The Good Church Wife Ch. 01


The story that follows was suggested by another Lit member. It’s intended to be a series and I hope you will enjoy it. As always please read the tags, they are there for a reason.

NOTE: If you have a problem with sex that’s obtained through questionable means then be forewarned this is not a story you’ll enjoy reading.

I. Introduction

The woman didn’t struggle. The rosette of flood lights above her bathed her naked body with harsh white light; the rest of the space she was in was black. A black that sucked the light into itself, made it disappear into its void.

Her arms were stretched out above her head, her hands bound to heavy beams that made up the ceiling. Her ankles were secured to rings set into the floor. She’d never been to this room before, although she knew the house – and its master – extremely well.

Another woman entered into the circle of bright light, set a table down to the side of the first woman. She was dressed in jeans and a dark blouse, her raven black hair tied into a pony tail with a length of plaited leather. She stood inspecting the bound form in front of her, her pale and severe face only displaying concentration, a merely clinical interest of the bound and naked form in front of her.

The voice came from behind the woman bound in the middle of the light. It was low, the timbre powerful, silky smooth. “Anne” it said and the woman flinched. “I gave you a choice. You can still… avoid things.”

The bound woman shook her head, answered weakly “I won’t give up my daughter – Master.” That last word was carefully said. She had learned to say it properly.

The voice chuckled, then replied “Unless you or your husband can repay me I’m afraid you are still my property. That was the agreement – one you entered into quite willingly.” The woman standing in front of Anne reached for some things on the table, brought them to her left breast. It was a stencil and she began tracing the pattern on it.

Anne groaned, said “You know we don’t have that money! My own daughter…” The rough outlines of a large letter A in a stylized script appeared on the slope of her breast. Her nipple would be bracketed by the bottoms of the two legs of the letter, the apex would touch her collarbone. Trembling she opened her mouth, shut it… jumped when she felt a hand – it had to be His hand – on the cheeks of her ass. Caressing them. The bastard.

“What if… what if I found someone… someone else” she stammered. She’d say anything at this point – she’d done it before. Sometimes it worked. Maybe this time? The hand went between her thighs – oh god she was soaking wet. Master’s fingers slid along her, no Anne corrected herself. His cunt.

The woman in front of Anne finished tracing the outline and walked back into the dark. Anne heard rustling and the woman re-appeared holding a tattoo gun and bottles of ink. “Nooo…” Anne moaned. “Master! Please! I promise – anyone else!” Anne’s eyes were focused on the tattoo as she pleaded. “You choose Master.” She sobbed, tears glittered in her eyes. “Just not my daughter…”

The woman stood in front of Anne waiting for direction. The voice caressed the woman encased in light, saying “No. You choose. Wisely, or I tell Ms. Bronson to continue.”

Anne’s thoughts whirled. One choice. Who? The woman in front of her nodded, began loading the gun with scarlet red ink. Anne’s eyes went wide… a name appeared in her mind. She didn’t think – she spoke it aloud. The needle of the gun descended to the skin of her breast… Anne sobbed, tried to twist, turn away.

“Yes.” Anne felt a glimmer of hope. “A very good choice in fact. This is what we’ll do.” the voice from the dark said to her. The other woman – Bronson was what her Master had called her – brought the tattoo gun away from her chest. Then she turned and stepped back into the dark.

Anne responded to the voice of her Master, as her body responded to His hands as they touched her – so…

The plan made the voice said “And now Ms. Bronson, the alternate if you would.” Anne again heard rustling in the dark then the other woman reappeared in the light. She held something gold, it glittered and shone so brightly in the light. So pretty.

Bronson held it up for the bound woman’s inspection. The voice chuckled again, said “I am determined to mark my property Anne. I agreed to stop the tattoo on your breast, and had thought you would – with some small pressure – arrive at a solution to your dilemma.”

The woman holding the object up to Anne’s eyes stopped it’s spin with a finger from her other hand. It was a gold disc hanging from a golden chain. On the side facing her Anne saw a stylized A engraved into its surface, the font identical to the tracing still remaining on her breast. The woman turned the disc so its other side was shown. It gleamed in the light… the other surface had been engraved with Masters Slut.

