The Imp of the Perverse

"I know it's alarming, girl," said the woman. She sounded old—not ancient—but the voice was somehow . . . grandmotherly.

"What—are you," Quassi breathed. She heard herself whimper.

"I am the abbess of The Abbey of Miserable Discipline," she said. Do not be afraid, come closer and sit."

Quassi wasn't sure she wanted to—and she was definitely afraid—but she came forward anyway, and sat on a stool provided. It was low—like punishment stools. Looking up from this position made the abbess thing appear gigantic. She could hear faint wet noises from under her the abbess's seat.

She sat, silent—waiting for something to happen.

"If you want a great deal of Milk of Sattva," said the woman, "there are precious ways to get much of it—but if you submit yourself to the infinite . . . you can get quite a lot. It's an unpleasant two decades—but I assure you, I find my service well worth it."

"You did this to yourself?" Quassi was . . . well, repulsed, maybe—mostly just shocked.

"I made the commitment to make the Miserable Discipline one of the foremost reform abbeys in the the entire domain of the Crown and Throne. I do suffer for it—but that is part of our way, isn't it?"

"I guess so," Quassi said. She'd never heard of this—but then: there were many secrets the order kept.

"Good, now—The Dryad in your care—"

"Eleni, Abbess," said Quassi.

"Yes. Eleni—Has it been explained what I had requested her for?"

". . . no, Abbess," said Quassi. "I was told she could help with a . . . problem?"

"A way of putting it. Yes. We have captured a very subtly dangerous spirit. I have it sequestered. It is not physically dangerous but it is hugely adept at bending humans to its desires and its desires are generally thought to be chaos.

"I should like your Dryad to assist us in interrogating it—questioning it first—then possibly some experimentation."

"And will she be in any danger during this questioning?" Quassi asked.

"No—But she will need to visit it alone."

Quassi wasn't sure she could refuse the abbess when her father had already agreed. Still, she was unnerved and when the abbess released her, the unfortunate under her, apparently working frantically to please the head of the abbey, she made her way back out.

ABBEY OF MISERABLE DISCIPLINE - TWO DINNERS

Quassi was roused from her bed by the dinner bell. Unsettled by the meeting with the grotesque Abbess, she had washed in the cold water from a cistern drawn down into a shower. They had placed a boy, cock-caged, wearing only a thin shirt and light jacket, to stand by and assist her.

He was one of the penitents, and he looked wan and thoroughly miserable. She did not know his name—or his crime—since he'd been given a mute-drink that shrank his voice to a soft rattle. She knew that being naked before him would likely constitute a punishment for him in the state he was in, but she didn't allow him to watch as she cleaned herself, making unbidden noises of complaint as the chilled water splashed over her. There were arts that could heat this! Apparently, the Abbey of Miserable Discipline did not spend its coin on such things.

She dressed in fresh clothing as he knelt in the corner. His bottom was quite a map of discipline. She'd seen thoroughly spanked and caned buttocks—and perhaps he'd had a pair at some point in the recent past—but, no—now his rear showed subtle lines and rashes. His scrotum was swollen between his thighs.

She'd clapped, and he'd scurried over on all fours, coming to kneel before her, looking up. His cock bulged against its cage. The poor thing was in obvious discomfort.

She gently touched his close-cropped hair and saw a very faint tremor go through him.

"Poor thing," she said to him gently, drawing another tremor. "Did they send you because they thought I'd need help washing?"

He paused, blushing, and shook his head. Hmmm.

"Why then?" she stroked. His head gave a slight nod, his tongue licking out. OH! "Is it common for penitents to service the guests of the abbey?" she asked him. "Is it proper?"

He looked at her—his discomfort radiant. His blush was thick—and he . . . he shook his head and looked in the direction of the door, pensively.

Then he made the licking motion again.

"If . . . If I send you away, unsatisfied, you'll be punished?"

He nodded. Hmm.

There were two pillows on her bed and she took one, placed it on the floor near the bed, and put a towel over it, for good measure.

"Kneel there," she told him. He shifted to kneel on the covered pillow, facing the bed. She held the other pillow to her chest and bent her waist over the bed, reaching out to rais the hem of her dress. "Satisfy me," she ordered him. She got her panties down partway, and he did the rest.

