The Imp of the Perverse

Quassi nodded. "What about my friend—she was—"

"The spirit?" the girl asked.

"Yes."

"I am pretty sure she was mucked. They've taken to giving that milk to girls in the tantrum dungeons. It's awful."

"oh—ugh." The salve was helping though.

"They're going to give it to you. A lot of it. It's . . . strong," she warned.

"My father—" Quassi started.

"Don't mention him," the girls hissed. "They'll see it as defiance."

"What about getting a message out?" she asked.

The girl carefully applied the scattering of circular bruises across her vulva. Quassi gave a soft cry.

"Sorry," the girl said. "I'm Kati. I sent a private letter to the Proctoress in town weeks ago. I heard nothing—but they sent you. I don't know how to get a message out beyond that. At the time I . . . didn't know about the abbess' . . . mutation."

"What . . . happened to her?" whispered Quassi.

"I don't—" they heard voices. "I'll see if I can talk later," she said. She gave Quassi a soft pat on the buttocks. "Remember: submissive."

Quassi nodded.

Miss Kessna and the other girl entered.

"How's our newest little penitent," Miss Kessna asked bustling over.

"Her poor peach is a bruise, miss." Kati said.

"Well, that ought to help her remember to keep it under control and not spraying all over the room, now, won't it?"

"Yes mistress," Kati said.

"Go with Jasna and see if any of the other senior acolytes need a spend," she said. She took the bottle of the Milk of Sattva from the dresser. "I'm going to get naughty-little Quassi tucked in."

The two girls bowed low and backed out, closing the door.

Miss Kessna stood by the bed and felt the pillow under Quassi's face.

"Did we have a good cry?" she asked. Her tone was sympathetic—but Quassi remembered what Kati had said.

"Yes, Mistress," she answered with as much vigor as she could manage. "My punishment hurt!"

Miss Kessna laughed. "As it's intended to—mostly. This is a punishment that won't hurt at all! In fact, you might even find it enjoyable if you admit to yourself you're a slutty little brat and take it properly!"

Quassi winced and gave the woman a sorrowful look as she climbed into the bed.

"Come here, slutty little brat," she said with mock affection. "Let's have our bedtime milk."

Quassi lay in the woman's arms and sucked from the bottle. She could tell from the first few gulps that it was strong in a way the draughts she had experienced had not been—and those had just been a shot-glass full. This was an entire bottle!

"You can feel it starting to work!" Miss Kessna said as Quassi shifted in her arms, opening her legs wide, feeling an uncomfortable heat in her sex.

"Have you had humiliation sex?"

Quassi blushed—but nodded, still drinking from the bottle.

Humiliation sex was one of the games they'd played at the girl's university. Quassi had found it amusing—but she'd usually been the dominant one!

The dominant's role was to spend. She could order the submissive in any capacity she wanted—but if she got frustrated with the submissive's efforts, Sattva help the low-girl!

The low-girl, on the other hand, was to follow every command from her dominant—but also to work to humiliate herself. To suggest more degrading acts—to call herself a slut, to confess hidden fantasies or otherwise diminish herself to the amusement of her dominant.

If she did a good job, both of pleasing her dominant sexually and degrading herself artfully, she could be rewarded with a spend! Of course, every submissive in the game started by telling their dominant they deserved punishment for their urges rather than a spend—Quassi had been of the common mind that the first time out with a new submissive, it was proper to deny them no matter how much they disgraced themselves.

She'd wound up spanking a lot of bitterly crying submissives! Now, as the milk was starting to seize her, she realized how terrifying it would be if this woman denied her! Humiliation sex with the draught was a far more serious game—the submissive would inventively humiliate herself in a desperate attempt to cum and the dominant's whim went from playful to cruel.

Oh, mercy, she whimpered as the last of the breast-warm milk emptied into her mouth. She licked her lips—heat. Ohhh—

"I've played humiliation sex, mistress," she said.

"You were a dommy little brat, weren't you," Miss Kessna teased her, brushing affectionately at her hair.

"Yes, mistress—I trust you'll punish me deeply for being so above my station?"

"I don't know," pondered Miss Kessna, "your tender little twat can't take any more tonight, can she?"

Ughh! "Mistress! My dirty cunt needs much more of a beating—please punish her!"