“Proceed Ms. Bronson if you would” the voice said right bursa escort behind Anne. She felt her Master close to her as the other woman laid the item down onto the surface of the table, then disappeared into the gloom. Master’s hands were touching her and Anne fell into her familiar role, being the vessel to receive his pleasure.

Bronson returned into the light dragging a chair and a plastic bin. The chair she’d set in front of Anne, the bin onto the table. She removed items and set them out – satisfied she donned a pair of black nitrile gloves then sat down.

Master’s hands kneaded Anne’s breasts, her vulva ached with need. She’d long lost any sense of shame or discomfort of being used by Master in front of others – she felt his hard cock rub along the cleft of her ass at the same time the other woman daubed her privates with something wet. She felt the woman hold and manipulate her clitoris but then Master’s cock touched the entry into her bottom…

The needle pierced her clitoral hood as her Master thrust into her ass. Anne’s orgasm was shattering – Bronson stayed still until the woman’s thrashing against her bonds finished. Once Anne stopped moving Bronson carefully pushed one end of a large gauge gold bar into the hole she’d created at the upper apex of her subject’s clitoral hood. Anne’s eyes went wide from the sensation.

The bar was threaded and Bronson tightened a gold ball to its bottom. There was another ring on that ball – Bronson had experience in this, she made sure that the ball rested on the bound woman’s clitoris – and from there hung the gold tag proclaiming her ownership. For the first time she smiled as she tested the piercing, she lifted the heavy gold disc then let it drop. The sudden intake of breath from the figure in front of her told her all she needed to know.

Bronson stood, collected her things and disappeared into the gloom. She’d be paid well for this bit of work, and naturally she’d keep her mouth tightly shut. No one crossed Reynolds, the man who clearly owned the woman she’d just pierced. Or rather crossed him for very long she thought with a small grin. Case in point being that woman – Anne was the name Reynolds used for her Bronson recalled. Not her problem.

She packed her things into a bag and turned to leave. She passed the two figures, one in the bright white light, one only partially so without a word or a glance. The Reynold’s had owned the county for generations; they’d run it as their personal fiefdom. Ran it well too Bronson had to admit. It was a prosperous and clean place to live. Drugs weren’t a problem, and neither was crime.

She didn’t recognize the name the bound woman – Bronson preferred not to know names of Reynolds ‘projects’, it made things too personal, made them a person and not a thing – had offered up as a replacement for her daughter. By the time she’d get to her car even that would be forgotten.

Behind her came sounds – mixed amongst Reynolds silky deep voice. She couldn’t make out the words. Just as well. Bronson left the large and stately home, got into her car and drove away.

II. Changes

Tori looked at the email she’d received from the head of the pastoral council. She and her husband Aaron had only been with the congregation for a little over a month; they’d relocated in hopes of putting down roots in what appeared to be a wonderful community.

The email was essentially a command, it’d been phrased as a request but it left little doubt as to its purpose. She was to attend a conference with its author, Mr. Reynolds, at his office later that morning. She’d met the man briefly when both her husband Aaron and herself came to the parish for their final set of interviews. An older distinguished looking man she remembered, but that was all. Tori glanced at her watch… she’d better hurry if she was to be there on time. As Tori slipped her phone into a pocket she felt the first faint twinges of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

Anne parked her car in her usual spot at the Reynolds Building parking lot. She sat behind the wheel after turning the motor off collecting her thoughts. Thinking of her involvement, what she’d be doing once she walked into her Master’s office made her ill. Damn her greedy son of a bitch of a husband she told herself as she steeled her nerves and got out. Becoming the mans whore had been degrading – at first – but she’d come to enjoy that. Entrapping another though… She took a breath, let it out, closed the door to the expensive sedan she drove.

She was was dressed in a skirt, blouse and jacket. Since her piercing she found that panties or pantyhose caused her slave medallion to press into her folds – it was too intense a feeling. Tight jeans or slacks became an exquisite form of humiliating torture; she’d orgasmed in a grocery store the one and only time she’d worn jeans since she received her first piercing. Since then there had been more, and Bronson malatya escort had done them all, the cold bitch.

