palm of his hand was hot against Eleanor's legs, but he could feel her own heat increase as his hand slid higher.

He nuzzled her upturned ear, and slowly licked up her cheek before breathlessly whispering...

"The truth is Ms Easton, your mind might call this rape, but your body and soul is begging for this, isn't it you little Slut?"

His hand travelled inexorably upwards exposing more and more of Eleanor's legs - his intention clearly to fully hitch her dress clear of her thighs. Elle felt as though her mind and body were two entirely separate entities. De Montford's hand firmly on her hip made a shiver that was not entirely based out of fear course through her. And another raced through her as his left hand slid along her sensitive collar bone. His questions made her beating heart quicken faster, the blood seemed to pound in her head ... and her cunt.

As his hand clasped around her nape, a sound escaped her that startled her to the core - it wasn't a scream, it wasn't a scared whimper, it was a tiny moan. And yet, she still said, "No..." despite the fact that she wasn't entirely sure she meant it.

He ignored her, of course, and there was that strange part of her that was glad he did.

Her thighs met the table's edge hard, the glasses upon it gently rattling but not tipping over. How many women, she wondered, had he fucked on this very table, in this very position? How many had been willing? How many had not?

He shoved her head down by the back of her neck, firmly pressing her cheek to the cool wood of the table. She could smell the citrus of wood polish, combined with the scent of him - something spicy and erotic and heady. She felt exposed and helpless like this, with her ass in the air and her body pinned by nothing but the weight of his hand. Exposed and ... wanted.

His shoe slid between her heels, knocking them apart, and the flat of his free hand slid along her stocking clad legs. The tickling sensation of his fingertips seemed to shoot up her legs into her abdomen, clenching her pussy and she let out a harsh breath. "Stop," she murmured. He didn't. His hand continued its travels, upwards ever so slowly, the silk of her dress sliding upwards along with it, the cool air touching her flesh as it slowly was revealed. "Stop," she said again, firmer this time, and tried to wiggle herself out of his grasp.

His tongue was warm and wet as it slid along her cheek and God help her, she wriggled this time out of arousal, not fear. That tongue, would it feel so hot and wet along her slit? Would it feel so soft against her suddenly aching clit?

"The truth is, Ms. Easton, your mind may call this rape, but your body and soul are begging for this, isn't it you little slut?"

He was right, he was fucking right. What kind of person did that make her? A slut? A filthy little whore? But she was wet, so wet that she could feel it against the insides of her thighs, wet like the tears that suddenly leaked out of her eyes and ran down to tickle her cheeks. And he had barely touched her.

Her fingers gripped the edges of the table, the wood digging into her palms, and she gritted her teeth. She felt the air on her ass as he lifted her dress completely, bunching it over her hips. Her thigh highs and garter proved no hindrance, only her flimsy panties now concealed her. "Fuck you." De Montford paused as she cursed him

"Good" he thought "show some spirit Elle - all the better to break you later"

He lent his body weight against her exposed ass, the sheer black silk of her panties and the own crotch of his trousers failing in the slightest to mask the feeling of his hard erection pressing against her.

Stooping down and over her, he delicately kissed her cheeks where the runnels of mascara had formed with her tears, savouring the saltiness of their taste as he traced them with his tongue.

Shifting his hips to one side his hand caressed first one of her buttocks and then the other.

"Such coarseness of language Ms Easton, most unbecoming for a lady, but then..."

His hand trailed unceasingly over her ass, before gently moving down to the blazing, sopping wet heat of the gusset of her panties

"Would a lady be so aroused at the prospect of being raped that her pussy juices were soaking through her slutty panties?"

He firmly, and with enough pressure to cause discomfort, cupped and gripped Eleanor's entire panty- clad cunt in the palm of his hand - the movement emphasising both in an audible and tactile sense just how wet she was

" ... no - only a little whore would get this aroused. A little whore who lies awake late at night lying in her single bed fingering herself yearning for more"

His hand pulsed and gripped around her cunt feeling her get hotter and wetter as he spoke

"A little cunt, who dutifully pursues a 'good match' preparing to become a mindless home bound breeder, yet all the while chafes under the suppressed desire that she wants more"

With a brutal twist of the wrist he tore her panties free, angry red welts appearing on her hips from the pressure of the tearing fabric.

De Montford appraised Eleanor's freshly exposed pussy, noting the puffy arousal of her lips – and also the carefully manicured hair framing them, he mentally noted that Su Lings talents would be required to ensure her appearance was more to his taste.

Without pausing he unfastened the front of his trousers, his cock unconfined by underwear sprang forward - his foreskin peeling back to reveal an angry purple head glistening with pre-cum.

De Montford had no intentions of being gentle with Eleanor on this occasion, and lined the head of his dick with her already splayed and puffy pussy lips - the moisture there clearly visible.

"Prepare to say hello to the new Eleanor Easton" he growled as he slammed the full length of his engorged cock into her, his pubic bone slamming into the prostrate girl's buttocks. She could not think to form coherent responses as the priest spoke, his words only furthering her desire, her soaked panties clinging to her engorged labia. His hand on her scantily clad ass only made her legs tremble in need. The gentle kisses on her cheeks warred with the brutality of his evident erection and purpose.

She cried out as his hand grabbed her cunt hard, squeezing painfully the sensitive flesh. Her wetness coated his palm through her lace panties. The scent of her own arousal flooded her nostrils as she took a deep breath. Suddenly and with no gentleness, her panties were ripped from her waist, the fabric digging into her hips as it tore away, the snaps of her garter belt popping open with audible snaps.

