Amazing Grace
Copyright© 2025 by Edward Pembroke
Chapter 36
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 36 - 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 ft/ft Fa/ft Teenagers Blackmail NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Slavery Heterosexual Fiction Crime Incest Mother Daughter BDSM MaleDom Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Group Sex Anal Sex Analingus Enema Facial Masturbation Pegging Sex Toys Spitting Squirting Voyeurism Water Sports Menstrual Play Small Breasts Violence
Pembroke stood naked in the basement, towering over his two teenage sex slaves kneeling before and behind him. One foot was propped on the armchair, the other planted firmly on the floor, his legs spread wide. His balls hung heavy between his thighs. In front of him, Pembroke looked down over his sagging, hairy belly at Leila’s cute face. She knelt obediently, her lips wrapped around his cock, her vacant doe eyes gazing up at him as she sucked. Behind him, his hand gripped Grace’s fine blonde hair, forcing her face deeper between his buttocks. Her small hands splayed his cheeks apart, her tongue pressing desperately against his asshole, trying to force its way inside.
Pembroke’s other hand tangled in Leila’s thick dark wavy hair, yanking her forward until she gagged. “That’s it, child,” he murmured. “Look at me while you choke on it. Let me see those pretty eyes water.”
Leila tried to lose herself in the sensation of feeling his thick bulbous cock slide down her throat, hitting her tonsils. How did Grace love this? She longed for Pembroke to get bored, even if it meant changing places and tonguing his hairy hole while Grace’s more skilled tongue brought him off in her mouth.
“Leila I am afraid I have tolerated your lackadaisical oral skills for too long.” He glanced at his watch, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Half an hour,” he said. “That’s all the time you’ve got left to make me cum. Fail, and Grace gets to paint that tight little body of yours with welts. My audience has been begging to see you scream, Leila. Don’t disappoint them.”
Leila redoubled her efforts, her jaw aching, her lips swelling from the abuse. She hollowed her cheeks, her tongue swirling desperately around the head of his cock. Pembroke was in heaven, especially with Grace’s tongue deep in his rectum, but he needed to hold off cumming. He wanted Leila to fail.
Both girls had nice smooth backs. It had been weeks since Grace had healed from her last thrashing. Now was a good time to put some raised welts on Leila. Those lovely buttocks would remain smooth for his teeth to sink into, but her back need to be marked.
And not just for him. His army of sadistic perverts were going to pay good money for it. He was getting rich of these girls’ suffering and wanted to profit while the going was good. More players were entering the game. Recently, a 12 year old girl had been kidnapped in Austria and was being slowly tortured for money, with a countdown to her eventual death. The authorities were powerless to find her, trace the footage or stop the videos being disseminated. Pembroke himself had donated a little money via crypto, as a salute to a fellow professional.
Five minutes left. “Come on Leila,” he sneered. “Grace could make me cum faster even while being fucked by that machine. You need to start matching her standards!”
Grace’s fingers dug into the master’s hairy buttocks as she inhaled his ass crack before plunging her tongue back up his ass. She had grown to love it when he praised her, and when he degraded Leila and reminded the stuck up bitch of her place. She was even looking forward to whipping Leila, it would be revenge for how she had treated her recently.
Pembroke finally pushed Leila away, his cock glistening with her saliva. “Enough,” he growled. “Since you can’t even suck cock properly, let’s give the people what they want.” He snapped his fingers, and Grace scrambled to her feet, her eyes bright with eagerness. “Dress her up. The gymnastic leotard—the white one. I want her to look like the innocent little gymnast that every man wants to see whipped red raw and fucked!”
A few minutes later, Leila was trussed up in the white leotard—so obscenely tight that the clear outline of her bony rib cage was visible beneath the flimsy material. Her wrists were bound together and hitched to a rope dangling from the ceiling, forcing her onto her tiptoes. The leotard clung to her, the thin fabric stretched so taut over her small, underdeveloped body that her hardened nipples poked through shamelessly. The material wedged cruelly between her legs,, the outline of her vaginal lips clearly visible. The leotard rode up her ass crack, the fabric swallowed by the cleft of her buttocks, leaving the rounded globes of her ass exposed and vulnerable. Every sinew twitched and flexed as she fought to stay on her toes.
