The Exorcism

This is a work of fiction. BDSM should only be practiced with enthusiastic consent and safewords.

The room was in total darkness when the priestess opened the door. She stood for a moment, trying to see in, but hallway light only illuminated the edges of a large bed pressed against the wall. She knew the bed was there, and she knew what lay upon it. It was fear of whatever else might be lurking in the dark that gave her pause, and made her stare into the inky blackness. But there was nothing to see, and nothing to hear, save for a soft, steady breath coming from within.

A match sprung to life with a crack and a hiss. The priestess walked carefully to a table on the far side of the room, and lit a candle. The shadows retreated, and suddenly the room was filled with furniture: a bureau, the bed, and of course, the woman who lay atop it. She was bound in the shape of a crucifix, hands stretched out at her sides, legs together and reaching for the foot of the bed. Her eyes were blindfolded and her mouth was gagged, necessary precautions for anyone in her condition. Who knew what spells she might utter, or who she might hypnotize with her gaze? She was clothed, though her feet were bare, and what she wore did not fit, being far too tight.

The priestess considered the woman, emotions whirling inside her. Part of her felt disgust, and hatred for the fear this demon had caused, the suffering. It was only by a great stroke of luck that she had been captured and brought in. The trial had been swift, the verdict preordained. And now she was here, ready to face justice, and be restored.

The other part of the priestess, the part that believe in goodwill and saving grace, felt pity. Remorse, even. Was this woman not one of Goddess’s fair creatures? Was she no more victim than the rest of those placed upon this earth? Her case was severe, but even she was not too far gone. Something evil lay inside of her but she herself remained, fierce and strong. If the priestess could only remove that which plagued her, which turned her away from Goddess and brought her to sin, then she might yet be saved.

With the candle lit her fear was tempered, though only just. She moved to light the candles on the bureau, and as she did the woman’s head turned to follow. The priestess saw how she fixated on her, could feel her blinded eyes on her skin. The air grew warm, and suddenly the fear returned, bigger now, suggesting the room might burst with hellfire of an unimaginable sort. Then the moment passed — it was the candles making her warm, nothing more. Taking a shaky breath she continued about the room, the woman’s hooded eyes following her every step of the way.

Soon the candles on the walls were burning, and in their light the objects on the table came into sharp focus. Leather and metal, wood and brass, they ran the gamut from light and delicate to heavy and sharp. If Goddess was merciful, then the priestess would barely have to touch them. But if what the church feared was true, then there was a chance that not even the strongest of her tools would be enough. Could she wield these implements in just the right way? Could she remove the tormented presence inside this woman and save her from utter despair?

That was what she was here to find out.

The priestess spoke a name: “Rebecca Hearthstone Granger.” The woman’s chest froze midbreath. The priestess could sense her listening. “You have been brought here today, before the might of Goddess and all She holds dear, so that you might be saved. A demon lies within you, my daughter. Your friends saw it, the church confirmed it. Now we begin a ritual which might Free you from its clutches. This ritual…will not be pleasant. But it is your only chance of salvation. I ask, Rebecca: do you accept the Love of Goddess as a child might accept the Love of her Mother?”

The woman trembled from head to foot. She nodded, hard and fast. The priestess had seen such nods from the galley pews. Yes, I accept Her Love. Yes, I accept Her task: I will not sin again. A liar’s nod. The brief hope that this might be done easily, without pain or screams, vanished. It had been a fool’s hope, and she would not pay it mind again.

She approached the bed. “First, we will source the demon. Then we will draw it out. It will come forth, full of hate and rage, and we will exercise it.” She paused to let the words sink in. “Are you ready, Rebecca?” Another nod, though this one slower to appear, as if she knew what was to come and was hesitant to accept it. Was this the human or the demon nodding? It didn’t matter. The priestess would carry out her work regardless.

She grabbed Rebecca’s feet, and immediately Rebecca pulled at her bonds. The priestess nodded, pleased the bound woman had shown such a strong reaction, then began moving her hands up her legs, massaging the muscles as she went. The pants were rough and uncomfortable — poor girl must be itching something fierce — but she took her time, being as thorough as possible lest the demon be hiding in her calf, her thigh. It was only when the priestess arrived at Rebecca’s groin that she stirred again, letting out a soft sigh as the priestess rubbed at the tops of her legs. She pressed her fingers between them, and the sigh turned to a moan. She began to rub there, soft at first then a bit firmer, and the moan grew louder, and Rebecca’s hips began to press back into her fingers.

The priestess pulled her hands away, feeling grim. Only a powerful demon could have taken residence there, a most holy part of a woman’s being: Goddess’s gateway into life. It would put up a fierce fight, but the priestess had handled its kind before. She allowed herself to cling to that thought, that she had won here before, and could do it again.

She continued moving up Rebecca’s body, feeling the spirit within guide her hands. They came to her chest and grasped the soft flesh they found there, and the resulting moan from the woman on the bed made her flesh crawl. It was only natural the demon would hide there as well. The priestess thought about her own breasts, the connection they gave her to the Goddess, and shivered. This demon had taken the holiest parts of Rebecca hostage, a human shield in a holy war. And as any soldier knows, war brings pain and suffering. The battle would be long. But the priestess must prevail. She simply must.

