Amazing Grace
Copyright© 2025 by Edward Pembroke
Chapter 26
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 26 - 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
The assembly hall of St. Cecilia’s Academy for Girls was filling up. Rows of girls in pleated skirts and crisp white blouses sat with their legs pressed together, some fidgeting, others staring blankly ahead. A few had their skirts riding up just a little too high, either by accident or design.
At the front of the room, Edward Pembroke stood behind the podium, his posture commanding, authoritative, the very picture of the retired detective here to protect them.
The headmistress had introduced him as “a decorated former officer, here to educate our girls on personal safety.” The applause had been polite.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he began. “I know this isn’t the most exciting topic. But it’s an important one.” His gaze swept over the crowd, lingering just a second too long on the front row. He could see right up the girls’ skirts to their knickers, pink cotton, lace. The faint glimmer of dampness on one girl’s panties, nervous, maybe. Or excited. Maybe the little sluts were wet just thinking about being carried off and used for sex slavery.
His tongue darted out, just for a second, wetting his lower lip. “The world isn’t always safe,” he continued. “And the people who want to hurt you? They don’t look like monsters. They look like me.”* Pembroke stepped out from behind the podium, slowly, deliberately, his hands clasped in front of him. “They don’t wear masks. They don’t lurk in alleys. They smile. They offer help. They might even be someone your parents trust.” His eyes flicked to a blonde in the second row, who looked just like Grace. “They’ll tell you you’re special. That you’re different. That no one understands you like they do.”
His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. “And when you believe them?” A pause. A slow, knowing smile. “That’s when they’ve got you.”
“But you’re smart girls,” he said, straightening up, his voice steady, professional. “You know how to stay safe, don’t you?”
After the talk, in the staff room, he was enjoying tea and biscuits with the headmistress.
“Such an important message, Edward. The girls really listened to you.”
Pembroke smiled, polite, charming. “Of course. Their safety is paramount.”* His mind was already elsewhere, on the blonde in the second row, wondering if she might make a suitable target for acquisition.
“I’d be happy to come back,” he said, shaking the headmistress’s hand. “Anytime.”
------- Grace was on her knees between Pembroke’s legs, as he lay back in ecstasy in his armchair. Her tongue was working in in slow, methodical strokes, licking the length of his cock before pressing lower over his balls, and then around the tight ring of his asshole just the way he liked.
“Such a good little slave,” he murmured, scrolling through his phone with his free hand. The screen glowed with Instagram profiles, school photos, candid shots of girls laughing with their families. “You would be a good mentor for a new playmate. I’m looking at some candidates right now.”
Grace continued licking and sucking silently.
“I like the ones with close families,” Pembroke continued, his voice almost dreamy. “The way their mothers cry on the news. The way their fathers look broken. The way their little sisters hold up missing posters with tears in their eyes. “ He chuckled, low and cruel. “Just like your mummy.”
“Sir, if it pleases you, I can help you train a new girl.” Grace temporarily took her mouth away from his genitals.
“I didn’t ask you, child.” He said coldly. “You will do whatever I tell you to do. Right now, I want that tongue back inside my asshole, not giving your opinion.”
Grace quickly lowered her mouth back between his hairy ass cheeks and sought out his hot sweaty asshole and pushed her tongue back in, eager to obey.
“I’ve had my eye on a few girls,” he murmured. “I don’t want sluts. Girls in care are too easy, already fucked too much, and no manners. No, I want nice girls. Girls with nice families.” He went almost reverent. “Girls with parents who still think the world is safe. Girls who make their families proud.”
Grace tried to push her own mother out of her mind, while her tongue kept worming its way deeper into his ass.
“Yes...” Pembroke drooled. “I want the girls who make their parents light up when they walk into a room. The ones who get hugged every night, who make everyone happy. The ones who everyone believes will be a nice wonderful beautiful person. Haha
“Because when they disappear,” Pembroke continued, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction, “when their mummies and daddies see their darling daughters getting their tight little holes fucked all over the internet...” his eyes rolled back with relish That’s when they scream. That’s when they wish they’d never had children at all.”
He tilted the phone toward her, forcing her to look.
A bright-eyed Asian girl—long black hair, caramel skin, dimples, a blue school blazer and plaid skirt, her arms wrapped around her father, both of them beaming at the camera.
“Look at her,” Pembroke purred. “Daddy’s little princess. Straight-A student. Never even held a boy’s hand. “ His cock twitched against Grace’s nose. “I bet her parents have never let anything bad happen to her. She must be the pride of their lives.”
Grace’s throat burned. She thought of herself—how she’d never held a boy’s hand either.
Pembroke swiped again—the same girl in a gymnastics leotard, mid-routine, her small, developing body stretched taut, the fabric clinging to her tight little ass and perky tits, her smooth, flat stomach glistening with a sheen of sweat. “Look at that body,” he groaned, his voice thickening. “So flexible. So tight. I bet she’s never even shaved yet. Still got that soft little pussy hair like a real child should.” His finger traced the screen, lingering on the way the leotard rode up between her legs, the faint outline of her lips visible through the thin fabric.
