Dirty Little Bitch
coffee © 2007

Vicky Johnson was not inclined to be punctual. Her move to a new part of town was intended to be a chance for a fresh start, but on this particular morning she had already relapsed into her old bad habits. She was late for a promising job interview at a nearby pharmacy and by the time she hustled past Mistress Boolanje’s Mystical Predictions Boutique on 3rd Street she was already running ten minutes behind. After grumbling a string of obscenities that would make the most hardened sailor blush, Vicky finally reached her car at the end of the block. In a movement so practiced it seemed almost choreographed, she unlocked the car door, snatched a soggy parking ticket from under the wiper-blade, slid inside the car and jammed the key into the ignition.  She pulled a U-turn straight out of the parking space and headed east at breakneck speed down 3rd. When she would think back later she would remember seeing Miss Boolanje waving her arms frantically from the sidewalk, the sleeve of her bright pink and orange African-print gown rippling like some bizarre ethnic pennant flag. Vicky would also remember seeing a flash of black fur dart out between parked cars, but it wasn’t until she felt the bump under her front (and rear) tire, and heard the bloodcurdling scream, that she realized something had gone terribly wrong.

Miss Boolanje’s dog was lying in the street, dead as hell, in a puddle of its own blood, guts and fur. Miss Boolanje was kneeling by the dog sobbing and a small, sympathetic crowd had gathered around her. Vicky jumped out of the car and expressed her (nearly) genuine sorrow over the unfortunate incident. She had seen the old woman and her dog on several occasions since the apartment Vicky shared with her fiancé was located a few doors down from Miss Boolanje’s shop, where she sold dubious religious artifacts and smoky candles. It was obvious the dog meant a great deal to the woman. 
Miss Boolanje scooped up the remains of her dead dog and shuffled toward the car.
“You must take me to the animal hospital,” she demanded. 
Vicky shook her head no. She was already late to her job interview and it was fairly obvious the dog was beyond any type of medical intervention... plus there was the matter of possible blood stains.
“I’m sorry, but I’m late, and your dog is... dead.” Vicky said, with as much compassion as she was able to muster.

Miss Boolanje stood in the middle of the road staring after Vicky as she pulled off down the street. She stood there holding her dead dog as a slow stream of tears trickled down the path of wrinkles in her old face, but underneath the pain and anguish there was something else undeniably brewing... pure, unadulterated hatred. 

As it turned out, the fact that Vicky had run over a dog on her way to her job interview was just morbidly amusing and fascinating enough to win over her potential employer. Although she had shown up over twenty minutes late, her (padded) resume and self-assured attitude had everyone impressed. She was told to come back on Monday for a follow-up interview and expected to be offered a position on the spot.

Later that night Vicky met her fiancé for a celebratory dinner and by the time they returned to their apartment satiated with food and drink, she had pretty much forgotten about that morning’s incident with Miss Boolanje. However Miss Boolanje had not forgotten about her. 
“Why is there a dead chicken hanging from our doorknob?” Vicky’s fiancé asked when they returned home later that evening. 
“Holy shit!” Vicky’s initial shock turned into drunken uproarious laughter, “Mistress Boolanje must have put it there!” 
After much deliberation over how to dispose of the chicken and clean off the doorknob, they finally entered the apartment. There was a bright red envelope on the floor with “Victoria Johnson” scrawled on it in dark clotted ink.
“Oh lord...” Vicky sighed, “I hope this old broad doesn’t expect me to pay for her dog. I mean, what are leashes for?”  She ripped open the envelope and unfolded a yellowed piece of notepaper that appeared to be burnt along the edges. The entire envelope smelled faintly of sage and tree resin and there was a light dusting of grayish powder inside. A short missive was written in the same scrawling hand as the envelope. Vicky read the contents aloud, “The one with no time to help others will be left with something unwanted behind...” 
“What the hell does that mean?” Vicky asked. 
“Sounds like she’s put a hex on you... some kind of curse involving time...” her fiancé replied, “Maybe you’ll always be an hour late no matter how early you leave,” he laughed. 
“That’s not a curse, that’s reality,” she said contemptuously. Vicky shoved the letter back in the envelope, dusted her hands off and flopped into bed.
“If she wanted to curse me she’d make me an hour early no matter how late I leave... now that would really suck.” 
When Vicky woke up the next morning her fiancé was already gone, having left before dawn to catch the early train. Her head felt strangely tight, probably from all the drinking the night before, and as she stumbled out of bed she felt disoriented, as if her feet were too far from the floor and everything in the room had somehow shifted overnight. She dragged herself to the darkened bathroom, went to sit down on the toilet and then gasped as she felt some type of animal run under her legs.  In a panic she tore out of the bathroom and past the full length bedroom mirror which brought her to a screeching halt. She backed up a few steps, screamed and clawed frantically at the animal hanging from the back of her underwear. Then finally she stood still and stared at her reflection in disbelief at the 6-inch furry black tail which appeared to have sprouted from her tailbone overnight.

The first person she called was her fiancé, and although he believed she was playing some kind of weird joke on him, he did promise to come home early. Panicked to the point of exhaustion, Vicky dug through her closet until she found a pair of baggy sweatpants capable of hiding her new appendage, then she grabbed her keys and ran down two flights of stairs and out of her building.