She felt the head of his cock, swollen and slick, meet her slit, the sensation making her groan softly as she felt him rub his dick along her wetness. She tensed, awaiting the piercing thrust she knew was coming. With a grunt, he shoved himself inside her, meeting little resistance, but he slammed himself hard and deep, his pelvis crushed against her buttocks. Elle's fingernails clawed into the wood and she cried out, his cock ramming against her cervix, causing a sharp pain in her belly.

He paused, holding himself inside her, so that she could feel every last inch of his twitching dick inside her, feel the heavy weight of his balls against her thighs. He was thick and stretched her wide, her knees locked to keep her balance on teetering heels.

More hot tears ran down as she resigned herself to the fact that this felt good, too good. That his cock buried inside her, so brusquely, made a fresh gush of arousal coat his length. A soft sob escaped her parted lips because Elle felt liberated, and she was terrified: of herself. "Bloody hell!!" thought De Montfort, testing even his iron self-discipline at the sensation of Eleanor's cunt enveloping him "this one's cunt is soaking"

He took a moment savouring the sensation, the timing delightfully synchronised with a softer piece of the classic music, allowing Eleanor's whimpering ragged breath to be heard.

Simon knew that whilst he might not have the over-sized genitalia of some of the black bulls he had employed in the past with Subs, he was more than above average in length and girth.

Unless the unfortunate Marcus Stearns was equally well-endowed he knew Eleanor would be in some discomfort accommodating him, penetrated as deeply as she was.

The classical piece moved to the next stanza, picking up in volume and pace.

As too did Father de Montford pulling fully from Eleanor, an obscene slurping noise sounding as her wet cunt lips gripped around his wide shaft.

He paused for a moment as the head of his dick, coated thick with her cream cleared her labia - her exposed pinkness throbbed and twitched already on the throes of a near orgasm.

Again Simon slammed himself fully into Eleanor in one long thrust, her body thrashing against the table as she was lifted from her feet by the force of his motion.

"Beg to cum you little cunt" he said firmly as he wound thick tresses of her hair around his first, arching her neck and back painfully as his dick lodged deep in her pussy.

"Beg your Master" Elle felt her cunt twinge on the verge of orgasm, the sensation of feeling him slowly withdraw his cock from within her tight channel making her breath catch. She hissed out that breath as slammed himself back inside her to the hilt, the flesh on flesh sound of his balls slapping her ass loud despite the music in the background. The table beneath her jerked with the force of his thrust and she cried out as he clutched a handful of her thick black hair and yanked her head back at a sharp angle. She found that she enjoyed the sharp combination of pain mingled with pleasure.

Beg, he said, and beg she did.

"Please, please, please," she whimpered, the roots of her hair stinging from his hold, the edge of the table digging into her thighs hard enough she knew there would be a mark. "Let me cum, Sir, I need to cum..." Elle gasped, afraid of what would happen if she came without his permission. Her legs trembled with the force of holding her orgasm at bay, sweat pooled in the crease between her breasts.

She was panting now, teetering on the edge of release. Simon smiled in pleasure as he felt her muscles twitch and spasm around his hard shaft as she struggled to hold her orgasm at bay.

With Eleanor's head still raised by her hair, de Montfort slid his right arm under her so that the crook of his elbow nestled against her exposed throat, the inside of his forearm against the left side of her throat, his muscled bicep against the right side.

Releasing his grip on her hair, his left arm slid behind her, the palm of the hand against the back of her head. As his right hand grasped his left bicep, Simon began to gently tense his muscles allowing the rear naked choke to restrict the blood flow through Eleanor carotid arteries - her air flow was unimpeded, but the blood choke would have an effect far quicker.

The hold brought Simon's head close to Eleanor's ear and he whispered,

"I'm about to take you to a place you've never been Ms Easton. Think of it as a rebirth ... a baptism if you like."

"You will experience pleasure and depravity the likes of which you cannot have imagined ... but if you cum before I allow it, it will be the last orgasm you ever have..."

He was fully lodged within her sopping wet cunt now, and instead of withdrawing and thrusting, Simon rapidly thrust in a staccato fashion against and into her, striving to penetrate her a little deeper with each push knowing that he was pushing her to the limits of holding back the growing tidal wave of please.

Simon knew from countless experiences, that Eleanor was on the borderline of consciousness: her vision would be darkening, the thump of her heart doubtless accentuated with fear and panic, the rushing sound of her blood in her ears - in seconds she would be unconscious, precious seconds later still ... dead.

"You may cum for your new master, Sub" he said as he released his hold. She felt his cock thrusting in quick succession, seemingly with each breath she took. Her green eyes widened in fear as she felt his arm wrap around her slender throat, slowly squeezing. Oh, God, was he going to strangle her to death? What was happening? Eleanor felt pressure blooming in her temples, felt a strange light-headedness begin to creep up on her as her vision swam slowly before her eyes. The music in the background, their own sounds of pleasure, became a muffled thing in the distance. She could hear her heartbeat, however, loud and panicked, in her ears, drowning out the rest. He squeezed more and Eleanor tried to move, tried to stop it, but found she was pinned by solid muscle between him and the table. She knew what passing out felt like, had experienced it years ago as a teenager struggling with panic disorder. That it was going to happen again made her terrified. But suddenly, as though he ripped it from her with nothing but his command, she came. She came so hard and fast that she thought she would fade into unconsciousness from that alone, the orgasm wracking through her every muscle. It was the most intense experience of her life, feeling as though all the blood from her head had rushed to her swollen cunt. The moment it ended, he released her throat, and the blood came roaring back like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless, shaky, woozy. Eleanor could not move for the life of her, as her heartbeat slowly began returning to normal, her body slumped against the table. Had it not been for behind her, she would have collapsed to the floor. The remnants of her orgasm still flickered through her in tiny pulsations. De Montford braced himself as Eleanor's climax ripped through her body, a slight wistful smile of pleasure curling at the edges of his mouth.