Besides her Master preferred her this way; always ready, easily accessible. The expensive lingerie she wore under her business attire – what she’d looked at as her working uniform – was provided to her by Him. It came to her house, all of her clothes now in fact did. Courtesy of Mr. Glen Reynolds, her Lord and Master.

Walking had become a pleasure however. The medallion swung as her hips moved, always rubbing, touching her intimate flesh. She entered the building and began to walk past the reception desk, smiling as usual to the young lady seated behind it. “Mr. Reynolds” was all Anne would have to say and the younger woman would smile in return and go back to whatever she was doing.

This time however she said “Could you wait a moment Mrs. Thorpe? Mrs. Quirke would you follow Mrs. Thorpe in to Mrs. Reynolds office?” The receptionist looked up into Anne’s face, smiled and said to her “Sorry but I had instructions from Mr. Reynolds.”

That sick feeling returned to the pit of Anne’s stomach. She hadn’t looked to see who might be waiting in the office, that damned medallion was making her focus on it and the pleasure it brought. She turned and nodded to the woman who was rising from one of chairs in the waiting room.

Tori had only been waiting for a short while, her anxiety growing with each passing minute. This was her first real job since finishing school – there had been other temporary postings, then the marriage to Aaron. This was a large well-to-do parish, lots and lots of potential; they had jumped at the chance to apply when they became aware of the openings. That there were two openings in the same parish was a fantastic stroke of luck they’d thought, and the head pastor seemed delighted to have a married couple work with the youth of the congregation.

When they were told they’d secured their positions they used their meager savings to move. They had leased a small cottage on the edge of a large ranch outside of town – life had seemed so perfect. Student loans were getting paid off, they were starting to think of the future. But if either or both of them were to lose their job… it would get tough. And from the tone of that email she was concerned.

Tori’s thoughts were interrupted by the receptionist. “I’m… I’m sorry. What?” she stammered out.

The receptionist smiled, said “Could you follow Mrs. Thorpe” she pointed to the attractive older woman standing next to her. “She’ll take you back to meet with Mr. Reynolds.”

Tori nodded and then rose from her seat. Ice formed in the pit of her stomach, she was afraid she’d begin trembling. She realized she’d forgotten to grab her purse as she stood up. She leaned down – quickly reached out to the arm of the chair she’d been sitting in to steady herself. The strap in her other hand she straightened up, took a breath then walked towards the other woman.

“Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Quirke are here… yes… thank you.” The receptionist smiled at both ladies and after setting the phone headset onto its cradle said “Please go into the offices. Mrs. Thorpe knows the way Mrs. Quirke.”

Tori nodded and said her thanks, then followed the other woman into the building. She was curious why the other woman was also seeing Mr. Reynolds. She seemed vaguely familiar, and wondered if she was a parent of one of the kids.

Anne led the pair to a set of stairs off the reception area and they climbed to the second floor. She now loved walking up stairs – the chain holding the disc slapping gently along her clitoris as she moved. She smiled imagining what the chaste Mrs. Quirke climbing behind her would think if she knew, then almost laughed thinking that Mrs. Quirke would be finding out soon enough. She wondered briefly if that the younger woman was enjoying the view of her ass as they climbed the stairs, most men and more than a few woman did.

“This way” she said as she arrived to the top then turned towards her Master’s office. Her nerves were getting jangly she’d realized; the stimulation to her sex was a thankful counterpoint to her anxiety over what her Master would be expecting of her once they arrived His office. Again she silently swore at her husband cursing him for being a clumsy greedy fool. Because of him she… Anne stifled the thought as they’d arrived.

She knocked on the heavy door. The building was older, substantial. Doors were built of oak and were heavy, floors laid either in oak or marble. The building was as much a symbol of the Reynold’s families place in the county as it was an office. It was understated, old fashioned, comfortable. It spoke of solid workmanship, old fashioned values. She knocked on the door, heard the “Come” from behind it.

Anne squared her shoulders, took a breath and turned the heavy door knob, then entered. The pure and chaste Mrs. Quirke could çanakkale escort stand like a dumb ass in the hall for all she cared. She walked towards her Master and stopped in front of his desk waiting.