Quassi could hear the honest pleading in her voice—begging to be punished there—oh, mercy. If this woman didn't find her submissive and degraded enough—!

"I know you need the punishment, brat," she said petting Quassi's face and cheeks—but not her sex—which REQUIRED it! "But I think we can start tomorrow—and tonight just put a nice thick chastity—"

"Mistress!" Quassi desperately climbed from the bed to kneel on the floor, looking up, "punish Quassi-brat tonight? Please? Pee in the bottle and Quassi-brat will drink it!"

Miss Kessna laughed! "That's revolting, Quassi-brat!"

"That's what makes it a good punishment, mistress!"

The woman looked warmly down at the desperate looking thing. She stripped off her acolyte robes and her newly minted penitent got to work energetically working to please her.

Now, Mistress Kessna slept, snoring lightly. Her sex, thighs, and anus were soaked in Quassi's saliva. She'd managed three and coaxed herself to be able to enjoy a fourth by giving the girl a good spanking on her bottom.

She imagined she'd been an uncharacteristically nice mistress with the girl and allowed her sex respite.

Of course the brat was terribly, miserably distraught and now she wore full body pajama, buttoned down the back, and with thick mittens cuffed to her wrists. Her region was covered under the pajama with a thick cloth diaper called an absorbant, and thus prepared for bed, she'd been given a mute-draught, and locked into a secure bed with bars around it like an infant's crib.

The girl had thrown a tantrum, which would have gotten most penitents sent to the tantrum dungeons with her nature spirt—but Miss Kessna found the girl's misery cute and amusing and, once she was muted, permitted her silent begging and soft musical whimpers.

Now she slept, her naked body gleaming in the moonlight. Quassi sat, disconsolate, against the wall of the crib, her legs up and spread wide. She still had plenty of tears, her unsatisfied sex rampaging with its incessant demands and the awful fantasies it awakened in her.

She was dozing in the grip of nightmares about being taken in a filthy tavern by scores of men, using her every possible way, soaking her with their seed. In the dreams, she would cum, utterly humiliated by the spend, only to have it ruined by lack of attention when she needed it most.

When light filtered in, and they roused her, she felt like she was on her humors: bloated, cramping, frustrated, and beyond irritable. She had to humble herself with the acolytes who found the pink restraint pajamas adorable on her. They washed her in the acolyte's bath chambers, which did have warm water.

ELENI

I awoke still "wearing" the muck. The guard-girls perhaps let me sleep a bit longer as they knew I'd had an awful night. I came awake and felt a slow but steady increase in discomfort, a feeling like itching ants swarming inside my channel. It was when I reached down and even touched the coating of slime over my area, that I realized what I was doing, and jerked my fingers back!

The muck didn't punish me for the touch, which it could have. I raised my head blearily and looked at the guard woman looming over me.

"Did we have a pleasant night, sweetie?" she asked mockingly.

"I spent it being punished for masturbation, mistress," I croaked. I knew my muck well understood humiliation and submission. I was surprised, however, by its approving purr at my embarrassing response. I could still feel the effects of the draught they'd given me—and the jellied vibrations over my vulva gave me a surprised gasp!

They walked me out to the squat toilet and made me get down and open wide. I did, waiting. A small bubble "popped" and I felt a soft smack over my clitoris and urethra. "Oh!" But I knew it was signaling me to pee.

I relaxed and pushed, and I felt the slime thicken and swell. Since it penetrated every opening I had there, I presume this entire production was just to humiliate me. When it pop-tapped my anus, I grit my teeth and bore down there, in front of everyone.

The girls giggled as I got a reward-quiver for my abject submission. They dressed me in a wrap that covered only my breasts. The muck otherwise "clothed" me as a thick, slick translucent slime diaper.

The other girls had been taken to wherever they fed and cared for penitents, and I waddled with my guards, whimpering and and moving slowly, highly alert to the muck's mild signals.

I was taken through corridors. I heard and smelled indications of suffering. The smack of a hand spanking, a girl whimpering as a senior woman scolded her. We exited out the back. I felt some hunger but was far more concerned about what awaited me.

I could feel the predatory punishment garden to my right, but thankfully we didn't go there.

Instead, we went to a building out back—domed, with an odd slit in the roof.