Eleanor's abused body thrashed and bucked with the intensity of pleasure coursing through her – a pleasure which channelled itself directly into De Montford's body through their physical entwinement.

Simon relished the sensation, her inner muscles contracting and gripping tighter than she could possibly have managed in a conventional coupling. His eyes widened as the stimulation continued unabated and the pleasure dip in the pit of his stomach where his shaft started began to grow.

He gritted his teeth, willing his own oncoming climax to hold - wanting to make the final statement as to his ownership of her body and soul only when Eleanor had returned to full alertness.

As the violence of her movement began to slow down to a mere tremble, De Montford again brushed Eleanor's hair to one side exposing the nape of her neck, now drenched in affine film of perspiration from her exertions.

He dipped his tongue along the neck, savouring the saltiness, before slowly commencing his thrusting. Lubrication pulsed from Eleanor's pussy with each lunge – the music had now ceased and obscene lecherous squelching sounds echoed loudly in the room.

Simon smiled wolfishly and accentuated the noise with this movements, his thighs coated with her juices.

He was close already from Eleanor's involuntary contributions, and quickly picked up the pace, his hard abdomen slapping wetly into the curvaceous swell of her buttocks.

The pleasure boiled deep in his balls and as he felt the point of no return he fiercely gripped her thighs, his fingers leaving red indentations in the flesh, no doubt bruises would show tomorrow.

His mind consumed with a white flash of pleasure, De Montford hissed in pleasure as a torrent of hot thick cum shot deep into Eleanor, flooding her already soaked cunt, coating her cervix.

Simon paused for a moment to regain his equilibrium, his breath quickly returning, before pulling his still hard dick from Eleanor.

Their co-mingled cum juices poured from her, coating her thighs.

He smiled widely, the thought crossing his mind as to whether the future Mrs Shearns used birth control or not, as he wiped himself clean using her dress.

She lay there still breathing tremulously making no effort to move.

"Good" thought De Montford, "Let her contemplate the enormity of what she has just enjoyed", he opened a small draw in the table and drew out a small velvet pouch.

From the pouch he took a fine silver chain, exquisitely crafted but barely thicker than thread.

Once more he reached around Eleanor's neck, he raised an eyebrow as she twitched nervously, and fastened the chain around it. He tightened the customised clasp so the chain was snug to her neck without pinching it.

"Welcome to your new world Cunt as my slave – fix your make-up but nothing else, you have a wedding reception to take yourself to. I will join you there later" As De Montford's cum dribbled down her thigh, she tried to steady her breathing. She felt him wipe himself on her dress but rather than feel disgusted, a part of her felt as though that was his was of ... marking her. As his. It was an interesting concept that became all the more clear when he slid a thin, delicate chain around her throat and ordered her to only fix her make-up. She would have to walk around the reception with his drying semen still coating her thighs and cunt. Elle slowly pushed herself off the table and stood on shaky legs. She almost went down but caught herself and shook her head to clear it. She fingered the threadlike chain between her fingers and tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened. Her dress fell around her in loose folds and she checked it for obvious rips or snares or some giant cum stain. It seemed fine. She'd left her clutch in the car which held her makeup and a brush. Hopefully perfume would cover the scent of sex. She sat down for a moment and slipped off her shoes. She tugged down her ruined pantyhose and rolled them into a ball which she stuffed into a trash bin beneath his desk. Once finished she slipped back on her heels and adjusted her gown. Without a word, she walked past him and stood at the door, realizing after one turn that it was locked. "You'll need to unlock the door for me--" She paused. "Please." She felt as though she were in some dream, some other person's reality. This couldn't be happening, not to her. De Montford watched as Eleanor began to move, her usually graceful movements instead replaced with the wobbly combination of a new-born deer.

As her fully equilibrium returned he sauntered casually over to his discarded wine goblet and sipped contemplatively at the vintage, sitting down in the high back leather chair - ostensibly ignoring her as she removed her stockings and straightened her attire.

He wondered how she would react now she had opportunity to process, if not at length, what had just occurred to her. Some submissives would revert to their old selves, sobbing and wailing as their previous life's insecurities and inhibitions crushed them. If he read Eleanor's body language correctly she was relying on denial, Simon smiled – the normality of returning to her friends and family he could rip away again later this evening.

His contemplation was broken by Eleanor's request to open the door. He ascended the stairs without acknowledging her, unlocking the door as he went and continuing to walked past her towards the front door.

When he reached the door Simon turned to face her, he gently caressed her cheek with the palm of his left hand, admiring her pale flawless skin pleased with the way her silver slave chain sat on her slender neck.

"I was right" he thought "she looks beautiful owned"

But it was time to start her training.

