RACHEL, part III
Father went on another long, interstate delivery run, and my step-mother
grew cranky and irritable. She accused Rachel of losing her mother's favorite
kitchen knife and ordered her to the basement. When I refused to punish Rachel,
Priscilla said she would do it herself. Rachel undressed by candlelight while
her mother and I watched. The pillory which Priscilla had used on my father was
still set up. She installed Rachel with her neck and hands clamped in place,
low enough that she was bent at the waist. I could not help admiring Rachel's
beautifully shaped buttocks, gleaming in the candle light, and my penis stood
tall in my loose slacks. "Stealing is crime enough to warrant your punishment,"
hissed Priscilla, "but you have also sinned against God, with impure thoughts.
You have tempted your brother to lust for you. What do you have to say for
yourself?"
Rachel remained silent. Priscilla went to the infamous cupboard and
returned with an assortment of hardware. She hung weights from the rings in
Rachel's nipples, pulling her breasts into pendulous cones, like stalactites.
She put the leg-spreader bar on Rachel herself, not asking me to do it. That
exposed all of Rachel's genital area to view. She put clamps on each of
Rachel's beautiful, bare labia, the ones I so liked to kiss. She put a round
pipe on blocks under Rachel's feet, to raise her ass higher and to increase her
discomfort. I seethed inwardly, to see the object of my love so abused, but
there seemed little I could do. "Confess your sins, Rachel, so we can get this
over with," said her mother. Rachel remained silent. "Since there is no
repentance, the punishment is doubled: fifty blows."
"No!" I screamed. "That would kill her."
"What do you know, Howard? She is my daughter. I'll punish her, while you
watch." She used the rod again, skillfully, methodically, striking hard,
putting livid stripes across Rachel's buttocks and thighs, while the tormented
girl counted the strokes. At number sixteen, one of the clamps was jarred loose
from Rachel's cunt lip, leaving yet another red contusion. At twenty-two, the
other clamp pulled loose. Rachel's bruised outer lips gaped open; I could see
the wet groove between them, and the three studs which fastened her inner lips
together, to preserve her virginity. At twenty-five strokes, Rachel was still
bearing up well to her punishment, but her mother decided to pause. "Rachel,
confess your sins," she insisted. Rachel said nothing.
"Priscilla," I said, "I know of no sin of which Rachel is guilty."
"She causes her mother pain. I must sleep alone, while you and she share
the same bed! You can't tell me she has not tempted you to impure thoughts,
perhaps even impure actions. How do I know that she hasn't removed the studs
and let you ruin her?"
"You know because I assure you that she has not, and I have not removed
them, and even if they were removed, I would not participate in her breaking her
promise to remain a virgin until she marries."
"I will look for myself!" Rachel's mother took a candle and held it close.
I'm sure the Rachel felt the heat on her tender lower cheeks. She roughly
spread Rachel's cunt lips, wet with vaginal juices, and began to unscrew the
studs, pulling each out as it came apart. She tried to part the pink inner
labia, but, for a moment, they seemed stuck together.
"Perhaps, Priscilla, they have grown together, proof of her virginity."
"Nonsense! I remove them every time she has her monthly period." She
pulled the tender membranes apart and peered within. Apparently satisfied, she
replaced each stud and screwed it down tight, tight enough that Rachel cried out
in pain. In spite of my promise not to touch them, I resolved to loosen them
the first chance I got. I stepped closer to Rachel, appalled by the
thoroughness of her beating, the degree of redness and swelling of her bottom.
She would surely have to sleep on her tummy tonight. And the punishment by
Priscilla was only half over! The twisted mother went to the cupboard and
returned with a large rubber bulb which had a long, black tube protruding. I
think it was from an auto store, for filling batteries or some such mundane use.
Priscilla filled the bulb with clear fluid; I smelled turpentine. Then she
sqirted Rachel's red vaginal membranes.
"Oh, God, it burns!" cried my love. I moved to stop her mother, who
quickly thrust the stiff tube into Rachel's anus and emptied the rest of the
bulb's contents into her bowels. "Aaahh!" cried the victim. It was more than I
could stand. I wrestled my step-mother to the floor of the basement. She fought
back, until I found a length of rope and tied her hands behind her. Then I
released Rachel from the pillory. My lovely "sister" was clearly in pain. I
removed the weights from her nipple rings and tried to figure a way to relieve
the burning inside her. From the cupboard I took one of the infamous torture
hoses, hooked it to the faucet in the laundry tub, and turned on cool water. As
best I could, I washed Rachel's inflamed genitals, even directing the stream in
between the studs, as her mother had injected the burning fluid deep into her
daughter. What the hell, I loosened them and douched Rachel's inflamed love
tunnel with a powerful stream of water.
I had to pause, to hobble Priscilla, for she had struggled to her feet and
was screaming imprecations, maledictory curses and threats. I tied her ankles
together, my rage giving me extra strength, and then I tied her ankles to her
wrists, making sure she could not get up again. Then I directed the stream of
water into Rachel's rectum, hoping the cool water would relieve the burning.
Still, Priscilla shouted. "Priscilla," I said, if you do not desist, I'll have
Rachel shit on you."