The penitent boy was eager, and by this point, apparently, experienced. He was deep in her anus without hesitation and then at her sex, sucking in her clit and lapping the sensitive nub with his tongue.

She gave an involuntary moan. Shit! She had some experience on the 'giving' end of such things from school and she wondered if he could breathe properly as he was! She gripped the pillow—oh, mercy—this was going to be far worse than she'd thought. He had his tongue in her channel and now he did use his hands—very limitedly—to brush the flesh around her clit and on its hood—the sensations not overwhelming her—but drawing more moans.

Shit-shit-shit. She rolled her hips. He was good—too good! She made to push him away—but she didn't dare release her grip on the pillow! Lap—lap-lap-suck-brush—Oh!

Another vocalization! She clamped a hand over her mouth. She heard his moan—not of pleasure—but of discomfort—his cock punishing him as his face was smeared with her oil. Shit.

She had intended not to cum—to pretend—to fake it—which would not incur any karmic debt. But now, at the high-plateau where pleasure, unsatisfied, was a kind of pain, she wondered if it was improper. She was far his superior and couldn't she take service from him? Oh, fuck. His tongue found her exposed clit and applied directly to it.

She gasped and then thrust her face into the pillow. She felt the release of her fluid—the matrons at college said a girl's ejaculate was pee, and there was no circumstance where releasing it—enjoying a spend THAT much was proper. At school, she had peed into the mouths of friends to assert her dominance—but this was different: uncontrolled, incontinent, and humiliating. She shrieked into the pillow and he followed her through the spend, properly tapering his touch until she crawled miserably onto the cot, and lay face down, still clutching the pillow. Her bottom felt soaked all across it and she lay with her knees humiliatingly spread, her dress at her waist, panties on one ankle as she dried.

The boy had replaced the towel and put the pillow next to her. She knew his face was still drenched with her. He padded out. She desperately hoped no one had heard her—but she suspected she knew better.

At the dinner bell, she roused herself. She would have washed again, but the water was chilled. She settled for adjusting her dress and panties and hurried out, where she was met by a friendly looking young acolyte who did a slightly awkward curtsey in the robes.

"Miss Kessna has a spot for you at dinner," the girl said, leading her through the corridors. "The fare is likely more bland than you'll be used to—but it's healthful!"

Quassi didn't really feel like eating, but she knew hiding in her chambers would confuse and possibly offend her guests. Also: her appetite was dim because of the shame of having spent wet on the boy when she'd intended not to—not because she'd eaten any time recently!

"How did you come here?" she asked the girl.

"I applied! I had high marks in maths and meta-physik and I wished to pursue study in those areas. I scored quite low in dominance." She blushed.

"School was hard like that!"

Quassi remembered the low girls and the constant games that were played with them.

"It's easier here?" she asked.

"Not as much," the girl said with an incongruous amount of cheer—but with my scores, both the high ones and the low ones, I was readily accepted. The study here is unique."

"Unique," Quassi said, mulling that over. "I see. What do you think of the Abbess?"

She caught the cloud over the girl's face—an eye-blink only. A faint blush. As the daughter of a castle lord, she'd had tutors. She caught the unspoken tell and she knew the girl hid something. Of course, she'd also had tutors to school her in holding a cum and she'd sprayed the boy, bent over the bed like a serving wench. Ugh! She felt a miserable blush. Her father would spank her if he knew. Her mother . . .

"She is . . . dedicated," the girl decided on. "You met with her."

"Yes. Does she use the unfortunate under her as a toilet?"

"Sometimes," the girl said. Ugh. Quassi refrained from pressing on that. "The milk—the nectar of Sattva—there are several methods to produce it—but her path is the most yielding of it. The most nectar and the highest potency."

Quassi had encountered the stuff before and despised it. The draught was intended to turn a reticent wife into a rutting "feline in heat" and in her experience, it did.

In school, small amounts had been used—she had used—on more submissive peers to rub their noses in their lower status. A few drops in tea—which they saw her add, and drank, and she was assured of an affectionate night of cuddling . . . and the entertaining punishment of petulant tears if she did not allow them a spend!

When their dormitory den mother had mixed some in the tea they drank before a reward coupling (for an extremely detailed and embarrassingly descriptive punishment diary entry), she had earned a night of discipline for wantonness—and while the den-mother had blessedly spent her, and she had slept in the woman's arms, the memory was hot with shame!