"Eleanor" he said softly gazing deeply into her emerald eyes, fixing her with his gaze as he felt her cheek tremble slightly beneath his hand.

The slap was short and sharp, cracking like a bullwhip as it struck Eleanor's cheek. She fell to the floor not from the power behind the slap – de Montford had deliberately pulled it – but simply out of shock.

A bright flaming palm imprint blossomed on Eleanor's cheek where he had struck her.

"In future Cunt, ensure all requests are prefaced and suffixed with an appropriate honorific" he said calmly, as he walked away from her towards the stairs leading to his bathroom.

He smiled as he heard first the sobs, and then the front door open and close – noting with pleasure that she had not slammed it.

Stripping out of his clothes he quickly showered, his mind whirling with calculation as to the continued training of his new Submissive. Eleanor had been raised to believe that if a man struck you once, it would likely happen again, and so you got the fuck away. There were no excuses nor apologies accepted. So when De montford's caress suddenly became the sharp crack across her cheek, she was dumbfounded. It sent her reeling - not literally, as she had a feeling he could have struck her doubly hard - but her legs collapsed out of shock. The stinging reverberation of it pulsed through her body, and to her shame and horror, she felt her still-aching and abused cunt dampen with arousal. She burst into tears and simply sat there like a wilted flower on the foyer floor for a moment, until she forced herself to stand and open the front door. Surprisingly, she didn't slam it shut but pulled it gently closed behind her.

Making her way to her car was doubly difficult this time with the added complications of both the state of her brutally fucked body and her emotional state. Jesus Christ, how was she going to get through the reception like this? And he would be there, watching her, waiting for her to slip up somehow so that he could delightfully punish her.

As she settled into the driver's seat, she hiccupped and tried to steady her breathing, grabbing a few tissues from the glove compartment and wiping off her ruined mascara. Pulling down the sun visor mirror, Elle reapplied her makeup as best she could and fixed her messy hair. She felt like the scent of sex was all over her and sprayed her perfume to cover it. As she put on the last swipe of lipstick, Elle started into her own green eyes and felt the slickness of still to dry cum on her now naked inner thighs ... and loved it. "You fucking idiot," she spat at herself, slamming the visor up and angrily ramming her key into the ignition.

The chain around her neck felt too tight and skimmed her sensitive neck with every movement of her head. At least it wasn't a collar literally! She would never be able to pass that off in public ... or private, she realized, and with a flood of panic thought of Marcus. But then, with a heavy sigh of relief, remember he was still down for the count in their hotel.

It was a long moment before Eleanor put the car in drive. The hot needles of the shower lashed at his naked body, the skin quickly assuming a ruddy glow under the near-scalding intensity of heat, with a twist Simon yanked the temperature gauge in the opposite direction, gritting his teeth with a hiss as the now ice cold water bombarded him – as with so much of his tastes he had no interest in the mundane or moderation, life had to be experienced in the extreme to be of value.

He stepped from the wet room, carelessly allowing water to cascade from his smooth muscled body, and flicked on the television in his bedroom – an instant high-definition replay of the recent events in the wine cellar replete with audio appeared on the large screen.

De Montford watched keenly with a detached observation, more interested in Eleanor's facial expressions than the act of her brutal violation – seeking to glean a better understanding of what she sought, what she craved, what she needed.

Grabbing a small box from his nightstand, Simon took out the contents before opening a small silver phial and tapping out a quantity of exceptionally high grade cocaine. As he went through a well- rehearsed process he contemplated his next step for the lovely Ms Easton.

His final act before dismissing her – the swift slap – held no gratification for him. The motive for the action went beyond simple physical violence, it was intended to reinforce that there were no taboos, no morality and no ethical boundaries between the two of them, only carnal gratification.

Eleanor's first step in her new path had by necessity taken place in private – but a secret shielded from others could also be shielded from oneself. His next step for Eleanor would be at the wedding reception, and whilst he would ensure neither of them would be compromised her submission to him would take place in a setting where she was surrounded by friends and family: her normal life would be forced to confront and embrace her submission.

He sat back, eyes watering, as the cocaine rushed into his bloodstream, smiling at the narcotics effects and the thought of Eleanor stumbling and apologising to no doubt irate members of her family for her late appearance.

Uncharacteristically he giggled – poor Marcus would probably take the blame for that too.

Dressing swiftly, again eschewing underwear, Simon headed back to the wine cellar to retrieve the bottle of wine and Eleanor's discarded stockings.

"First the bride's gift, then for Eleanor's next lesson" he thought as he left the Rectory whistling Handel's 'Entrance of the Queen of Sheba' to himself. By the time she arrived, the reception was in full swing, and her entrance being as late as it was, was evident. She murmured excuses that she had prepared on the drive over, something about Marcus falling suddenly ill - damn hotel food was probably under cooked or poorly supervised - and hoped that it was believable. Her emotions were still somewhat on high so she assumed her nervousness would be fitting to the story she had concocted.

A few people complimented her necklace and she simply said thank you, that it had been a gift, and left it at that. The necklace, however, seemed to burn like a hot brand, and though dainty, the chain felt more like the pressure of De Montford's hand around her throat than a delicate silver thread.