“Beautiful,” Pembroke mused as he traced a finger along the central line of Leila’s torso. He started between her legs, dragging his fingertip along the damp, strained fabric of her leotard, pressing just enough to make her whimper. His touch slithered up her concave stomach, then he chest, the bony hollow between her breasts so frail he felt he could push a finger through her ribs. His finger continued its ascent, skimming over her sternum before finally resting at the base of her throat, where he could feel the frantic flutter of her pulse.
“Please sir, I tried, please ... please don’t hurt me too much” Leila was struggling to breathe already, her arms pulled vertically and painfully above her, compressing her lungs in her stretched torso.
Pembroke just smirked, and moved his fingers to the sensitive flesh of her armpits leading to Leila twitching in pained giggles. He gave a playful lick to the same area.
“God, you bitches taste so sweet. Right, let’s get this show on the road.” He tossed a riding crop to Grace. “Grace, you’re on film. Don’t obscure Leila’s body when you strike, and stick to your lines. Mess up, and you will be getting this across your front after this.”
Grace’s nubile, fresh-faced innocence clashed obscenely with the black PVC thong and skintight PVC T-shirt clinging to her young frame. She tapped the crop nervously against her hip as she remembered her lines. She twirled Leila around with a gentle pull on her waist, forcing the brunette to pirouette on her tiptoes, her leotard-clad body on full display for the camera.
“Hello, everyone,” Grace began, a forced smile on her face. “And a special greeting to our most loyal and generous fans—John69, TonyButtFucker, and CannibalFleshFan.” Her lips quivered as she recited the script Pembroke had drilled into her. “We exist for your pleasure, and we’re so happy we can please you. The money you send goes toward recruiting new girls. As we speak, fresh faces are being scouted all across Europe, just waiting to be broken like we were.”
Pembroke smiled, he had no plans to take new girls, and it had been relatively cheap to take these girls, but he liked to indulge the rumours that he was an international genius.
Grace continued with forced enthusiasm. “If you know any suitable girls—maybe a little sister, a neighbor, a classmate—don’t hesitate to let us know. And remember...” She swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the crop. “You’re the master of your own destiny. If you want to rape or torture a sweet girl like me or Leila ... just do it. It’s so easy. The world is full of girls just waiting to be used. So why not make your fantasies a reality?”
A thumbs up from Pembroke gave Grace the symbol that she was doing well.
“Now, Leila has been naughty, haven’t you Leila?” Grace turned sideways to Leila, running her hand along her side, enjoying the power over her. Leila didn’t respond beyond grunting with effort, taut as a bowstring.
Gently holding her by the waist, Grace spun Leila around to face the second camera. Her hand slid over Leila’s pert buttocks, squeezing just hard enough to make her whimper. “Hmm, this bottom is so nice, isn’t it?” she cooed, her fingers tracing the curve of Leila’s ass. “I bet you all want to taste it, don’t you? Would you like to know what it tastes like? Hmm?”
At Pembroke’s signal, the camera zoomed in as Grace locked eyes with the lens. Then, without hesitation, she sank her teeth into Leila’s left buttock, biting down hard. She tasted bare flesh, the brunette’s ass crack having swallowed the leotard material.
Leila screamed as a bead of blood welled to the surface as Grace kept her jaws locked on the soft ass flesh, tasting the blood and feeling the skin puncture with a gentle popping sound.
“Mmm,” she pulled away and licked her lips, the slight smear of blood visible. “Sweet. Just like you all imagined.”
Grace was getting into her stride and stood up. “Now this” Grace moved the crop through the air “ is a sharp bamboo riding crop, it is going to make pretty, straight red lines across Leila’s back right through the leotard, for your pleasure! Now, lets see what we are going to work on here...”
With deliberate slowness, Grace trailed the crop from between Leila’s legs, dragging it up the cleft of her ass and along her spine. Grace twirled a lock of Leila’s hair around her fingers, then pushed the tip of the crop between the girl’s lips, forcing her to taste the leather-wrapped handle. “Open wide, naughty girl,” she taunted. “Get a good feel of what’s coming.”
“Ten strokes!” Grace announced, stepping back and raising the crop high. She smiled at the camera, her eyes alight with cruel anticipation. “Let’s start at the top, shall we?” Her gaze flicked to Leila’s shoulders, and she pressed the crop horizontally against the delicate skin just above her shoulder blades, marking her target. “Right here,” she whispered, tapping the spot lightly. “This is where we begin.”