"Ugh," Quassi said, and the girl nodded, blushing as well.

The eating hall had several long tables for the sister-acolytes and lower tables with small stools at the rear for the penitents. They in rows, heads hung, wearing the shirt and jacket the servicing boy had worn.

It was mostly girls—but a few caged boys. She saw the unfortunate that had spent her. From the faint sheen on his cheeks, she assessed he had not been cleaned after their encounter and no doubt stank of her still. She looked in vain for Eleni—but she was not there.

"New arrivals take their dinner in the penitent cells," Miss Kessna said, cheerily. "If you like, we can visit her after?" The woman had walked up, and the acolyte scampered off.

"I should like to see how she fares," Quassi said.

"Contritely, I am sure," Miss Kessna gave her a warm smile. "Come, we have a special table!"

She led Quassi down the row. She saw a long mirror behind the penitents at waist level.. The mirror behind the penitents reflected their bare buttocks, and she saw a parade of variously punished cheeks and in some, flanges of plugs set into their bottoms. The Abbey of Miserable Discipline certainly lived up to its name!

"What are they fed?" Quassi asked.

"Penitent gruel," said Miss Kessna. "Good for ensuring regularity. Lots of new penitents have difficulty moving their bottoms for a few days. "Healthful for them!"

Quassi nodded, imagining the indignities they suffered.

The senior dining hall had a more elegant table set—and in the center was the boy! The one she had seen in the punishment garden! He lay on his back, legs up and open in the "diaper position." He looked frantically miserable.

His cock was thickly erect, with an orange color to it and orange "veins" across his entire area. His scrotum was the size and color of a small pumpkin! His position was held by clever straps around his thighs, to which his ankles were cuffed and connected. The thigh straps had a thin, strong rod between them, to keep him spread. That bar had another fine chain that led to a sort of harness around his shoulders and chest to prevent him from lowering his knees. He would hold the exposing, vulnerable position, even if he was asleep.

Most unusual was the belt they had placed around his waist. His hands were cuffed so as to prevent them from moving away from his erect penis. She watched his hands limply quiver there—whatever discomfort he was in, he was unable to sate it with his hands and their closeness to his punishment erection was likely adding to his helplessness.

He'd clearly been washed and scented with a pleasant smelling perfume and she saw a plug had been placed in his rear before he was put on the table with the food around him.

His anus, obscured by the plug's flange, was still clearly bulging and, she suspected, riddled with the orange veins.

The boy wasn't exactly in agony—but definitely in severe discomfort and dire humiliation, displayed thus among the women.

Miss Kessna led Quassi to a seat and settled in next to her. The head of the table was empty. The table was set with baked chicken and a number of sauces and odd vegetables. Quassi had an uncomfortable feeling they might have come from the punishment garden.

"Are you going to introduce our new guest?" one of the senior acolytes asked, ignoring the suffering penitent before them.

"This is Quassi Grummurand," Kessna said, fondly, reaching over to stroke Quassi's hair. She was used to senior members of the order touching those under them in overly familiar, intimate, and even violating ways: her college life had been full of it.

But she was NOT a student here! she bristled.

"A pretty blush, daughter of the castle-lord," a woman from across the table 'complimented' her. The woman was spooning some chicken and rice onto her plate. It did smell good.

She was going to reach for it—but it was passed down the table, away. Nothing in front of her looked as good. Hmmph. She tossed her head hoping to throw off Miss Kessna's petting hand, to no avail. Ugh.

The boy had clearly been given a mute drink, for he squirmed and whimpered—but very softly.

One of the ladies speared a tender piece of meat and used the implement to mop around the head of his erect penis, wetting it with the fluid that dribbled from it. Smirking slightly, she held it to his lips. The women laughed as he first resisted in revulsion—but then submitted, opening his mouth to be fed.

"A cute penitent," one of the ladies observed. "He'll eat well at the Abbess' table tonight!" It drew light laughter and a moan from the boy!

Quassi was annoyed now—from the petting and hunger. She wanted to tell Miss Kessna to stop touching her hair—but she held her tongue on that.

"So when are we going to have this interview I traveled far for?" she demanded. "Where is Eleni? I wish—" She drew her head to the side, away from Miss Kessna's hand—"To see her. Now if possible! I can take my meal in my chambers."

Silence. Then light laughter from the ladies.