Eleanor felt distracted, her green gaze kept shifting throughout the crowd, seeking that now familiar lean form, the shocking blue eyes, or a hint of a thin pencil-like beard ... She felt so discordant, dissembled, like her body was not her own. She felt twitchy and irritated. Air! She needed air. So she moved outside through a pair of balcony doors to the patio. It had gotten chillier as the day wore on and she was relatively alone, save one or two smokers. Glancing around, she found a forgotten pack and snatched it casually off the table as though she had left it there - in reality, she hadn't had a cigarette since meeting Marcus, but fuck it. She needed one now. Someone proffered her a light and she leaned in, inhaling and watching the little cherry at the end begin to glow. "Thanks," she said and stepped back, moving over to a stone bench and setting herself down. She watched the curlicues of smoke drift over her head and felt the faint light-headed sensation wash over her at the first strong hit of nicotine flooded her system after nearly two years without it.

Elle was afraid De Montford would humiliate her in front of family and friends. But then that would oust him as not being such a holy man. Minus the bottle of Sancerre, Father de Montford glided into the main function room of the reception, his senses heightened with a combination of the artificial stimulants and his recent carnal activities.

He surveyed the room, carefully masking the contempt he felt for the dullards gathered in the room - sheep who were bound by their own lack of imagination too bound by fake boundaries to live.

Better to be dead than live in such serfdom he thought.

His gaze had immediately registered the whereabouts of Eleanor but he made no move towards her, or indeed give any indication he had seen her.

Instead he adroitly insinuated himself in the gaggle of older ladies, prominent among whom was Katherine Easton, the lovely Eleanor's mother.

"It's terribly bad form for the groom's mother to outshine the Bride, Mrs Easton" purred de Montford

Katherine Easton blushed and giggled like a high school cheerleader.

From another it would seem insincere flattery, but Simon's glittering charisma made such platitudes seem like warm comments, full of humour even flirtatious had it not come from a priest.

Their conversation carried on this way for a while until de Montford adjudged the time was right,

"I don't think I've seen your daughter here, forgive me I forget her name Katherine?" He queried innocently.

"Oh, Eleanor? Why, she's outside, let me introduce you Father" Katherine replied.

Simon proffered his arm, which Katherine accepted freely and together they walked outside to the unsuspecting Eleanor.

"Eleanor..." started Katherine "Father Si- Eleanor you're smoking!" she exclaimed in a strident disapproving tone.

Simon watched the interplay with a benign expression but internally he was laughing uproariously - Eleanor had her mother to thank for her looks and figure but clearly the mother/daughter relationship was a fractious one.

"- it's bad enough that you turn up late to your brother's wedding without Marcus -" Katherine Easton was clearly in full flow when Simon interposed himself in the tirade, the older woman immediately silenced

"Now Mrs Easton, let's not be too hard on Eleanor. Today was no doubt a very emotional time for her" he said, pointedly, only Eleanor aware of his true meaning.

"No doubt she has question as to her future and the behaviour expected from her" he turned to Katherine "at times like this no doubt the Church can be a source of instruction and guidance"

Katherine nodded, her head bobbing at what she thought was benign advice.

Favouring Katherine with one last beaming smile, de Montford turned to Eleanor

"Come walk with me in the gardens Eleanor, we have a great many matters to discuss" he said preferring his arm once more, only this time to the Easton daughter.

Eleanor started at the sound of her mother's voice and fumbled with the cigarette as though to hide it from sight. Too late. As she turned around, an expression of horror blooming on her face as she noticed her mother was arm in arm with Father. Jesus did the man have no boundaries? She deposited the cigarette in a gravel filled pot meant for such and absently touched the necklace at the throat.

As the priest cut in on her mother's tirade, Eleanor nearly scoffed. Oh, yes. The Church had most definitely been enlightening...

As he proffered his arm, Elle felt her heart begin to race. "Alright," she said simply, not ending it with Sir or Master or even Father. The look she gave him was dark. Go on, it said, slap me again you sick bastard.

But as his hand lightly closed over her bare arm, goose bumps rose along her flesh. "I will see you soon, Mother," she said and turned towards the steps leading into the garden. De Montford fully appreciated the deliberate failure of Eleanor to address him as she had been instructed to do so, and equally the defiant look she threw at him.

He gave no flicker of a reaction, it was not uncommon for a new Submissive to be rebellious – a combination usually of not being full broken or acclimatised to their new role on the one hand, and a misconception that they needed to misbehave in order to be disciplined.

They walked in silence through the rose gardens, Simon content to let the suspense, and no doubt Eleanor's trepidation, grow as they walked further away from the reception hall and the sounds of revelry.

The late afternoon sunshine had already faded to dusk, and night was beginning to fall.

As the rose garden gave way to an ornate section of the gardens ringed with privet hedges, de Montford plucked a full blooming rose from one of the bushes, bringing it to his face to better savour the fragrance.

They were now partially concealed from the sight of the other guests by the 5-foot high topiary.

Simon exhaled bringing the rose away from his face, turning the breath theatrically into a sigh, "Oh dear Slut..."

Before Eleanor had chance to fully comprehend his term of address he delivered a short stabbing hook to her stomach. Accurately delivered to ensure no damage to her ribs, the punch was devastating, forcing the air from Eleanor's lungs in whoosh.

As the girl crumpled to the verdant grass, Simon quickly knelt down beside Eleanor - binding her wrists tightly behind her back with the stockings she had previously worn, before flipping her over on to her back.

He knelt beside her as she struggled to regain her breath " ... you really need to address the failings in your behaviour"

As he spoke his hand slid firmly between her thighs parting them until it reached her warm pussy. He smiled to himself noting not only the tacky wetness from their earlier encounter, but fresh dampness and arousal that was all Eleanor.

