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She faces the Temple's Rite of Initiation.



"Stand girl, and come to the cross."

She stood and moved to the St. Andrews Cross where he pulled up her kimono and fastened it high on her back, winding the faded red silk rope around her neck and shoulders, tucking the silk of the kimono securely there. He fastened her arms to the shackles and her ankles to the bottom ones. She trembled in fear, a cold sweat dripping down her back and into the crease of her fanny.

He hit her hard, the first of numerous blows, and she screamed out in pain, reduced to moans and incoherent whimpering.

"Count girl, every blow, and thank me." His voice cut into her as sharply as his small whip.

She counted the blows as they landed, her body arching into the wood of the cross.

"Three, Sir, thank you." Her voice was a mixture of pain and fear and she sounded like a wounded animal, almost at the cusp of unconsciousness.

It was over. Twelve blows and she could feel the burning of her backside and above the small of her back. She had endured from the fifth blow not because she had adjusted to pain, but because she was almost unconscious. She could only endure by distancing herself from this torment. Perhaps this was subspace? It was not pleasant. The pain was immense, but more 'distant' after the 6th. For some reason she thought of the 12 step program and felt she was falling into hysteria. Was this the bdsm version of the 12 steps?

Drool and tears mixed together down the front of her kimono. She didn't care how she looked, her pride had fled.

He released the shackles and she collapsed into his arms. He held her firmly and pulled down her kimono, readjusting the silk cord that had worked itself tightly around her throat. There was nothing kind in his handling of her, he was all efficiency. Telling her to kneel, she did, more of a collapse to the floor than anything else. He tore off the other sleeve of her silk kimono.

She reentered the room, her hair a mess of snakes around her head and breast, her face contorted by tears and the front of her kimono damp and wrinkled with drool. She dropped to her knees, and the votive slipped out of her hand and rolled on the floor. A hand reached out from the dark and righted it before her.

"Well, girl. You look more and more bedraggled. You look like something the cat dragged in after mouthing it a bit."

Again she heard the soft laughter, this as cutting as the whip blows. She flinched at the sound. It was a part...just a piece of her further humiliation. But something was happening inside her, something was changing. She didn't know what it was. Pride? Her natural arrogance? Whatever it was, tasha felt she was shaving off dried, dusty layers around her. Or maybe the whip had done it. What was replacing it she didn't know. She didn't care at this point.

Again the one word: "tasha" and she left the room, gingerly walking down the hallway, following the shape of a man. She wondered why she didn't bolt, why she didn't run away? But where would she run to? At this point there was no use in running, for something was changing inside but what it was she didn't have a clue.

Again a turn to the right and another dim room, but there in the center, a big four poster bed.

"Girl, come here." She rose from a kneeling position and approached him. His face was in the shadows, she couldn't tell who he was, but then again, she wouldn't have known. He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her close to him, almost picking her off the floor. His hands hurt.

"You little slut. You love all of this don't you? You want this usage, this humiliation. You want to have all your holes plugged, to be bent and broken over lust. You proud little thing. You won't be so arrogant for long now. You see, I know all about you, tasha. You are no different than any other girl with a throbbing cunt between your legs. You say you want to serve, but you haven't a clue what that means. You think you do, but you don't. You are about to find out little girls are mincemeat for men, for men know what to do with little sluts in training."

She was trembling in his hands, fear

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