The rest of the examination went smoothly enough. Only one other part of Rebecca suggested it harbored a demon: her rear. The priestess discovered this when she raised Rebecca’s legs and placed her hands there, and another moan escaped her. The priestess was hardly surprised. Worshiping the Ass was to worship the Goddess Herself. Round and firm, Rebecca’s must have provided a promising haven for the demon. The priestess thought a moment, then tied off the rope, leaving Rebecca’s legs high in the air. This was as good a place to start as any, and she was eager to begin.

She returned to the table and considered the instruments lying there. It was essential they begin with pain. Pleasure would come in time, but getting the demon’s attention, aggravating it to the point where it might reveal itself, was nothing that could be done with a light touch or soft caress. After a moment’s thought she selected a paddle with differing sides, one leather, one wood. She would start soft, then turn it around if needs be, which they always were. Slapping it into her palm elicited a sharp smack, and from the bed came a moan of anticipation.

The priestess rejoined her on the bed. She placed a hand on Rebecca’s legs and pushed them back, raising her Ass even higher. Speaking gently she said, “You must not be afraid to make noise. The room is sealed, and you will disturb no one. It will ultimately help you, as it will work to bring out the demon within.” She rested the paddle on Rebecca’s Ass. Rebecca trembled beneath it. “Let us begin.”

__________

Half an hour later the priestess had removed her robe, stripping down to a small tunic and shorts. The room had grown Hot, the burning candles adding to what was becoming quite a heated event. The paddle was not heavy, but swinging it so many times would break a sweat on even the strongest of beings. So off came the robe. But the work continued, the sweat continued to pour, and soon her underclothes were damp and clung to her glistening body.

Rebecca, for her part, was soaked. There were no clothes covering her. The priestess had cut them off and cast them aside to prevent the woman from overheating. Modesty was of no concern, and the exposed skin only made the work easier. Rebecca had been moaning softly as the paddle struck her clothed Ass. Now that Ass was bare, and her whimpers had turned to soft cries.

It wasn’t just sweat that soaked the sheets beneath her. The priestess couldn’t help but observe Rebecca’s Pussy, naked and shorn, glistened in the candlelight as it dripped with the nectar of Goddess. It seemed that every swing of the paddle, every smack of Rebecca’s Ass brought more life to her Vagina. It soon overflowed and trickled between her Ass-cheeks and down her back. The stench was overpowering, and it made the priestess dizzy as she leaned in to examine her victim. It was essential that she spill no blood, as the scent of it would send the demon into a frenzy. The priestess had to be careful she did not cut too deep with her instruments. There was no blood, but the result of her work was a sight to behold. It was not just Rebecca’s Ass that had been set upon. Her upper thighs were a deep shade of red, the paddle’s outline marking its progress from her thighs to her lower back.

The priestess went to undo the rope keeping Rebecca’s legs aloft. There would be time to for her Ass later, but for now they needed to move on. She stopped, thought for a moment, then went to the table, returning with a thin silver implement with a sloping curve running up its shaft. She rubbed the implement across Rebecca’s Vagina to coat it in her juices, and the bound woman let out a shudder that made the bedframe quake. The priestess smiled. It was working. The demon was stirring. But they still had a long way to go.

She pressed the silver rod to Rebecca’s asshole and pushed it in. Not hard, but not gentle, and Rebecca squealed. Her legs shook, but she could do nothing to stop the priestess from shoving the entire object into her Ass. It disappeared, leaving only a small silver ring at her sphincter. The priestess then undid the ropes and lowered Rebecca’s Ass to the bed, pinning the implement inside her. Rebecca quivered, her groin clenching as it adjusted to this new development.

The priestess returned to the table. “You have done well,” she said, not looking at the quivering figure on the bed. “Now comes something to help ease the process.” She removed the lid from a bowl and dipped in her fingers. The silver gel was cool to the touch, but she knew that was soon to change. She moved over to Rebecca and began rubbing it around her Vagina, then reaching up to coat her nipples. Rebecca began to moan. “It stays cool for a bit, then becomes warm, and makes the skin sensitive. The sensation is pleasant.” She paused, then added, “I often use it on myself.” Rebecca didn’t rely. It wasn’t long before her breath was as shaky as her legs.

The priestess looked at the gel, then down at herself. The she fingered out some more and rubbed it all around her Pussy, getting into every nook and fold. She closed her eyes and held back a sigh, relishing the feeling. The extra sensation would bring her closer to Goddess, and right now she needed all the help she could get. The heat soon took hold, and she felt herself relax. Now the work could continue.

She grabbed two sets thick rubber bands. The first set went on Rebecca’s feet. She gave them a small snap as she placed them on and Rebecca jumped, then cried as the movement pushed the rod further into her Ass. Next came her breasts. They were not the largest the priestess had seen, but they had shape, and held themselves well. She placed the bands as far up as they could go so that they squeezed firmly the base of her tits. Circulation cutoff would be slow, and she’d need to keep an eye on them, but for now they were fine.

The priestess returned to the table and considered what would come next. Eventually she selected a riding crop. These implements were used liberally in the convent, and every girl who passed through had at one point felt its sting on the back of her hand, or, if she had been particularly naughty, her bottom, often in front of an audience. But this one had twice the heft as those flimsy little crops. Its leather had been stitched with a heavy thread, almost rope, that left a burning sting wherever it struck. The priestess slapped it into her palm and winced. Yes, this would do nicely. She returned to the bedside and considered the body laying upon it. There was a lot to consider. There were the bottoms of the feet, the tops of the thighs, her belly, and those two banded orbs across her chest that were turning a bright shade of pink. There was indeed a lot to consider. She would have to take her time. But they had all the time in the world.