As Simon continued to speak his fingers roamed firmly and freely over, and into, Eleanor: gripping her pubic area, parting her wet lips, thrusting his fingers inside her to coat them with her cream and occasionally, very occasionally, caressing and pinching her clit.

"You're no longer that sassy teenager giving lip to your mother as a way to try and get Daddy's attention..."

His fingers moved faster and more forcefully as he felt Eleanor get wetter

"Hoping Daddy notices the way his little girl is growing..."

He whispered fiercely and urgently at her encouraging her to climax

"Maybe spanking you for being a naughty girl..."

As he felt Eleanor's cunt begin to twitch with the preliminary spasms of oncoming orgasm, he abruptly stopped, his voice changing tone becoming harsh and firm

"No - you're my Slut now and you will do as you are told"

Simon fastened one hand tightly in Eleanor's hair dragging her to her knees, the other undoing his trousers as moved in front of her face

"Now Slut, receive your Communion..." One moment, Elle was walking, the next she was a crumpled heap on the garden path, the smell of dirt and flowers filling her nostrils, and a painful cramping sensation coursing through her with every attempt to suck in a breath. Holy hell that had hurt, or perhaps it just hurt to inhale, and Elle tried to groan but only succeeded in coughing. Her eyes watered as she struggled to take a lungful of much needed air. The moment she could finally breathe again, he was there, binding her wrists with something silky and stretchy ... Her pantyhose. She found herself facing the sky as he rolled her onto her back and thrust his hands between her thighs. He cupped her still swollen cunt, found the warm wetness that blossomed there even through her pain, and thrust his fingers inside as though he owned it. And he did, she realized, with sudden clarity as she arched her hips up, driving those fingers deeper. His words, sick filthy untrue words flooded over her but they did nothing to lessen the desire that swamped her, that made her lightheaded, causing the world around her to spin on its axis. Over and over, he shoved his fingers into her channel, her arousal coating his palm and dripping down her thighs to mingle with the residual stickiness of their last encounter. Elle didn't even try to fight it, as she lay in the garden in the midst of her brother's wedding reception, her thousand dollar dress rucked up over her knees, the rising torrent of need that rose up and demanded to be released. She felt her muscled tighten, the first spasms of near orgasm fluttering against those long, skilled fingers, and tipped her head back with a shudder. Then those seeking, probing fingers were gone. And the ache inside her at their loss made her cry out. His hand caught her hair in its grip, yanking her up on her knees like a marionette puppet on strings. One handed, he undid his slacks and that glorious cock sprang free into the air between them. Elle was breathing hard, and at the sight of it she swallowed. At this angle, it seemed bigger than before, longer, thicker. And he was going to shove it down her throat until she gagged. And how fucking sick was it that she wanted him to?

De Montford looked down at Eleanor.

She was beautiful, ... her mascara once more streaked down her face, her green eyes shining brightly with fear and lust, her mouth open and panting ... and her neck elegantly circled with the symbol of his ownership.

Keeping his grip on her hair, Simon used his other hand to tug down the front of Eleanor's dress, though the halter neck made it awkward, he roughly exposed her breasts, hooking the cups of her strapless bra under them, pushing them further up.

She had fine pale breasts, topped with ruby red nipples - nipples which stood hard and erect, and not simply due to the cool evening air.

He knew she expected him to force his cock down her throat, to abuse her and make her gag for his own gratification. All of which he intended to do, but he wanted to prolong her ordeal first.

He moved her head closer to his cock - it quivered in anticipation as though it had independent life and glistening with moisture both on the engorged swollen head and his long smooth shaft.

"Lick me Slut" he ordered, pulling her mouth to the head of his cock.

Eleanor swallowed visibly tentatively opened her mouth to lick the member, pulling back initially after the first taste before continuing to lick her tongue around and over the purple head.

Simon grinned as he watched her - no doubt she'd realised his dick tasted of pussy, but did she realise it wasn't hers?

Pulling her by the hair, he indicated that Eleanor should continue her oral ministrations first on the shaft of his dick, and then down to his smooth hairless balls, and then back again in a repeating cycle.

Once he was satisfied she realised what she was to do, he released his hold on her hair, and drew a cigar from his breast pocket, which he nonchalantly lit and began to smoke - the combination of his recent orgasm and cocaine use meant she was going to be licking for a while.

"I think that my dick is now suitably washed - time for you to be face-fucked Ms Easton"

He slapped her cheek - not as hard as in the Rectory, but still sufficient to hurt

"No teeth" Eleanor licked him eagerly, trailing her wet tongue all along his shaft, his balls, mewling softly. He tasted like ... well, he tasted like he'd recently fucked someone. Whether or not it was her scent that coated his shaft, she didn't know. But it made her angry and tightened her chest. Spurred her to make certain that she pleased him to the best of her abilities. How many other women did he "own", she wondered, and found she did not like the thought. He smoked the cigar as though he couldn't give two shits who was licking his dick. It was humiliating and she flushed.