"What is that, Mistress?" I asked timidly. The muck gave me a slight warning vibration in my anus, perhaps for speaking without being spoken to.

"That is a telescope, unfortunate," said the girl leading me. "It is part of the research facility here."

"Yes, mistress. Thank you for answering your annoying, unworthy unfortunate," I said. The muck liked that. I felt an approving petting vibration on my clitoris.

The girl smiled, and actually blushed.

"My little wood spirit is learning her place!" she enthused. "Tell mistress, would my wood spirit like a hard morning spanking to help her remember what a wretched little brat she is?" Her smile was bright in the sunlight.

Ughhhh. "Your pathetic little wood spirit would love to have her nose rubbed in what a wretched little brat she is," I replied. I knew full well this response might actually draw me the spanking and I did not feel well ready to take it. The whimper in my voice was clearly audible. Thankfully, she giggled and leaned in to rub her nose gently against mine and then kiss me sensuously on the lips. My muck hugely approved of my self-effacement and its petting response almost made the humiliation worth it.

Inside, the round building was an inner wall that created a circular corridor about the circumference. A heavy interior door opened to a small chamber with another heavy door at the far end.

"Kneel down," said my guard. I did, and she pulled a chain, which I think jangled a bell on the other side. She gave it two more good pulls, and then stepped away. She produced a sealed envelope and placed it on a bench next to me. "The muck will make sure you behave," she said, and closed the outer door, leaving me alone.

Light came from two small water lights, and there was nothing else to do, so I knelt there, head bowed, hands behind my back. I could feel my muck quiver between both my clefts, seeming to gently touch and prod and inspect me.

Had I not felt that it could bite me terribly at any time, I might have enjoyed the sensations. I jumped slightly when the door before me opened. It was a tall, brown-haired girl with spectacles and unusually long painted fingernails fashioned to sharp tips. She looked imperiously down at me.

"What manner of thing are you?" she asked.

"A . . . " I swallowed, "Nature spirit?" I'd hated describing myself as a wood-spirit. I wondered if the muck understood that. From the slight growing itch at my anus, I gathered it did, and hastily added "a wretched, punished little wood spirit that was sent for, mistress."

She laughed at that—somewhat haughty—and I felt blush all over my face. Thankfully, the itch diminished to mere common discomfort. It didn't go away entirely: my muck was letting me know if I didn't continue to abase myself, it would do it for me!

"Get up, wretched, punished little wood spirit," she ordered me. "Were you at yourself?" She was looking at my muck. I could feel her eyes on my cleft even through the translucent purple slime.

"This naughty little wood spirit was masturbating, mistress. My valiant muck is teaching her the error of her ways!" My muck seemed to like being called Valliant and gave me an approving buzz. It also reduced the itch more to a vague anal discomfort. The Unclean equivalent of a pat on the head and a "good girl."

The girl turned and walked. I got up and followed, waddling after her, my muck annoyingly thick around my region. Inside was a large circular chamber and a vast machine, pointed like a many barreled cannon up through the slit. It had a chair with restraints and a black rubber phallus sticking up. Sombody tasked to sit there, impaled on it, would have an array of mirrors and eyepieces to look through. I saw large levers that presumably controlled it and a panel of smaller dials. There were a number of small offices or bedrooms around the outer circumference.

Around the machine were work-benches, laboratory equipments, and a few restraint racks. I saw another girl—I could tell she was the more submissive of the two just from her posture and dress, fussing over a table with glass tubes and spirals and beakers and bottles.

Then I saw it: on her table was a tall glass bottle with a red . . . thing . . . inside it.

It looked like a small bright red man with an enormous cock—its obscene member came down to its ankles and was as big as the thing's thigh! It had red bat-like wings, and a long coiled tail sprouting from just above its buttocks. It was perhaps 18" tall.

It appeared to be "sitting" but was simply hovering in air inside the bottle.

The lower-girl looked up. "Oh!" she said, excitedly. "Our dryad!"

I tried to look meek and ready to help.

"Oh, ew! She's got a muck!" the girl said, her eyes shifting to my lower quarters. I reluctantly spread my legs to give her a better look.

"It'll stay on her," said the more dominant girl. "You can order it to spank her!"