Tori watched as the other woman enter into Mr. Reynold’s office. Fear had gripped her and she trembled. Inside the large room sat the man she remembered behind a large polished desk. She recollected their interview with him – he hadn’t seemed a cruel man, and his questions while probing were within the bounds of the interview. She knew she was in trouble – just didn’t have a clue as to why. And that had been gnawing at her since she’d read the email earlier in the day. She stepped in and after closing the door behind her carefully walked to where she saw Mrs. Thorpe standing.

Reynolds waited until both women stood in front of his desk before he looked up. “Please, be seated” he said as he gestured towards the chairs facing the front of his desk next to the pair.

He mused as they arranged themselves. Typically Anne would now be naked and performing some little humiliating task he’d have for her. Often she’d be under his desk and fellating him. A pleasure to be pushed off for a better moment. He looked at Mrs. Quirke as she settled into her chair. The girl radiated healthy pure living he thought to himself. He warmed to his task.

He started, “Mrs. Quirke, certain activities of yours have been brought to my attention.” My those pretty blue eyes are expressive he thought, they opened so wide. “We’ve just gone through a scandal with the last youth pastor. And now we find ourselves once again treading down a familiar path.”

The shock hit Tori as she heard Mr. Reynolds speak. Scandal? Her? What!? Her thoughts whirled and tore through her brain as her body reacted. Her heart pounded, her skin felt cool, it seemed the only thing she could focus on was the man in front of her. And time seemed to have slowed to a crawl.

Reynolds opened a folder and placed photos on the edge of the desk facing the younger woman. “These for example. Inexcusable.” He watched as her head bowed, her eyes taking in the shots. “And Mrs. Thorpe has another tale to tell Mrs. Quirke. You appear to have a problem with spending money.”

Anne had been sitting still watching her Master at work. Her body too was responding to the situation, her nipples hard, and her vulva feeling warm and full. Her sessions with Him trained her body to respond – a portion of her mind felt His hard cock in her mouth as he… she blinked rapidly so as to break out of her reverie.

She knew about the photos of course, one of her snitches had taken them for her. The parish had not gotten around to building separate showering facilities for the staff and Mrs. Quirke had taken to using the same shower as the girls did. Anne had had a hand in setting this one up in fact and it had cost her a few trinkets. While the chaste and pure Mrs. Quirke usually waited until all the girls were done and gone, on this occasion she’d been joined by a trio of young ladies – girls who didn’t care if their pictures were surreptitiously being taken by one of their peers.

Anne wanted to snort. It was too bad all the ‘girls’ in the scene had passed their eighteenth birthday. But her Master was happy with a merely a hint of impropriety, not a full blown Jerry Sandusky problem.

Reynolds saw the trembling in the younger woman’s hand as she reached forward and touched each picture in turn. “This is a conservative family values place Mrs. Quirke. There would be many people here who would feel first betrayed, then angry if those pictures were seen by them.”

He had to give it to Anne. In the shots the girls were laughing, soaping each other and Mrs. Quirke. Nothing was overtly sexual about the pictures, and yet he’d felt a stirring in his loins when he first saw them. He knew most of the males in the community would too, and to be honest there was that small number of the womenfolk…

He laid another report onto the pictures. It was interesting accounting work he knew yet he felt confident the young lady was in so much shock she’d not be as analytical as to be able to break it down. “Your expenses are interesting Mrs. Quirke. I think you’re attempting to use parish funds for your own use.”

She looked up, her mouth open, eyes vacant. He had her. The hook was in her mouth, now to set it…

“As I said this parish has already gone through scandal. I’m going to save it from another. Your lead Pastor knows nothing of this, it’s only the three of us in this room. If you and your husband resign – now – you’ll leave with good references and regrets you didn’t stay.”

Tori was shaking. Her life, her husband’s life, their dreams… “Please” she said softly. “Please…” she didn’t know what to say. Deny this? And bring scandal, ruin to their lives? Oh God she prayed.

“Mr. Reynolds… I’ll do anything. Don’t ruin my husband’s life. I… I should have been more careful…” she was babbling and she knew it. But what to say! All their dreams were slipping from her fingers…

“Mrs. Thorpe, please leave us.” Reynolds watch the struggle on his slut’s face. He knew she wanted to be there, to enjoy the debasement of the other younger woman. Well… that wasn’t her place. She had other roles to play.