His slap brought her mind back to focusing. "Yes, Sir," she said and lowered her eyes. She would play good, for now at least. Maybe if she was good enough, he wouldn't fuck anyone else. Elle tipped her head up, parted her lips wide and suddenly his cock was there, slamming between her lips and down to the back of her throat. It was rather unexpected and Eleanor gagged loudly as she struggled to acclimate herself to the large shaft. He gave her nearly no time to adjust or relax her throat before he began pounding himself into her mouth, saliva pooling in the corners of her lips. She tried to breathe through her nose steadily but it came out in harsh pants. His hand gripped her hair and used it to manoeuvre her head, his balls slapping against her chin. Over and over he thrust, his wide crown banging against her throat, her jaw beginning to ache from the amount of stress it was taking to keep it open. Wreathed in a blue black halo of tobacco smoke De Montford savoured the sensation as he with deliberate strokes ploughed his hard dick into Eleanor's mouth and down into her throat.

Her initial gagging reaction dwindled the noise being replaced with a wet slapping sound as she drooled uncontrollably – with her hands bound behind her she was even denied the solace of being able to wipe away the ropes of spittle that hung from her chin.

Looking down he softly grunted in appreciation when he realised Eleanor was now succeeding in deep-throating the entire length of his shaft, her nose pressed to the hard smooth muscle of his lower abdomen.

They'd been in the gardens for the best part of half an hour, with Eleanor undergoing her oral ordeal, sure enough De Montford spied Mrs Easton making her way from the hall wondering where her daughter had got to.

Simon slowed, and then ceased his hip thrusts, and murmured quietly,

"Your mother approaches Slut – not a sound"

He smiled as Eleanor's eyes widened in sheer panic, unable to vocalise her concerns both due to his instruction and since he'd ensured his cock was lodged in her mouth when he ceased his movements.

Open-palmed Simon slapped her cheek "I didn't tell you to stop" he said in a tone a patient teacher would use with a dim-witted child.

As Eleanor awkwardly began to bob her head backwards and forwards, desperately trying to maintain her balance with her hands tied, Simon looked up smiling to the approaching Mrs Easton – Eleanor and her actions completely hidden from view behind the luscious verdant privet hedge.

"Ah ... good evening again Father" Katherine Easton started, her nose wrinkling, despite her best attempts to hide her distaste of the cigar smoke.

Simon smiled wryly, looking at the cigar in his hand "You must forgive me Katherine – you've caught me in the middle of enjoying one of my elicit pleasures. Still ... perfection is reserved only for the Divinity"

To an objective observer his tone would be sneeringly patronizing, but Katherine Easton blushing furiously didn't notice - mortified that her reaction to the priests cigar had been so transparent.

Simon's smile grew wider, the sheer deliciousness of conversing with the mother, whilst her daughter –hidden from view- fellated him, was causing his balls to tighten and feel heavy with an impending climax.

"I'm sorry Father, I was looking for Eleanor – is she not with you?"

De Montford was enjoying the situation far too much to pass the opportunity up, "Your daughter left a while ago Katherine. She obviously had a lot to get her head around – it's a lot for a young girl to swallow"

He was close, very close now. The feeling was upon him the hot rush of pleasure as though his balls were the centre of his existence, no – as though his balls and the sensation was all that existed.

"Oh, I must have missed her..." Katherine trailed off with a confused air

Simon clamped his free hand on the back of Eleanor's head as she bobbed forward, locking her in place his dick lodged in her throat as he jetted thick hot cum into her.

With a herculean effort De Montford endeavoured to keep is voice even

"I think she wondered off to the fountains" he gestured in a the opposite direction "If you'll forgive me, I'd like to finish my cigar".

The silent suffix of "in peace" was unnecessary, Katherine Easton understanding she was being dismissed.

"Yes, please excuse me Father, I need to find Eleanor" she said as she moved off.

Simon exhaled deeply in please, pulling his still hard cock from Eleanor's mouth, smearing the head of it across her lips and cheeks. It was the most difficult thing to stay silent when someone was thrusting their rather large cock down your throat without ceasing. Eleanor fought back the gagging sounds desperately, the muffled moans, and any other noise that would give her away but it was really, really, not an easy thing. Tears dripped down her cheeks from her watering eyes and saliva ran down her chin. Her heart was jackhammering in her chest at the prospect of being caught. Her fucking mother was inches away, while she was being face-fucked by a priest. At her brother's wedding reception. Could life be any weirder?

was calm as ever, belying nothing of what was happening. He stood, puffing his cigar, as though he were doing nothing but contemplating the weather, or wondering what to write his next sermon on. All the while, her mother chattered on about trying to find her apparently missing daughter. And then he came. Without making a sound or even really moving, his cock exploded in her mouth, spurting hot thick semen down her throat in gushes that she fought to keep up with. That was the hardest part to keep silent through. Finally, finally, her mother disappeared and he withdrew his cock. Elle sucked in a lungful of air and coughed a few times, wanting to wipe the spit and remnants of cum from her face and tears from her cheeks but unable to with her wrists still bound.

Her throat ached like she had tonsillitis. Her jaw was burning. She felt filthy and wretched. And horny as hell. She raised her eyes to his and "Will you untie me, Sir?"

"Will you untie me Sir?"

Simon didn't immediately react to Eleanor's plea, instead using a bunch of her hair to wipe the residue of cum and spittle from his softening cock.

Zipping his pants back up, he ground the stub of his cigar underfoot before turning to face the still kneeling girl.

"You were instructed to remain silent Slut – I don't recollect giving you permission to speak".

De Montford spoke coolly but with a clear steely undertone.

"I've yet to determine whether it's sheer stupidity on your part or whether you're a recidivist." He continued, "In either case punishment will be necessary Cunt".