“This one’s perfect,” he murmured. “Can you imagine it, Grace? Her mummy, crying on the news, begging for her back? Her daddy, pounding his fists against the police station walls when they tell him there’s nothing they can do?” His breath hitched as Grace’s tongue pressed deeper into his ass. “And when they find her ... when they see what she’s become ... and they can’t do anything... “ His laughter was a blade. “They’ll want to scratch their own eyes out. “ He cackled with evil laughter.
Leila Yildiz was the apple of her parents’ eyes—the only daughter of two doting doctors, a bright, beautiful fourteen-year-old with a heart full of dreams. She wanted to be a vet, and maybe even go to the Olympics in rhythmic gymnastics one day. Her smile was cute and infectious, her long chestnut hair always tied back in a neat ponytail, her deep saucer eyes full of wonder. At just over five feet, she was skinny but graceful, her caramel-smooth skin always glowing. And though she wore braces, they only made her grin more charming.
Her parents adored her. They worried, of course, especially about the media coverage of poor Grace Perkins and the rise in female abductions recently. But they thought they were safe in their quiet Welsh village. Leila was modest, respectful, her school skirt always long, unlike some of the other girls. She had no interest in boys yet—only pop star crushes and her passion for animals.
Every night, after her parents thought she was asleep, she would slip out her bedroom window, tiptoeing through the dark to the old barn where the bats gathered. She loved feeding them, watching them flutter in the moonlight. Her parents disapproved of her late-night excursions, so she would wait until everyone was asleep, before sneaking out.
She had no idea she was being hunted.
Online, she was careful. Her Instagram—@3000furbabydancer—was just for gymnastics, her leotard-clad routines posted proudly, though she always blushed at the photos when her costume rode up, exposing the faint outline of her cameltoe or the small swell of her developing breasts. She also had an anonymous account on an animal welfare forum, where she never revealed her location or her name.
But she made one fatal mistake. She used the same handle for both.
And Edward Pembroke had found it. He had cross-referenced her posts—her gymnastics achievements, her late-night bat feeds, the casual mentions of the countryside. He had pieced it together, tracking her address, her identity, the exact location of the barn.
That evening, the gymnasium lights gleamed off Leila’s sparkly pink leotard, the fabric clinging to her small body—the modest cut at her hips doing little to hide the way it hugged her tight little ass as she moved. Her small breasts pressed against the shimmering material, her nipples just visible beneath the thin layer, hardening slightly from the chill of the air conditioning. She didn’t let it bother her. She was too focused, too alive, her wavy brown hair tied back in a neat bun, glitter and sparkles dusting her cheeks, her braces glinting under the stage lights as she smiled.
Her routine was flawless—every arch of her back, every extension of her legs, every graceful flip executed with precision. The audience held their breath as she finished, her body bent backward, her ass pushed out, legs high in the air, before she landed perfectly, arms raised in triumph.
The applause was deafening.
“Well done, Leila!”
Her parents were first to their feet, her mother clutching her husband’s hand, their faces radiant with pride. They looked at each other, disbelieving, as if they still couldn’t fathom how lucky they were to have such a perfect daughter.
“Thanks, Mum!” Leila beamed, rushing over to them, her leotard riding up just a little more as she moved.
Her father grinned. “Now, Leila—how about we celebrate? Ben & Jerry’s for my champion?”
“Oh, Dad, you’re the best!” She hugged him hard.
Watching from the aisle, sat Edward Pembroke.
He was disguised—just enough. A baseball cap, a fake beard, a pair of glasses. His phone was already recording, capturing every second of Leila’s routine, her parents’ proud smiles, the way her mother brushed a stray hair from her daughter’s face, the way her father ruffled her hair affectionately.
He had seen enough. He knew exactly what she looked like now—the way her leotard clung to her, the shape of her body, the way her nipples hardened when she was cold. He imagined peeling it off her, forcing her to arch that same way while he fucked her raw, while she sobbed for her mummy and daddy.
He had footage of her, happy with her family. Loved, and safe. He would paly this for her later, when she was naked and chained in his basement, her face streaked with tears, her body trembling as he rammed his cock into her, as he forced her to suck him off or eat Grace out while he whispered in her ear.
His cock hardened in his pants as he watched them leave together, Leila laughing, her parents doting, completely unaware of the monster following them.
That night, the Welsh countryside was cold and unforgiving, the wind howling through the trees like a warning. Most people would have stayed in bed at 1am, buried under blankets, safe from the bite of the night. But not Leila.
Her heart ached for the bats.
She moved silently, careful not to wake her parents. The faint glow of her phone lit her face just enough to see—braces glinting, dark eyes wide with quiet determination. She was dressed for stealth, not warmth: black panties, and a black vest top. She pulled on a baggy black tracksuit, the material swallowing her slight frame, and trainers that made no sound on the carpet. A torch was tucked into her pocket, along with a small bag of food for the bats.
Then ... out the window, onto the grass and off to the barn just a few hundred meters away.
She didn’t know she was being watched. The van was parked just off the dirt road, engine idling, headlights off. The barn stood a hundred meters away, a rickety wooden structure in the middle of nowhere ... just like Leila’s posts had said.
Inside the van, Edward Pembroke leaned back in the driver’s seat, his breath slow and controlled. No cameras, fake number plates, offline. He was ready.
He watched as Leila’s small figure emerged from the darkness, her torch beam cutting through the black. She moved lightly, unaware, her long chestnut hair tied back, her young face focused only on the task ahead.
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