Amazing Grace
Copyright© 2025 by Edward Pembroke
Chapter 18
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 18 - Cute young schoolgirl Grace Perkins feels that life cannot get any worse. She is bullied at school and hates her awkward young teenage body. But she reckons without the evil intentions of a vile pervert who decides to make her his target for his plan of abduction and enslavement.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Teenagers Blackmail NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Slavery Heterosexual Fiction Crime BDSM MaleDom Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Anal Sex Analingus Enema Facial Masturbation Pegging Sex Toys Spitting Squirting Voyeurism Water Sports Small Breasts Violence
Charlotte sat hunched on the sofa, her face a ruin of bruises. One eye swollen shut, her nose crooked and taped, her lip trembling. She clutched a crumpled tissue, sobbing.
Pembroke sat opposite, calm as a judge, sipping his tea.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he said gently, setting the cup down with care. “I’ve done my best, but I can’t find anything. No leads, no names. Nothing.”
She looked up at him with her one good eye, desperate.
“Please, Edward ... you’re my last hope. I feel you can find something. Anything. Anyone. Please.”
Pembroke smiled inwardly, savoring the irony.
“The press,” Charlotte stammered on, “they’re saying I killed her now! Saying I came home and— and did it myself. Or that I was a bad mother. That I left her alone too much ... but I had to work, Edward. I had no choice, I’m a single mum. What was I meant to do?”
Pembroke tilted his head, licking his lips. “You knew she was self-harming, didn’t you?”
Charlotte froze. “I ... yes. But— I never ... I didn’t...” She broke down, covering her face with both hands. “Please, Edward, don’t judge me.”
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement, his mouth straight.
“Please, Edward,” she begged through tears, “don’t think I’m evil. I’m not. The press, the police — they all think I’m a bad mother. Neglectful. But I did my best. I swear I did my best.”
Pembroke let the silence hang. Then he said softly, almost kindly, “I don’t blame you, Charlotte. Not at all. More than anything, I just want to find what happened to Grace.”
“My poor girl,” sobbed Charlotte. “She is so sweet. Oh Edward, if you only knew her. You’d know she wouldn’t do anything ... she would never leave me like this. She was so innocent, so pure.”
Pembroke smiled, hiding it behind his cup. Not innocent anymore.
Pembroke tried half heartedly to stop the distressed woman forcing him to accept more payment. He made a show of reluctance when Charlotte pressed him again to take more payment, raising a hand as though to ward her off.
“Charlotte, you’ve already done too much—”
But she shook her head, desperate. “No, no, Edward, please. I’ll transfer it. You need resources, tools ... I can’t bear the thought of you giving up.”
He let his hand fall, allowing her insistence to carry him. When she hurried off to her bedroom to fetch her laptop, Pembroke stood in the hall, waiting.
His eyes drifted across the hall. In the corner, the familiar laundry basket overflowed with dirty clothes. Grief and disgrace had obviously wrecked Charlotte’s domestic duties.
Pembroke strolled over, listening idly to Charlotte still tapping and muttering in the other room. He let his fingers trail through the heap until they closed around a pair of soiled white panties patterned with pink hearts. He studied them for a moment, then slipped them into his pocket.
“I’ve just done it,” came Charlotte’s voice from the bedroom. “The money’s gone. Godspeed, Edward—do your best!”
Pembroke turned, smoothing his face into an easy smile. “I will try,” he said warmly.
---------- Grace had completed another humiliating video entry. She sat perched on the familiar stool, her legs dangling and spread just enough for the camera to capture the familiar view up her plaid skirt of her skimpy white panties. She wore the same uniform she’d been abducted in: red plaid skirt, white blouse, and ankle socks. Even the panties were the same.
Pembroke watched from his armchair, the camera’s red light blinking off with a quiet click. He was a hairy, hulking thing, a monster dressed in nothing but a black thong, the waistband sagging over the waistband, his thighs sprawled obscenely.
“Come here, child,” he said, patting his thigh. “I have something to share.”
Grace knew the script. She padded forward, smoothing her skirt as she went, her fingers trembling just slightly.
She perched on the edge of his lap. His fingers dug into her waist, pulling her closer.
“Let’s take a look at my meeting with your mother earlier today, shall we?”
Grace went still.
Pembroke reached for the remote on the side table, his other hand keeping her firmly in place.
Pembroke reached for the remote on the side, his other hand keeping her firmly in place. The screen flickered to life. Grace gasped as she saw her mother on screen, and the state of her face.
On the screen, Charlotte sat on the sofa, her face a mess of bruises, one eye swollen shut. She clutched a tissue, her voice thick with tears. “Please, Edward ... you’re my last hope.”
