Amazing Grace
Copyright© 2025 by Edward Pembroke
Chapter 7
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 7 - 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
Grace stared at the dawn light creeping through her window, her body tight with dread. Another sleepless night. Another morning facing the world with a sword hanging over her head. Someone had the power to ruin her. Someone was playing with her life like it was nothing.
Pembroke had spent the night watching her, jerking himself off silly as Grace tossed and turned in nothing but tiny hipster shorts and a vest that barely covered her ribs, her stomach heaving with sobbing. He had come again and again, groaning at the sight of her misery, and her pert little bottom vibrating with each cry.
Now, dawn broke, and he was slumped in his chair, his flaccid cock spent, his trousers still around his ankles, snoring loudly as the feed played on with Grace curled in on herself, unaware that her tormentor had been watching her the whole time.
Grace stood in front of the mirror, her fingers tracing the hollow curve of her stomach, skimming over her belly button, following the trim of her shorts before gliding up the tight vest clinging to her ribs. She could just about detect the faintest swell on her chest, the sign of womanhood approaching.
Her shaggy, straw colored hair fell around her pale face, framing the wide, terrified eyes staring back at her. She imagined it the whole world seeing her like this. Naked. Exposed. Every person she’d ever met, every person she ever would—all of them staring at her nipples, her pussy, her entire body laid bare like some sick joke.
They would see the way her ribs jutted out, the way her hips were still too narrow, the way her breasts were just buds, barely there. They would know her in a way no one ever should. She couldn’t’ imagine anything worse.
She closed her eyes, and thought she would start hyperventilating. She would have to put on her school uniform now. How could she face it?
Suddenly, something snapped inside her. Her lips peeled back in a snarl, her spine straightening as she stared at her reflection.
“Fuck you,” she hissed out loud. “I won’ let you destroy me.”
She ran back into her bedroom and grabbed her phone, her hands steady now, and typed with venom:
“I’m not scared of you. I’m going to the police. And when they find out who you are, you will go to prison. I’m only fourteen, I don’t care who you are, I will see you rot.”
Grace pressed send. Feeling suddenly elated, she started throwing on her school uniform. She was no longer afraid.
Pembroke jolted awake, his vision blurry, his mouth dry as sandpaper. The screen in front of him showed only an empty house. Grace was off to school and Charlotte to work.
He glanced down at his flaccid cock, sticky and sleeping on his balls, then snorted a laugh, yanking up his underpants and trousers.
“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. But soon he wouldn’t be restricted to this. No more jerking off to a video feed, or sucking and sniffing underwear.
Soon, she’d be right downstairs, in his basement, naked, at the mercy of his cock, his hands, his rules. Pembroke yawned, stretching his arms as he carried his steaming mug of coffee back to his study.
His eyes strayed to the Kik notification on his burner phone. He read the message, and coffee burned the back of his throat as he choked, coughing violently, his free hand slamming the mug down with a clatter.
Fear spiked through him. The little bitch ... if she got the police involved...
He was confident they couldn’t trace his Kik accounts, and his burner phone would disappear. It couldn’t be traced to him.
But the camera ... and the cans of coke with the drugs. They were in her house. They might trace the signal from the cameras to him. He thought they couldn’t ... but he couldn’t be sure.
He had banked on the vulnerable shy little coward of a girl not to do anything. Now that he had to face the prospect of police involvement, his previous confidence in the untraceability of his intrusion into the girl’s life was crumbling.
He immediately saw visions of himself being led away in handcuffs, all over the media. His former colleagues questioning him. He started shaking, trying to think of a message to send back, almost as if to plead with her to not take it further, to forget about it. The small teenage girl who for weeks he had dreamt of ruining, tormenting and raping, suddenly had the ultimate power over him, and in turn he felt like crumpling to the ground and crying in fear.
He tried to think clearly. She would be at school, probably still thinking her tormentor was one of her bullies. Maybe she would inform the teachers? Either way, she and her mother should not be home for hours. Perhaps he had a chance, he could get there in less than two hours, get rid of the cameras and the coke cans, and hopefully there would be no other evidence leading to him.
He quickly grabbed some items, and pulled on a hat, coat and glasses and drove off to where he had parked his hired van, changed vehicles, and tore off in the direction of Willowbridge and the Perkins’ house.
Grace had been waiting all morning, for someone to say something. But nothing, no giggles, no sideways glances. It was weird. By lunchtime her body was wired tight, two nights of no sleep, the drugs still humming in her veins, her skin pale as parchment, dark circles hollowed under her eyes. But inside, she was coiled, ready to explode.
In the hall, Julie sat at her usual table, laughing with her friends, acting like Grace didn’t exist. Maybe she was scared, thought Grace. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t said a word all day.
Grace stepped forward, her voice low, razor-edged.
“Hi, Julie. You OK?”
Julie’s head snapped up, her smirk dropping for half a second before twisting into disgust.
“What?” she spat, eyeing Grace up and down. “What’s your problem, Twiglet? Fuck off and leave us. You look like a fucking scarecrow.”
A laugh rippled through Julie’s friends, but Grace didn’t flinch.
“You are going to get what’s coming to you, you fat bitch.” Her small hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white. “I know what you’ve done.”
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