He noticed Eleanor tense expecting a physical blow, but De Montford knew that the unexpected punishment would have greater effect ... and give greater pleasure to the submissive Eleanor.

Reaching down he idly pinched and pulled at Eleanor's rigidly erect nipples, first one and then the other drawing a whimper of both pleasure and pain from the girl.

"No Slut - no corporal chastisement for this transgression. Before we get to your punishment, let me be clear: nobody touches you anywhere below the waist unless I say so – this includes you; above the waist..."

He paused to slap the outside of one breast and then the other, causing them to quiver in the cooling night air " ... and of course your pretty mouth..." he again paused cupping her chin and turning her face upwards to him "will be used".

Letting go of Eleanor's chin he turned and began to walk away "To answer your question – No, I won't untie you, you'll have to use your persuasive little mouth to convince whoever finds you to do so."

As he walked away, he paused as though recollecting something "Present yourself at the Rectory tomorrow morning at 1000. Punctuality is a virtue. Good night to you Ms Easton"

Once out of Eleanor's view, De Montford hurried back to the hall – he had no intention of allowing Eleanor to be discovered in such a state, though doubtless her predicament had adrenaline coursing through her body subconsciously accentuating her arousal.

He was confident the bonds he had skilfully applied would keep her hands tied, but equally he had chosen knots that another person could easily undo ... if they had line of sight to them.

Now, to select a saviour, he mused.

Simon slowed as he approached the hall, observing the waiting staff milling to and from the wedding reception venue.

Spotting the waiter he was looking for in particular he moved to intercept him.

"Good evening Adebayo" he said with authority as he addressed a big Nigerian waiter whose pressed white shirt strained almost comically to contain him

"Father" said Adebayo nodding reverently – his thick accent marking him as a recent arrival to the United States

"I wonder if you could help me? I've lost my car keys – I can only think they've fallen from my pocket while I was in the garden. I'm just about to check over by the fountain, could you check by the rose gardens for me?"

Simon smiled inwardly – Adebayo whilst not retarded, bordered on the simple and from an early age had had impressed upon him the infallibility and authority of the clergy. He would do perfectly to complete tonight's degradation and humiliation of the blue-blooded Eleanor.

"Of course Father" said the waiter, setting down his tray and ambling off towards the rose garden and his unexpected reward. Eleanor cringed as he wiped his cock with her hair. That was going to dry clumpy and sticky. She eyed him with a narrowed gaze, a part of her still defiant. But she whimpered as he pinched her nipples. How the hell was she going to not let Marcus fuck her if she wanted to? That was ridiculous! Impossible ... And yet, the thought that would somehow find out, made her pulse quicken in fear. She'd worry about that later. Wait, wait, what? Her mouth was completely fine for someone else? Because she had a feeling the priest wasn't talking about her fiancé. Eleanor's eyes widened and she had to literally bite her tongue to keep from speaking. She wasn't an idiot, contrary to whatever he fucking believed. Nor a recidivist. Well, that one was questionable. He had something up his goddamn Armani sleeve. She just knew it. His mind was calculating behind those vivid blue orbs. She didn't respond except to nod at his request for her attendance (prompt) at the Rectory.

And then he left her there. Asshole. She glared at his retreating back and sat there on her knees, contemplating her fate. What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn't possible allow someone to find her like this. Elle started to panic, twisting her wrists in a futile attempt to rip her stockings. Muttering curses, Elle prayed her mother wasn't still searching for her "missing" daughter ... Elle froze. Shit, shit, shit. Someone was coming. Oh for God's sake. Her life was over. Ruined. A young black male was approaching her, dressed in a server's uniform. Eleanor had no idea what to do. She was trussed up in the middle of the rose garden, cum drying in her hair and probably still smeared on her lips. The black man canted his head at her, walking closer, and she was blushing so hard she could feel her cheeks burning. "What are you doing, lady?" he asked, coming to stand in front of her. Then his eyes widened and a leer formed on his wide mouth. "You all tied up. You got something on your mouth, I know cum when I see it. You a whore or something?" "Shut up, you imbecile and untie me. I'll pay you. I'll triple whatever they pay you to wait tables here at the reception." He continued grinning at her and Elle felt her stomach plummet. "I don't need your money, woman. I'll untie you when I'm done with you."

Adebayo grinned unable to believe his good fortune "forget looking for the Priest's keys" he thought, blissfully uncomprehending of De Montford's machinations.

Here was a fine white woman, her titties hanging over the top of her dress, clearly tied up and sucking dick – he shook his head, white-folks could be crazy.

He fumbled to undo his trousers, his haste making him clumsy as he walked towards the wide-eyed Eleanor, reaching inside his pants he pulled his cock free from his boxer shorts.

Had he been present Simon would have laughed at Adebayo's complete accord with racial stereotypes – he was hung like the proverbial donkey, his thick black circumcised cock jutting hard and erect, at least 10 inches long and with a thickness approaching that of a beer bottle.

He stroked his cock in front of Eleanor's face, her complexion contrasting sharply with the darkness of his own meat, the musky tang of his own sweat hung heavy in the air – too bad for the white woman that he hadn't showered he thought

"You gonna suck me good little missy, take all my cock in that pretty white mouth of yours and swallow my cum – then maybe Adebayo will untie you"

Adebayo continued to stroke his cock – he knew he wouldn't last long, but screw it he'd been working hard all night and this was going to be sweet.

"Now ask nicely if you can suck on my cock you white bitch"

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