Grace bit her lip, what on earth had happened to her mother’s face, someone had beaten her up? And why was she trusting and talking to the monster who had kidnapped her? She still couldn’t understand this.
“I’ve done my best, but I can’t find anything. No leads, no names. Nothing.” The voice of Pembroke came from the figure who was not on screen, but who seemed to be the source of filming.
Grace’s nails bit into her palms. The bastard,
“The press, they’re saying I killed her now!” Charlotte’s voice cracked. “That I came home and—and did it myself. Or that I was a bad mother.”
Grace sniffed. She wanted to hug her mother, to whisper in her ear—I’m alive, I’m here, I’m sorry. She wanted to comfort her, to tell her it wasn’t her fault.
But all she could do was sit there, as Pembroke’s fingers traced slow circles on the inside of her thigh.
The rest of the video was just as tortuous.
Pembroke’s voice, still smooth, still false, cut through the footage like a knife. “It seems your mummy got beaten up by Julie’s dad. You know Julie, don’t you? Your bully?”
She remembered Julie—the way she’d yanked Grace’s hair in the schoolyard, the way she’d called her a loser, a twiglet, a freak.
“Seems like your mummy got beaten up just like her daughter,” Pembroke crooned. His tongue slid out, wet and thick, tracing the shell of her ear before pushing inside. She flinched, her whole body locking up. “You’re both born victims. Losers.”
Grace tried to stop the tears from reaching her eyes, blinking furiously as she fought to block out the sound of her mother’s sobs on the screen and the wet, violating press of Pembroke’s tongue inside her ear.
“But don’t worry, you have found your place in life. You’re my slave. Your body is mine, slave.”
Grace couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t escape. She couldn’t even defy him, not really. Maybe the only way to survive was to just ... accept it. How could she though? How could she enjoy the constant sexual perversions of this ugly old bald hairy man?
Pembroke brought out a piece of fabric from beneath the armchair. A soiled pair of knickers, the pair he had stolen from Charlotte’s house, white with red hearts.
Now, I’m not so evil,” he murmured, unfolding them with slow, deliberate care. The panties were yellowed with dried urine, and a smear of something thicker, cream, crusted along the gusset. “I brought you a present. A gift from your mummy. Something to remember her by.”
Grace tried to absorb the hit. But it was hard, seeing her mother’s smell, and her shame.
“Look how dirty they are,” Pembroke cooed, holding them up to the light. His fingers traced the stains, lingering. “Look at the piss, the orange piss on the gusset. She must be so worried about you, pissing herself all the time. Not changing her underwear.” His voice dropped, a mockery of concern. “And look at the cream here. Maybe she’s been playing with herself? Trying to forget you?”
Grace stayed quiet, not even reacting to his hand straying between her legs and touching her through her panties.
“Maybe your mummy is a dirty woman,” he whispered, pressing the fabric to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Maybe she likes playing with her pussy ... just like her daughter.”
His eyes gleamed as he held the knickers out to Grace. “Sniff them.”
Grace swallowed in disgust at herself, before giving in and leaning her nose against the fabric, smelling the piss.
“Lick them, child.”
Grace pressed her lips to the stained fabric. The taste of urine and something thicker, muskier, not as acidic, filled her mouth. She sucked, her tongue moving mechanically over the gusset, the salt of sweat and filth coating her throat.
Pembroke’s fingers went between her legs, under her panties and began playing with her pussy, rubbing her clit. “Good girl, just like your dirty mummy.”
Grace tried to keep a clear head as she surrendered to the pleasure between her legs, but it was exhausting. It was easier to be nothing, just a slut, allowing him to abuse her, in every way.
Pembroke’s voice was a blade in the dark.
“You’re going to lose your virginity now, Grace.”
His fingers tightened in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to force her to meet his eyes. Her mother’s knickers were still between her teeth.
“I want you to lose it with the taste of your mummy’s cunt in your mouth, in your school uniform.” His free hand fisted the plaid skirt, bunching the fabric in his grip. “You can remember how safe you thought you were in this uniform. How innocent.”
Grace stared back, just a frightened doll, no gith in her.
He chuckled, as he reminded her of the diary entry he’d forced her to read aloud—the one where she’d written about her crush, about dreaming of her first time being soft and sweet and loved.
“I’m sorry I’m not a special good-looking boy who respects you.” His fingers started working their way inside her pussy. “I’m not kind. You never thought you’d lose your virginity to a dirty, ugly old man like me in a basement, did you?”
Grace stayed still, trying to focus on the warmth between her legs and not the cruel taunts.
“Now. Panties off.”
Grace hooked her thumbs into the waistband, the fabric clinging to her skin before she dragged them down her thighs.
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