"We could send her to her room without any supper," suggested one of the senior acolytes. "It might improve her attitude?"

"Her attitude will likely require finer adjustments," another observed. Then to Quassi directly: "The abbess will be joining us shortly, dear—you may ask her about the time tables. But let's get you nice and fed, shall we?"

The young acolyte who had escorted her to the dining hall appeared from behind her with a large bowl of punishment gruel. She looked apologetically into Quassi's eyes as she served her. The girl said softly, "You will eat it enthusiastically—or you will eat it enthusiastically with a very sore bottom."

She presented Miss Kessna with a large wooden spoon. Quassi thought it had the look of an implement that had been used elsewhere than the mouth or a stirring bowl, but Miss Kessna dipped it into the gruel and held it to her lips.

"It's healthful, pet, and I know you are hungry after your hard rides—both of them!" The ladies burst into laughter.

Quassi stared in horror at the gray mush. Not the idea of eating it—but what it meant: she was no longer a guest in the Abbey of Miserable Discipline.

When she held her lips closed, Miss Kessna smiled. "Well, the gruel does taste better with a sprinkling of salt, I suppose."

Two of the women had her firmly over the table, one removing her dress using a strong pair of scissors to simply cut the bottom off. Her face was in the bowl, smeared with the gooey gruel. They held her arms pinned, and two young acolytes each secured one of her now-bare legs.

"Next feeding," Miss Kessna said happily, "You'll likely want the spoon in your mouth. We'll see if I'm so inclined. Now, you'll eat until the bowl's empty—and then I'll end your lesson."

She tapped the wooden spoon against Quassi's pudenda. "Hold her firmly, girls."

Oh-no—Oh-no—Oh—Aiiiee! The first smack brought intolerable, intimate pain, and she shrieked into the bowl. When the next one fell—a bright sunrise of pain between her thighs—she cried out again, unable to handle even one of the strokes.

Seasoning the gruel with her tears, the muck caking her face and in her hair, she began to gobble it down as quickly and obediently as she was able. She could hear the ladies around her, that were seated and not involved in her 'feeding' chatting normally, as she cried out and babbled out pleas into the gross slime of the bowl.

Smak. Smak. Smak. Oh, Sattva! Her poor sex! OHH!

ELENI IN THE DUNGEONS

When my master informed me that I would be traveling—sent to a punishment abbey to assist with some manner of unusual spirit—I intended to convict him with the charge of ignoring me. Cruelly dismissing me to someone else's charge as he'd perhaps grown bored of his plaything.

I felt fairly certain that he would feel the sting of such an accusation and I was angry with him! I would never write this had I not been compelled—his daughter's horrible punishment is more than I can sustain!

But I must write that he disarmed my by telling me that my assistance was doing him a substantial and valuable service. He said that though I was, yes, under punishment and, yes, a judicial slave, I would be riding under his banner and representing him.

My plan to vex him shriveled within me. Charged with upholding my master in some important capacity (even if truly just a convenience for him) gave me a terrible pause.

I write that I felt a kind of pride in it and I despise having to put this on paper and expose myself more than the widest spread of my legs ever could. No, Master had tasked me with a responsibility and I was determined to do it. If you read this, Mistress Quassi, I beg you not to show this entry to him. It would make him beyond endurance if he saw how weak I was in failing to despise him!

When I learned that Mistress Quassi was coming, I too, was forced to cling to the few shreds of dignity I was afforded by acting as though I resented her company. I did not. It was belittling and beneath me to hold a human in any real esteem—when she called me her 'little sister', I was rightfully enraged with the brat!

However, even with her intimate taunting and application of punishment, the worst of the travel was the travel itself.

When we reached the abbey, though, I became alarmed. The training of the plants was an art I had not seen evidenced in humans before. They were subtle and awful things and I knew that were I among them, they would find me even more delicious than the humans they tended.

When I was thrown in the awful dungeon, I started with a cry—and quickly proceeded to curl up bare, my fingers finally near my hungry pudenda! They had claimed to have Mucks in the foundations and I knew it to be possible—the tension of being able to address my long punishing need and my fear of the consequences was horrible.

I found myself furious at Mistress Quassi for REMOVING the infernal belt! The irony was like the lash of a great whip on my pride. When a group of naked girls was delivered under guard, I knew dinner had come and they were populating the cells for the evening.