"I couldn't do that to my own mother," Rachel said. I forced Rachel to
stand straddling her mother's body, and I held the long hose in her anus, even
after water began to leak out around the hose. "Howard," said Rachel, "I'm
going to explode." I pulled the hose out of Rachel's rectum and watched with
satisfaction as brown, smelly water gushed onto the woman on the floor. That
shut her up. "Rachel," I said, "bear this a little longer. Let me know if it
hurts too much. I inserted the still running hose again, waiting until the
internal pressure caused her anus to stretch and as much water leaked out as
went in. "This will clean you off, dear step-mother," I said, as I released
another fountain from Rachel's bowels. I did it again and again.
"Please, Howard," Rachel said, "stop." I did. "I'm sorry mother," she
said. "I couldn't help it." I let Rachel go. She squatted over the drain in
the floor and let the last of her awful enema drain out. I began to think that
perhaps I had behaved badly, that I should release the wretched woman I had so
degraded. The knots in her ropes were wet, hard to untie. I went to the
cupboard to get something to help me release her. It was there I saw the knife.
"This is the same knife you accused Rachel of stealing," I said calmly.
"You took it, you framed her, so you could punish her."
"So you could punish her, Howard."
"Yes. The first night I was here, you made me punish Rachel and fuck her
ass, knowing I would like that and be your accomplice in the future. The
problem is, I've come to love Rachel. I don't want to hurt her. On the other
hand..." I used the knife to cut the ropes which bound Priscilla's feet to her
wrists. I pulled her up and forced her neck and arms into the pillory. Then I
locked her into it. I removed the leg-spreader from Rachel and placed it on my
step-mother's ankles, forcing her to stand on the pipe. Now, except that she
was clothed, she was in exactly the same condition that she had placed her
daughter in. Rachel cowered in the shadows, appalled at what I had done to her
mother. "Rachel, your mother punished you for a crime she herself committed.
You should punish her," I said.
"I can't," she said. "She's my mother."
"She's not my mother," I said. "I must administer justice myself." I
yanked at Priscilla's cheap cotton house dress, without much effect. So I used
the knife. I took my time, cutting away the shit-soaked dress, cutting away her
underthings, leaving her entirely naked. "Priscilla," I said, "confess your
sins." She remained silent. "You stand convicted of bearing false witness.
You shall be punished." I picked up the rubber bulb and filled it with
turpentine. My step-mother's bare bottom was thrust out, her cunt clearly
visible between her spread legs. I fingered her furry cunt lips. I picked up
the fallen clamps and placed them on her labia. She gritted her teeth, but
would not cry out. I thrust the black tube deep into Priscilla's vagina. Then
I expelled the contents into her. The effect was immediate. She groaned and
made mewling noises through her clenched jaws, bouncing up and down on her toes
and shaking her ass, as if that would lessen the burning of the fluid inside
her. I refilled the bulb filled her rectum with irritant. "An eye for an eye,
Priscilla; that's God's law," I intoned. "You gave Rachel twenty-five strokes,"
I continued. "You shall receive the same. Count them out loud, Priscilla." I
whacked her with the rod. She didn't count. "They don't count, unless you
count them, Priscilla." I whacked again, as hard as I could, leaving a big red
welt across her ass.
"One," she croaked. Whack. "Two." On number sixteen, I slashed downward
with the rod and knocked both clamps off her cunt. As they clattered to the
floor, I was reminded of the weights. I put the fallen clamps on her nipples,
and hung the same weights upon them which had tortured Rachel's breasts. Rachel
covered her eyes with her hands.
"Let's see, Priscilla, where did we leave off on the count?" I whipped the
rod just where I knew the tip would strike her swollen cunt lips. She gasped,
then managed to call out, "Seventeen." After the twenty-fifth blow, she said,
"Howard, I'm burning up inside." I picked up the still running hose and
adjusted it to its coldest and strongest setting. Then thrust the hose deep
into Priscilla's cunt. Water gushed out over my hand; I could see her inner
lips fluttering in the flow. My prick was so swollen, I felt like fucking her
then and there, but I restrained myself. Instead I applied the hose to her
rectum. She cried out, and almost instantly the pressure stretched her anus,
so water sprayed over my hand. I pulled the hose and watched her spew the
contents of her bowels on the floor. I repeated, again and again, until only
clear, cold water gushed out of her. I played the cold water over her inflamed,
red ass cheeks; it probably reduced the pain a bit. Then I left her there in
the pillory to savor the indignity of it all while I hosed off the floor and
sluiced the last of the shitty water down the drain.
Rachel removed her hands from her eyes. "Howard, how could you do that
to my mother?" she said. "Justice must be done. Now, here I am with a
stiff prick. I think I'll fuck her ass."
"No, Howard, no. Do it to me, instead," said Rachel. I went back to
inspect my work, noting that Priscilla's clitoris was standing tall, like a
little penis. I went back to the cupboard and found a variety of appliances, at
least half a dozen dildos and vibrators. "I'll bet she's used these on you,
hasn't she, Rachel."
"Yes," she admitted.
