In the morning, Ellen resolved to see old Reverend Davis in Hyatsville, twenty miles away. He was of some off-beat sect, she knew, not a member of the Baptist Church her husband belonged to. But he was known as a good, kind man. Leaving quietly after giving her husband his breakfast, Ellen drove down the two-lane road, her fingers gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. Would she have the courage to confess to this older man? She had met him only twice. It would be like getting into a cold pool – one step at a time.
She parked in front of Reverend Davis' old two-story Victorian home for several minutes before finding the courage to step from her car. Hugging her black purse protectively to her tits, she climbed the long set of wooden steps and was about to knock when the large front door opened.
"Why, Ellen Weathersby! What a pleasant surprise. Is Michael with you?"
Ellen shook her head, unable to find the courage to speak. She felt his hand rest comfortingly on her right shoulder, the fingers grasping her firmly yet gently.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"Oh, Reverend Davis. I must see you. I have to talk with you… in private. I… I must confess." Raising her eyes, she saw a cloud pass over his face as he tilted his head to one side and looked penetratingly at her. She felt him drawing her gently into the parsonage.
"Yes of course, my child. I understand there are certain things a minister's wife must say to a minister who isn't her husband. Come in," he whispered, his voice hauntingly hypnotic.
Ellen kept her eyes modestly lowered, feeling her chin trembling. Sitting on the flowered sofa in the living room, Ellen gathered what she could of her resolve and began her story. Much of what had happened was intentionally left out. The details of her bondage, the pissing wane, the roping – all were modified, including her own intense feelings, although Ellen admitted she did enjoy herself somewhat.
When she was through, she looked up and saw Reverend Davis' gray eyes glowing with a startingly unnatural intensity. She cringed, realizing it was the same look Joe Crenshaw had given her!
"There, my child," Reverend Davis said, his voice thicker than before. "We must pray, Ellen."
He grabbed her roughly by the right arm, pulling her from the couch and dragging her across the room. Ellen would have cried out in painful surprise, but she wanted to do nothing to offend this man of God. She followed him through the dark silent house, walking through the kitchen to a small door to the right of the refrigerator.
"I have a private chapel downstairs. A special place like this is what you need," he said, backing away and motioning with one hand for her to descend.
Ellen obeyed, carefully avoiding his touch and moving down the stairs.
When he joined her, Reverend Davis had changed, catching her by the throat and wheeling her around. Ellen cried out, feeling his fingernails cutting into her neck.
"Whore! Whore of Babylon!" he shrieked, his face red and pinched. "You have disgraced a man of God! As his wife, you've brought shame on him and his faith. You must pay!"
"No? No! Please, no!"
Ellen was terrified. She was trapped with this maniac! He was mad! Struggling, Ellen pummeled the good reverend with her fists, kicking his ankles. He kept shouting at her, striking her across the face with his free hand while increasing the pressure against her windpipe with the other. Ellen felt her knees giving way, her body angling toward the floor. She felt his fingers flailing away at her cheeks, making them burn as she collapsed to the floor. In a half-faint, she heard the reverend still shouting at her, kicking her in the ribs, then tearing at her clothes. She felt her dress shredding under his maniacal attack. As she fought her way back to consciousness, she felt him dragging her over the uneven concrete floor, her legs trailing out behind her.
When she was fully conscious again, she discovered herself prone on a narrow bench, her shoulder blades and thighs dangling over the edges. Looking up, she saw she was in a small room, a tiny window admitting a shaft of light high overhead. Ellen raised herself from the wooden surface, drawing one hand over her forehead and looking around. There were iron rings set in the cinderblock wall with their buckled straps banging open invitingly. Letting out a gasp, the woman peered down and saw two more straps hanging down from either side of the bench.
No! This was a nightmare! She had cast herself into hell!
Reverend Davis had since removed his black coat, still keeping on the black vest that covered a wrinkled, sweat-stained white shirt. His silver hair was no longer neat. It stood up, giving him the look of a raving lunatic. He had his back turned to her, his hands busily fishing in the drawer of a green metal cabinet. Ellen slowly, carefully put one foot down, feeling her tits swelling in her bra as she began to slide off the hard bench.
"Whore!"
He had seen her. He had purposely done this, waiting for her to make a move! Wheeling around, Reverend Davis towered over the cringing woman, jerking one hand high over her head and bringing down his fist against her right cheek. Ellen screamed, his knuckles bruising her flesh while the blow sent her thudding back to the bench. She lay half-on, half-off, her hair dangling in her eyes.
Reverend Davis pulled her around, grabbing her right leg and pulling it straight and up until her ankle was brushing against the wall. He was looping the black leather strap around it, careful to push it just behind the ball of her foot, then pulling the strap through the buckle and cinching it tight enough to pinch the skin pink. Ellen felt him take the other leg, puffing it away from her body and spreading her cunt open. He was stretching her thighs apart to an extent she wouldn't have thought possible.
It seemed to her as if the eyes of the whole world and of heaven itself were on the blonde triangle curled around her swollen pussy. It was a wicked, wicked thought, but Ellen could feel her cunt starting to tingle as the good reverend bound her left ankle to the wall strap.
"No, no, please, let me go!"
"You'll repent before I set you free," Reverend Davis said severely, his thick eyebrows knitting together over his long Roman nose.
"But I do now! I do! I repent!" Ellen cried.
"Liar! All God's enemies repent when they fear. But I'll know when you truly are sorry for your behavior."
Reverend Davis tested the tension of her taut thighs and legs thoughtfully. Then, brushing the pussy hairs to one side, he examined her open cunt-gash, seeing the telltale glistening of the juices starting to flow from her hot little pussy. He pursed his lips, nodding his head as if discovering a scientific fact. He tightened the straps until Ellen winced, her face pale from the pain as she tossed her head from side to side. Her cunt was stretching wide open. She could feel the cunt-folds pulling apart from the increased pressure, her clit starting to swell and stand up from the pool of bubbling cunt-juices around its base.
Reverend Davis shook his head, moving around and taking her right arm and pulling it down and forward. He buckled her wrist to the forward leg of the bench, tightening the broad strap. He did the same with the other hand, making Ellen believe he had done this many times before. When he had finished, she was completely bound to the bench and the wall, her ass flat against the wood while her cunt was peeled open.
"Now, we'll see how you repent."
Going back to the cabinet, Reverend Davis returned with a black leather cat-o'-nine-tails in his hand, the strips of leather and their knotted ends filling Ellen's eyes with a terrible vision.
She groaned, twisting against the restraints, feeling the straps cutting into her flesh again as the minister examined her and bit his lip. He obviously was experiencing temptation, the temptation the Crenshaws and she had given in to all too willingly.