Amazing Grace
Copyright© 2025 by Edward Pembroke
Chapter 24
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 24 - 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
Edward Pembroke was dressed in his best suit as he knocked on the door of the house he knew so well, the Perkins’ house in Willowbridge. He was shocked at the sight of Charlotte Perkins when she opened the door. He had not seen her in three months.
Gone was the happy, vibrant, attractive woman he had spied on playing with herself and naked in the shower. Now she looked older, heavier, and broken — her face grey, her movements sluggish, a livid scar marking her throat. She touched it absent-mindedly, as if reminding herself she was still here, still suffering.
“Oh yes ... sorry,” Charlotte muttered, her eyes hollow, her voice flat. “I was very low ... but I’m ... I’m alright now.” Pembroke had heard about the dramatic suicide attempt that had got her committed.
Pembroke gave a sigh, feigning concern, though inside he sneered. Once he had toyed with the idea of making Charlotte his second slave, and forcing her into some disgusting incestuous games with her daughter in his basement. But now, looking at her ruined state, he felt only disappointment. She was no longer useful to him, not in that way.
“Are you getting the help you need?” Pembroke asked, his voice draped in false sincerity.
Err ... yeah,” Charlotte muttered, her fingers worrying at the hem of her frumpy cardigan. “Psychiatrist.” As if pills could stitch together a soul shredded by the knowledge of what was happening to her daughter.
She shuffled off into the kitchen and came back with two cups of tea, spilling brown rings on the saucers as she moved. They sat together on the sofa, steam rising between them. Charlotte looked utterly defeated, like someone already half-buried but still breathing.
“I just hope...” she whispered, eyes glistening, “that we’ll be together in life after death. That neither of us has to suffer much longer. Not while she’s ... still out there ... suffering. And I can’t help her.”
Pembroke mischievously brought out a white cloth and sniffed it while looking directly at Charlotte. It was Grace’s soiled panties, she had been wearing them all the previous day, while she had been dancing for hours and then playing with herself. Smelling he now, in front of her mother, was intoxicating.
“Oh, Charlotte ... I’m so sorry,” Pembroke said, laying a hand gently over hers. His tone dripped with remorse, every syllable rehearsed. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help.”
She shook her head, angry tears welling. “No, Edward. You did your best. At least you tried. The police—those bastards—they did nothing!”
Charlotte excused herself to go to the toilet. While the sound of Charlotte’s muffled sobs echoed from the bathroom, Pembroke sauntered to the laundry basket. His fingers delved into the soiled clothes until they closed around a pair of light orange knickers, the gusset deliciously stained with creamy residue and the sharp tang of urine. With a smirk, he tucked them into his pocket, right next to Grace’s pair.
A few minutes later, Charlotte hugged him goodbye. “Thank you ... thank you for doing what you could Edward ... and ... if you hear anything...” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Of course,” Pembroke lied smoothly, already stepping back, already dismissing her. “Of course, Charlotte. You know I’ll do everything I can.”
Charlotte Perkins returned to her sad world of drugs and prayers and misery, while Pembroke returned to his car, smirking as he inhaled her panties before taking off, his cock growing hard at what torment he had planned for the woman’s daughter.
“Now, child,” Pembroke muttered casually, running his fingers along her fine blonde hair, “it is not up to you how I use your body. I say you are to be whipped, and whipped you shall be!”
“Please, Sir...” Grace’s voice trembled, her words spilling out in a desperate rush. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? I know my place, Sir. Please—” She dropped to her knees, her hands pressing against his thighs “Would you prefer a tongue massage, Sir? I can dance for you...”
Pembroke considered her offer with detached amusement. “You danced for me yesterday,” he said, his fingers still tracing the flogger’s strands. “I enjoyed it. And after this whipping, you will dance for me again if I want it so. But now, I think it’s time to whip you.” His eyes flicked over her, calculating. He didn’t want to damage her—not long term, at least. Her unblemished, pale skin was valuable, a commodity that fetched higher prices when unmarked. But a few red welts? Those would heal in hours, and the footage of her suffering would sell very well. A month’s salary, perhaps, for a few minutes of her pain.
Grace’s breath hitched as he made his decision. “Now, child,” he said, his voice firm, “this is going to happen. No complaining. You will dance for me afterward, and you will give me a tongue massage regardless. Now, put your hands in the restraints above you.”
The restraints hung from a rope tied to the ceiling, swaying slightly as Grace’s hands reached for them. Pembroke watched, his cock stirring as she locked herself in, her body stretching taut. She was naked, her slim frame hoisted onto her tiptoes, her ribcage pronounced beneath her concave stomach, her waist drawn tight. Her skin was pulled taut, her muscles trembling with frightened terror as she waited for the first strike of the flogger.
Her terror was not helped by the Pembroke’s appearance. The inhuman mask he put on transformed him into something monstrous, a faceless entity in black bondage gear that made him unrecognizable as anything human. The gimp-like visage loomed over Grace, its blankness more terrifying than any expression could be. She could hear his breathing through the latex, ragged and excited, as he circled her like a predator sizing up prey.
The flogger cut through the air with a hiss—then CRACK.
The suede strands bit into the tender skin between her shoulder blades, searing a perfect red line across her pale flesh. Grace’s back arched violently, a high-pitched scream ripping from her throat—”AAAAA! AAAAA! SIR, SORRY! AAAAA!”—her voice breaking as the pain exploded across her nerves. Her body jerked against the restraints, muscles straining, toes curling, but there was no escape.
The next strike landed across her breasts—”AAA OWWW!”—her nipples stinging as the strands slashed across them, leaving a crimson line over her left breast. She twisted, dancing frantically on her tiptoes, but the next blow came faster, whipping across the small of her back—”EEEEEEKKKKK!”
Another strike—WHIP!—from her left shoulder down to her right hip.
Another—CRACK!—across her stomach.
Another—SNAP!—across her thighs.
Pembroke’s muffled voice cut through her screams. “Child. Stick your bottom out. Present it for me to strike.”
“NOOO PLEASE—NOOOOOOOO!”
“Arch your back and stick your ass out.”
Grace clenched her eyes shut, her body trembling as she forced herself onto her tiptoes, her thighs burning as she arched her back, sticking her buttocks out—just in time for the flogger to CRACK across her fleshy cheeks. “AAOOOWWW!” Her arms went limp, her body swaying as Pembroke picked up the pace, painting her white buttocks with more red lines, each strike landing with brutal precision.
She screamed. She hopped. She went limp.
Then a well-aimed crack between her legs, striking her bare pussy with a sickening thwack, and snaking over her puckered asshole. Grace’s eyes bulged. Her body jolted off the ground, her scream the loudest yet—raw, animalistic, tearing from her throat as the pain seared through her. Her legs kicked wildly, her body convulsing as the agony radiated through her.
He stepped back, tilting his head like an artist admiring a masterpiece. The white of her untouched flesh now marred by the violent red welts that looped across her body like some grotesque modern art. The lines crisscrossed her back, her breasts, stomach and her thighs. Grace’s thighs clamped together instinctively, her muscles cramping as she tried futilely to press her legs against the throbbing agony between them.
“Please ... Sir ... Aaaawoooo!” Grace’s voice shattered as she begged. “Please no more!”
With a flick of his wrist, Pembroke released the restraints. She hit the floor like a discarded doll, her body folding in on itself. Her hands flew to her ravaged skin, tracing the raised welts.
“Don’t worry child, the marks will be temporary. That beautiful skin of yours will be fresh and smooth by tomorrow! Pembroke marvelled at the regenerative properties of youthful teenage skin, not like his own haggard wrinkled hairy skin.