With a sudden, vicious flick of her wrist, Grace brought the crop down. The bamboo sliced through the air and cracked against Leila’s back, the sound sharp and brutal. An instant red welt bloomed across her skin, and Leila’s body jerked violently, a choked scream tearing from her throat. “One,” the blonde counted. “Nine to go.”
Grace tightened her grip on the crop. She couldn’t afford to mess up, not when the whip lines had to be perfect. If she failed, if the strokes weren’t evenly spaced or aligned on Leila’s back, Pembroke would make her start over on Leila’s front. And if that was botched? It would be her back taking the punishment instead. Each stroke had to be a masterpiece, precise, parallel, and layered just below the last, like the rungs of a ladder carved into flesh.
She exhaled shakily, grateful that Leila was strung up so tightly, her body stretched to the point of immobility. The girl could do nothing but jiggle her buttocks pathetically, her muscles twitching with each strike. The welts were already rising—thin, crimson lines glowing through the strained leotard.
Leila’s screams tore through the basement, bloodcurdling and raw, her body thrashing around as she kicked her heels uselessly into the air behind her.
“Ten!” Grace sang, her voice ringing with triumph as the final stroke lashed across the small of Leila’s back. The crop cracked against the leotard, the fabric doing nothing to dull the bite of the bamboo. A fresh, thin red line bloomed just above the curve of Leila’s ass, completing the ladder of perfect, parallel welts glowing red through the torn material that now decorated her juddering body.
Leila’s screams had dissolved into ragged, broken sobs, her body swaying limply in her bonds, her heels kicking weakly at the air. Grace quickly wiped away her tears, and swallowed hard before turning to the camera. There we go, just like you wanted. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Pembroke grinned. Another masterpiece of the girls’ fans. He wished he could see Leila’s parents’ faces when they saw this.
It was a bleak morning outside Willowbridge Hospital.
Elif Yildiz sat hunched at a café table, dark rings under her eyes, both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee for warmth. Across from her sat Mary Perkins — Charlotte’s sister — and her cousin, Sarah Morton.
“What are the odds,” Elif murmured, her voice brittle, “that my husband was the one treating Charlotte?”
Mary reached across the table and laid her hand over Elif’s. “Oh Elif ... I’m so sorry. It must have eaten away at him.”
Elif laughed coldly. “No. Mehmet ... he took it badly. Those videos — they broke him.” A few months ago I had everything. A daughter, a husband ... we were a perfect family. Now they are both gone.”
Mary and Sarah blinked at one another, helpless. They remembered Mehmet as the quiet, steady doctor who had explained charts and tests with patient gentleness. “He was always so kind to us,” Sarah said.
But Mehmet had taken the kidnapping — and the videos of Leila — badly. One night, he’d drawn a dose of a hospital drug, injected himself on shift, and never woke up.
“The bloody police,” Elif hissed, fists tightening. “They knew that man was innocent. They let him get murdered in prison, and they never looked for anyone else. Now there are no clues — nothing!”
Sarah nodded slowly. “We know ... poor Grace. Everyone thought it was suicide for months, until the videos surfaced.”
Elif’s voice broke into anger again. “Whoever took Leila and Grace — whether it was some gang or a depraved monster — I’ll find them. I’ll avenge my husband.”
Then, softer: “But it’s useless ... everyone watches hose fucking videos, how can they? Leila is only fourteen... “ She began to cry. “Sometimes I wish I could go too, like Mehmet.”
A long silence settled. Then Sarah spoke, hesitantly.
Elif’s grief ignited into something edged and sharp. “Whoever did this — whoever took Leila and Grace — I will find them. I swore to Mehmet I would. I will not let his death be in vain.” The vow crumbled into a sob. “Leila was fourteen. Fourteen.” She covered her face and shook as if she might shake herself apart. “Sometimes I wish I could go with him.”
Silence fell, thick as wet wool. Mary squeezed Elif’s shoulder, powerless.
Finally, Sarah spoke, voice careful. “There’s one man Charlotte trusted — Edward Pembroke. He’s a retired detective, our neighbour. My husband asked him to look once ... he only did small things, but he might help.”
Elif lifted her head; her face was hollowed by grief but a thin light of purpose had kindled in the ruin. “If there’s even a chance he can find something — anything the police missed — then I have to try.”
