Alice - God's Child

Alice - God's Child
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ISBN:  9781907753503
Author:  Surreal
Word Count:  69,670
Format:  eBook

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He placed a hand behind her head and applied light pressure. She followed the lead, lying across his lap, squirming at the arm across her back.
   Des marvelled at the backside he stared down at. Even with its white coat of silk those cheeks rose proud, held firm, tendered the perfect target. But playing on the safe side he took a coil of thin rope and bound her wrists, arms stretched out above her head. Then he did the same with her ankles. Alice lay immobilised, able only to writhe and kick; but Des took one more precaution. He strung her bound wrists and placing the rope under his legs, pushed it between hers. Then admiring the definition of posterior, he looped the end about her waist and tied it off, ensuring as he did that the cord pulled tight, that her hands were wedged against her crotch. That feeling of her wrapped around his legs, defenceless, provoked a strength in his loins he hadn't experienced since teenage experimentation.
   'What are you going to do?' Alice demanded, voice hesitant, afraid.

Child of the storm. Infant of the tempest. Alice, hurled into a world of debauchery, chicanery and deceit, seeks to remedy a troubled mind, a stirred conscience. Confusion reigns as her teenage libido runs amok, the girl panting for the bawdy, ingrained scruples finding the nooks and crannies of restraint.

A two week retreat with the judicious Father Cavenny restores weakened levels of faith and self-belief, Alice propped by the clever articulations of the good priest. There in the confines of the bleak convent the young woman gives herself to the ideals, the practices and the theories propagated by a visionary sect.

Ready to face life Alice moves on, leaving the tattered wreckage of her mistakes and a disgruntled governor of the Hope. She seeks to make amends with old friends, and face the ghosts that have dusted her past with their overbearing presence.

But a mire of doubt and disappointment awaits her.