I inwardly moaned—I felt the muck swell uncomfortably in my vagina and anus! I was prepared to adopt a ready-to-be-spanked position but thankfully, she moved to take the imp-bottle and place it on a rolling tray that it sort of locked into so it could be moved securely.

"Have they fed you?" she asked as I followed her to a small chamber.

"No, Mistress," I replied.

"I'll bring you something." she said. "Is the muck troubling you right now?"

"My muck is taking very good care of this wretched, penitent dryad," I assured her. My muck approved. She blushed.

"It really has got you, poor thing," she said, looking concerned.

"My muck and I are doing fine," I told her, trying to make it clear I wasn't in agony and being forced to put a good face on it. "She caught me pleasuring myself and is patiently showing me the error of my ways!"

My muck quite liked this, and I stifled a little gasp of pleasure at her approval. I guess my muck did consider itself female!

She wheeled the cart with the imp into a small room with a heavy door and provided a small stool so I would be looking up at the small creature.

"For starters," she said, "see if the imp will speak with you at any length. You will not report its statements in exactly the same words to us—but you will answer questions in your own terms, after you speak with it. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said, swallowing. I didn't exactly understand what was being discussed.

"And if the imp instructs you to take any action, you will turn this knob by the door to raise a flag that will alert us. You will NOT take the action—but will inform us and let us decide how to interrogate you about what it said."

I nodded. I understood what she wanted—but I had no understanding of why.

"I'll bring you food shortly," she assured me. She shut the door.

I sat, gently, aware I was sitting on my muck—but she didn't seem to mind. I spread my legs wide and looked up at the obscene imp. It looked back at me.

"Will you speak to this pathetic wood spirit?" I asked.

It snickered. "Pleasing your new mistress?"

"Yes, erm, master imp. She is being patient with me and I am trying to learn my place with her."

It nodded. "Do you know why they have all those stupid rules about warning flags and language entropy?"

I shook my head, baffled.

"I'm just a wretched little wood spirit, master imp."

"They are practicing a kind of information hygiene," the imp said. "They believe, with some degree of accuracy, that any information I impart to them could govern their actions in subtle but powerful ways. An implanted idea here—a choice of word there that influences them in the future. As such, they are trying to prevent clear communication between myself and them. They fear you taking any actions. Moving a glass beaker a few inches? It could change how an accident in their chemistry progresses. Leaving a door open? It could allow one of them to hear words from the other that would set them on a course of action otherwise not taken."

"They understand the numinous threads of cause and effect I can control and they fear my presumed capability to wreak great consequences with the most minor of alterations. Even speaking can do this. Even the tiniest push here can fell giants there."

I nodded. Master Grummurand had told me several times that I was not stupid—generally when I was berating myself for having been foolish enough to land in his care as a judicial slave. I was considering, puzzling over this.

"You can see the future then, Master Imp?"

It smiled. It had an oversized nose and thin lips. I could see a pair of pointed teeth on its upper and lower rows. "Not the way it is commonly imagined. I can see potentials. Do you play the game of chess?"

This was not the way I had imagined this conversation progressing. "My . . . my mistress—my master's daughter—who is here somewhere, plays very well, master Imp. I have never learned."

It nodded.

It considered. Mmmm. "I will tell you important things—key things the abbess should like to know if you can arrange a face to face game between your master's daughter and myself with a fine set of pieces. We would play alone, or with yourself as well."

"I am to tell them this?" I asked.

"In your own words," it said. "If they ask why, it is because I am bored."

I considered this. Unclean and even spirits in their native forms don't get bored. I do because I am trapped in this animal body—but as a tree I could stand for seasons and never feel the horrid human sensation of boredom.

I looked at the small, grotesque little imp. Its penis was flaccid, dangling. I got the impression the member was more for show at being visibly obscene rather than as an actual organ of some use.

"Why do they call you an imp-of-the-perverse?" I asked. I was pleased both my muck, and the imp seemed to be readily acceptable of my asking questions. I felt certain if the imp wished me punished, my muck would happily oblige.

I am familiar with spirits, being one myself, and I can tell you that we all have an inner inclination to punish the corporeal. Those with bodies resonant with urges and needs that disturb things. It is not "visible" or "audible" as you would understand it—but something more like a smell.

Discipline and punishment smells appealing to us. It conveys an aural sense of 'rightness.'