I selected the items I needed and prepared for the next phase. First, I
took the biggest dildo I could find and slowly pushed it into Priscilla's
vagina, stretching her inner lips with its thickness, pushing on her womb with
its length. The dildo had straps, to hold it on when someone used it to fuck
another person. The same straps could be used to hold it in. I buckled the
waist strap, led another up between her buttocks to attach at the waist, behind.
I took one of the hoses which had a balloon to hold it in place. Pushing the
dildo strap aside, I inserted the hose and pumped up the balloon. It would not
come out until Priscilla's ass hole stretched to a couple of inches, perhaps not
even then, as the dildo strap pressed the hose in. I connected the hose to the
faucet and let a mere trickle of hot water enter the hose. It might take an
hour to fill Priscilla; I'd let her savor the slow torment of her bowels,
stretching slowly, inexorably, as the water gurgled into her. Oh, yes, one last
thing. I selected a vibrator, slipped it into the hollow dildo, and turned it
on. I could imagine the vibrations would be transmitted by the fluid in her
bowels, until her whole abdomen shook. I found a plastic covered mat and laid
it on the floor in front of Priscilla, almost under her nose. I led Rachel to
it and made her recline on the mat, placing a pillow under her lower back, to
relieve the weight on Rachel's battered backside.
"Observe, Priscilla, how Rachel gets what she deserves." With the utmost
gentleness, I began to kiss and caress Priscilla's daughter, right there in
front of her. As I had in the barn, I began by kissing her eyelids, her ears,
her mouth, her neck, her breasts. I spent a long time on her breasts, sucking
them into my mouth, licking them. I progressed down Rachel's belly, until I
came to her shaven mound. I kissed her reddened labia, licked them, then buried
my tongue between them. Rachel moaned and bucked her hips, raising her vulva to
meet my mouth. She shuddered with a crashing orgasm. "Howard," she cried, "I
love you." I paused to let her relax, while I checked on Priscilla. The
vibrator still chugged away, still stretched her sheath to the limit. It was
drenched with wet; Priscilla was sexually aroused. Behind, I tested the hose.
She was filling up, perhaps a few quarts had flowed into her, but the pressure
wasn't yet high enough to damage her. The fluid would be gurgling ever higher
into her bowels, almost boiling her from within. If it was not yet causing her
real pain, she was at least suffering from the anxiety, the expectation, that
the ache within her would soon become an excruciating pain. How like Priscilla,
who got her sexual kicks from inflicting pain on others, to suffer both pain and
sexual stimulation simultaneously. I returned my attention to Rachel's crotch,
quickly bringing her to a series of rapid-fire orgasms which left her sweaty and
exhausted. Without a word from me, she got up, rolled over, and presented her
bottom to me. "Howard," she said, "I want you inside me."
The studs were still in her inner labia; I could not enter her proper love
tunnel. To do so would have been appropriate punishment for her mother, who had
put the studs there in the first place, but Rachel had long ago accepted them
and was resolved to preserve her virginity. It wouldn't be fair to Rachel.
Instead, I took off my pants and very gently placed the end of my painfully
stiff prick against the rosebud of her anus. I could feel her relax. It
slipped in, and it felt so good, to be inside my Rachel, that in seconds I had
ejaculated, pumping my seed into her. "Oh, Howard," she sighed. "That's
wonderful." Almost reluctantly, I withdrew. "Rachel," I said, "why don't you
go and get our bed warm. I'll be up in a little while." Rachel got to her
feet, dreamily, and slowly climbed the stairs.
"You see, Priscilla, you have taught me well. I had never ass-fucked
anyone, until you made me do it to Rachel. Some punishment." Priscilla replied
in halting gasps, as if the pressure in her abdomen made it difficult to talk.
"Howard, it has all gone according to plan. Rachel loves you, and you love her.
I made it happen. No one would think a young man would fall in love with his
sister, but I made it happen, in only days. Take good care of her, Howard. --
Ah, I'm going to be ripped apart!" I released the straps on the big dildo.
The pressure in her bowels, squeezing her vagina, forced it out like a bullet.
I grasped the hose, still secured by the blown up balloon inside her anus, and I
yanked on it. Her ass hole stretched frightfully, and then the balloon was
expelled by a gush of hot water like the stream from a fire hose. It splashed
against the walls and ran in rivers toward the drain. It was followed by lesser
squirts, as her gut contracted in spasms, emptying itself. "Oh, my lord,"
exclaimed Priscilla. "I haven't felt such relief since Rachel was born." I
fingered her swollen cunt, and I'm sure she had an orgasm, maybe several.
"Well, Priscilla, what am I going to do with you now? I still owe you
twenty-five strokes, but I don't want to bother with that, now. Later, maybe,
if you don't behave yourself. I could just leave you there, in the pillory, but
if your legs gave out, you might choke." I released her neck from the wooden
yoke, cuffed her hands behind her back, left the leg-spreader on her. I laid
her, belly down, on the mat and threw an old blanket over her. "Contemplate your
sins, Priscilla, while I make love to your daughter," I said, as I blew out the
candles and went up the stairs.
[to be continued]