Pembroke was in the basement, his dressing gown careless open displaying the hefty bulk of his hair body and genitals swinging between his legs. In short, a grotesque sight his two slaves had seen a thousand times. Both girls had still never seen any naked man other than him before or after their kidnapping, the penis and testicles swaying from the forest of grey hair was their God as far as they were concerned.
The girls knelt before him, their buttocks resting on their ankles, backs straight, and hands upturned on their thighs in a posture of forced submission. Grace wore bright orange panties and a white halter-neck top, while Leila was clad in a black thong and a tight white T-shirt that left her belly button exposed.
Pembroke turned the pair of black devices over in his hands, admiring their sleek, polished surfaces and the faint electronic hum emanating from within. They looked almost harmless—simple rings of rubber and circuitry—but they promised only more misery for his slaves.
“You see,” he said, his voice light, almost conversational, “these will let me keep everything running smoothly. I already be at a hotel in Tuscany, or sitting on a beach somewhere, and still know exactly what’s happening down here. But these will help ... even more.”
“I love spending time with you, girls, enjoying those tight young bodies of yours,” he continued, his voice dripping with perverse affection. “I can’t get girls like you on the outside—only prostitutes old enough to be your mothers! And I certainly can’t play with anyone like I play with you.”
He walked behind Leila running a finger along the top welt on her back, stretching from her shoulder right across her back. “These collars will enable me to correct your behaviour instantly, from anywhere. I have so much money now from selling your videos, and taking Grace’s mummy’s money, I think I’ve earned a little comfort, don’t you? A holiday, perhaps. The sun on my face, the world at my feet. You want your master to e happy don’t you?”
He walked behind Leila, running a finger along the top welt on her back, the one stretching from her shoulder across to the other side. “These collars will let me correct your behavior instantly, from anywhere,” he murmured. “I have so much money now—from selling your videos, from taking Grace’s mummy’s money, I think I’ve earned a little comfort, don’t you? A holiday, perhaps. The sun on my face, the world at my feet.” He paused, his voice turning mockingly tender. “You want your master to be happy, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” Grace replied, her voice a little too eager. She hoped this might mean Leila would be coerced into being a little more ... loving when they were alone.
Leila remained silent. Her back throbbed with a dull, constant ache, and the inside of her mouth still burned from the recent, brutal removal of her braces.
Pembroke slipped each ring around the pencil-thin necks of his slaves. The girls dutifully pulled their long hair out of the way, exposing the delicate skin. Their necks were so soft, so thin, that his hand almost closed entirely around each one. With a cold finality, he clasped the rings shut. The only way to open them was with a physical key ... one only he possessed.
Stepping back, Pembroke’s eyes gleamed with a feverish, almost childlike delight, like a boy staring at a new toy on Christmas morning. His thumb hovered over the button on the remote, brimming with sadistic anticipation.
Then—...
“AAAGGGHH!”
Leila’s hands shot to her neck, her previously docile body convulsing violently as she collapsed sideways to the ground. She screamed in agony, her voice raw and shattered, her limbs flailing as the electric current seared through her nerves. Grace flinched, her own breath hitching as she watched, her body tensing in sympathetic horror. Pembroke’s laughter echoed through the basement. “Perfect,” he murmured, “just perfect.”
The shock subsided, leaving Leila gasping as she slowly dragged herself back into her submissive kneeling position. She still clutched at her neck, the collar tight like a vice around her throat, her eyes watering and her muscles twitching from the aftershocks. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.
“That was level four out of ten,” Pembroke mused thoughtfully, his fingers hovering over the remote once more. “So much left to explore, isn’t there?” With a casual press of his thumb, he selected “one” for Grace.
“NNNNNNNNNN—”
Grace’s body jerked instantly, her limbs jerking as she collapsed forward, landing hard on her chest and face. Both hands flew to her neck, her body shaking violently as the shock pulsed through her. “Nnn—nnnn—aaaaa—” The agony stretched on for ten endless seconds, her voice dissolving into a broken, wordless wail.
“Hmmm,” Pembroke said calmly, almost clinically, releasing the button as Grace slumped, prostrate, shaking. “That was level one. I think that’ll do nicely for minor infractions, don’t you?” His fingers traced the buttons, his smile widening with anticipation. “Plenty of room to escalate.”
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