Against the wall, hands clasped before her as a token resistance, Alice waited on Hughes. The governor hesitated, dwelled on something.
   'I don't believe this,' he whispered. 'You're setting the agenda. You're dictating to me what happens.'
   'You see what you want to see,' she replied in turn. 'And that's your trouble. You're tunnel-visioned.'
   Hughes frowned.
   'I can't hint any more!' she shrieked, Scrubbs jumping with the suddenness of it.
   'And after?' he asked, gripping the cuff chain.
   'Consider yourself paid in full. Which is more than I can.'
   Above her head hung a portrait of some frightful acquaintance. Hughes took it from the wall and tossed it across the room. He then lifted Alice's arms by the cuff chain and dropped the centre link over the hook. She tugged, the metal and the wooden plug holding.
   'Perhaps I should invite Scrubbs to watch. I'm sure he would happily partake of your descent into hell.'
   'You have the talk,' she replied.
   'God, you've a stroppy mouth on you today. Religious speak, is it?'
   'Were you born thick, or did you take lessons?'
   Hughes turned her to face the wall, the girl sighing to a wave of eroticism. The yanking down of her skirt enhanced that electric bliss, cool air wafting about the nether region, shirttail just keeping her decent.
   Geoff stepped backwards. 'Fuck me,' he said. 'That's a sight, a sight to behold.'
   Scrubbs tried, but she was out of eyeshot, his slot not allowing the view.
  The warden rummaged in a filing cabinet before pulling out a tennis table bat, the rubber gone from one side. 'Now,' he promised, 'we'll sort the woman from the squealing, begging brat.'
   He made no effort to lift the shirttail, levying an almighty slap to her right haunch. Alice bit, the sting full and covering a wide area. Immediately he struck the left, the slap loud, descriptive, Scrubbs puckering his lips.
   Again and again Hughes spanked her, alternating between the flat and pimpled side of the bat. Quickly her backside warmed before reaching the unbearable. Don't you stop now, she begged mentally. God, I'm on fire. Inside and out.
   Hughes believed she suffered. He mistook the grunts, squeals and writhing on her cuffs as pure misery. He believed he cut agony into those crimson cheeks. As accused, he saw what he wanted to see.
   He paused not, the constant slap on bum exhaustive, rapid, Hughes waiting for the plea, the 'please don't', 'not any more', that seemed never to come.
   Finally he lifted that cotton, the skin beneath beyond crimson. The flesh burned, lava on a mantle of porcelain. Alice remained, face tucked between reaching arms, offering no evidence of capitulation.
   'Well?' he demanded.
   'Well what?' she answered, voice muffled.
   'Had enough?'
   'Have you?' she teased, knowing Hughes' temperament, his limitations and his ego.
   'I could thrash you with a cane,' he threatened.
   'Not much I can do about that, is there?'
   'You're still trying to control the situation, aren't you? You're using me.'
   'Ha! Likely.'
   'You want more?'
   'Make the most of me; it's the last you'll get.'
   'Going then?'
   'Maybe.'
   'What about mum?'
   'You knew her, that I can't argue with. But I doubt you have any idea where she is now. Even whether she's alive or not.'
   'You'll gamble that on pride?'
   'Not pride, Geoff. Our song is sung. There are no more lyrics. I have to move on. So take what you want now, for tomorrow there will be none.'
   'How fucking poetic.' He clapped. 'I'll tell Rose you changed your mind then?'
   'Say what you like.'
   Alice turned to face him, flushed countenance peeking between cotton-clad arms, hair as fiery as her nature, kissing that sweet face. 'I don't believe you any more,' she told him. 'I can't believe a word you say. What's the point of continuing, in any vein?'
   He laid the bat on the desk, a quick rummage turning up a length of burnished leather.
   Alice watched, nerves niggling, gnawing at her lower torso, chewing her expectations. 'For me?' she asked demurely.
   The resulting burn stole her breath. Dangling, her weight on her bonds, heels screwing the floor, face tensed, Alice bit. Her thigh screamed its objection, the wrap of leather taking its toll of flank and rear.
   'For you,' Hughes confirmed, dealing a second, the same strip of flesh reignited, the hurt implacable.
   'You mean it, don't you?' the girl mocked.
   Her reply came in the form of a third, the whoosh louder than ever, the clap of leather against skin noisier. The pain proved unimaginable.
   'Now,' she gasped, 'you're talking.'
   'I get it.' Hughes thought he had the answer. 'You're trying to put me off. You're trying to kill it.'
   'Kill what? I thought you were trying to kill me.'
   He let loose a half dozen, both thighs bitten, the smart sickening. She bent forward as far as the cuff chain would allow. 'The bum was better,' she said, her voice barely audible.
   'Yeah,' Hughes agreed, taking the link from the hook. 'The bum is better.' He dragged her across the room and sitting pulled her over his lap. 'The bum is a hell of a lot better.'
   Sore wasn't the word. Tender came nowhere near. Raw was close. But there was a certain satisfaction in penance. Perhaps the continual cycle of pre-orgasmic pulsations was compensation for the gravel-sliced feel to her derriere.
   Hands between her legs, over the boss's knees, with her skirt hoisted and her panties gone, couldn't get more sexual. Still the seesaw governed her indulgences. Still God ruled her excesses. But the devil's child fought for release. Somewhere deep she was fit to explode.
   Indulge is precisely what Hughes did. He rained harsh slaps to her already heated loins. Alice wanted to scream. Nausea merged with gratification, exasperation with longing. Confusion reigned; Alice unsure of her true desire - lust or castigation.
   Metal probed sweating hands. Hot fingers clawed and delved moist vaginal lips. Fire sank ever deeper, her inner core, her sexual nub agitated to previously unattainable heights. Delirium swept through her. Vision blurred, white lights wafted casually. Squeezed breasts gleamed with the slick of passion, her deep cleavage wet with the beads of pained squirming.
  Numbness crept insidiously. Beaten beyond endurance her bottom flesh fell to the effects of endorphins, that aftermath sumptuous, enervating, luxurious. Hughes noticed the clench of buttocks, a prolonged tightening, not the wince of pain he was used to. A tidal wave swept through her body, washing aside tensions and concerns, the wake a delirious haven.
   Hughes knew. And as with the conceited he congratulated himself. He had proved his point. Alice was, and would always be the victim of her own sexuality. The call of masochism would always be beyond resistance. Tender, he stroked those spanked cheeks, the flesh inordinately hot, the red deep, almost crimson. And yet, he thought, she wouldn't bruise. All traces of his rough handling would be gone in a couple of days. Ready to be mistreated all over again.
   That was Geoffrey Hughes' one hang-up. Why he needed such an array of female behinds available. And why he cosseted Alice's to such a degree. His complex personality demanded neatness amidst the savagery, although the strokes of a cane aroused with respect to the unsubtle crack on bare flesh, and the ensuing marks gratified him beyond measure. Once the job was done all interest waned, today's welts were tomorrow's marred beauty. He wouldn't ordinarily cane a girl two days on the trot. And if he did, they would more than likely suffer a thicker rod on pyjama-covered cheeks.
   Alice offered a severity potential he had found with no one else. She rarely carried marks for any length of time. And in addition to that asset, Alice was remarkably attractive, a bonus to any man's harem.
   Confidence flooded Hughes' arrogance, he felt assured of his position. Alice would remain, because Miss Hussey needed him. She needed his empathy, his willingness, the security he offered.
   She slid from his lap, her belly mayhem. On knees she bent forward, hands clasped between her thighs, the furore within refusing to quieten. She sank further forward, shoulders meeting the floor, cheek against the wood, breasts loosing themselves from the comfort of her blouse.
   The shirttail rose with the new position, bottom uncovered, bare, discoloured. Hughes followed the manoeuvre with interest, believing Alice made an offer he wouldn't refuse.
   She floated in the tranquillity of post climax, her sexual nub heated, offering a recap should she so desire. That would take a very small trigger. Her skin was sexually volatile. The right touch, the right approach, the right intrusion would spark a wave so immense, Alice could do no more than succumb.
   As she gently rocked on her knees she prayed Hughes would read her. That sensation ebbed and flowed, teetered on the edge of explosion, but she knew it wouldn't last forever. Rope. Rough, coarse, thick rope pulled tight about her skin would precipitate the torrent. The right words. A sensitive touch. Intimate interference. A promise. A suggestion.
  She sensed him move. She felt his touch. Expectant, hopeful, she waited on a surprise, the spark. The penetration was unexpected, unannounced, and unforeseen. Inches of thick stem abruptly filled her pussy. She took his full length before comprehension settled. 'No!' stumbled across her tongue. 'Don't!' stuck in her throat. But she said nothing. Alice did not protest.

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