She burst into Mistress Boolanje’s shop, tearful and out of breath.
“I have to speak to Miss Boolanje! It’s an emergency!” she exclaimed. 
The young woman behind the counter squinted her eyes and smiled at her.  
“Ah yes.... I been expecting you, Victoria,” she said with a thick, yet indistinguishable accent. 
“Where is Mistress Bolanje!” Vicky demanded. 
“You sound as though yer in a big hurry?” the woman chuckled. 
“I need to speak to her right away!” Vicky said angrily. 
The woman slowly slid a red envelope across the counter. 
“Miss Boolanje has gone away for a while.” the woman said sternly, “But follow this instruction an’ you might get back to normal again.”
Vicky grabbed the envelope. 
“Eh!!! Don’t open it here!” the woman said angrily, “Out!” she yelled, pointing toward the door, “Dirty little bitch!” 
Vicky ran back to the apartment, yanked a piece of yellowish note paper out of the red envelope and read it aloud,
“In order to lose the tail you must pay a neighbor $100 dollars to degrade you, and then you must find a preacher to pay you $100 dollars to purify you.” Vicky spent the rest of the day mulling over what the note said and by the  time her fiancé returned home she had a plan involving her perverted neighbor and the priest from the church down the street.
“Why not just have it surgically removed?” her fiancé asked, examining the tail from a comfortable distance of a few feet. 
“I can’t,” Vicky said, “At least not until after the pharmacy completes my employment investigation, and besides, if I get it surgically removed, what’s to stop Boolanje from just making me grow another one?” 
She stared at her tail in the mirror and noted with disgust that it tended to wag back and forth depending on her level of excitement. Vicky finally climbed into bed, exhausted over the day’s events and seeking comfort from her fiancé, but he pulled away from her touch with barely concealed repulsion. 
“Sorry Vic...” he said, “I’m allergic to dogs, remember? I just can’t take chances with my allergies...”
He slept on the couch and was gone before she woke up the next morning. At 8am Vicky dug through her closet and found a loose fitting pair of jeans that wouldn’t show the outline of her tail. After dressing, she grabbed her cell phone and walked to the apartment at the end of the hall... 2d. She  pushed the buzzer and took a step back. 
“Who is it?” came the voice from behind the door. 
“It’s  Vicky from down the hall...” she replied, dreading what she was about to do. The door swung open and there stood Joey, the building’s resident pervert.  
“Well hey there Miss Vicky! What’s up? What can I do for you today?” he said, looking her up and down as if she were the last buttermilk biscuit at the buffet. 
“Um... well, I was wondering if I could pay you to take some pictures of me,” Vicky said, trying hard not to curl her lip up from loathing.  Joey’s grin grew so wide it appeared his face might be in danger of splitting in two.
“Well of course you could!” he said, “What kind of pics do you need? Like... glamour shots? Model stuff?” 
“Actually uh... it’s for a medical malpractice lawsuit... I had a bad reaction to medication,” she lied shoving a hundred dollar bill in his hand.  Her plan was to allow him to take some pictures of her tail which she was sure would probably turn up later on the internet... the ultimate degradation. Joey had a small photo studio set up in an area that was meant to be his apartment’s second bedroom. Vicky wondered how many women had been tricked into posing nude there. She walked in front of a camera he had set up on a tripod.
“Look…” she said with a sigh, “I need you to take a picture of my tail.” 
Joey smiled and nodded eagerly, “I’m sure it’s a nice one.”
Vicky turned her back to the camera and pushed her jeans down far enough past her hips until her tail popped out. 
“Whoa! That’s pretty cool!” he said while snapping off a few frames, “Where’d you get it?” 
“I told you,” she said impatiently, “I had a bad reaction to medicine.” 
“Say what, now?” Joey looked up from the camera, genuinely confused. 
“The medicine I took made me grow a tail,” Vicky said. 
Joey was still staring at her with a confused look on his face. Thoroughly disgusted by this point, she stripped off her pants and stood there naked from the waist down in front of the muslin backdrop, her tail drooping languidly between the crack of her ass. For a moment Joey didn’t say anything and the only noise was the drone of  a distant television coming from a nearby apartment.
“So that’s a… real tail?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied through gritted teeth. The experience was proving to be way more degrading than she had expected. 
After shooting several dozen frames he tossed a few oversized pillows on the floor in front of the backdrop. Judging by the bulge in his pants, he was obviously aroused and his hands were slightly shaking.
“What a loser,” she thought to herself. He had abandoned his digital camera and was now mounting a video camera onto the tripod in front of her. 
“Only a few more shots and then I have to go,” Vicky said firmly.  He asked her to kneel on all fours and laid her tail gracefully across her back.
“You know if the lawsuit thing doesn’t work out, you could make a lot of money on the internet with that tail,” he said, “People... people from all over the world, would pay to see that.” 
Vicky imagined her photos and video would be posted on the internet within ten minutes of her departure... for free. She could only pray that nobody she knew would see the pictures, but she knew they probably would.
“Um... Ok,” Vicky said impatiently, “Let’s wrap this up,” but as she went to stand up Joey rushed over and gently pushed her back down onto the pillows. 
“Just a few more shots, ok?” he said in a half whispered voice that made Vicky’s skin crawl, “I want you to get your money’s worth.” 
He grabbed her forearm with one hand, firmly holding her down, and used the other hand to unzip his pants. Vicky hadn’t expected this turn of events. She knew Joey was a pervert... probably a pedophile... but she hadn’t gambled on him being a rapist. 
“Joey,” she said calmly, “If you don’t let me go you are going to be in a lot of trouble.” 
Joey laughed, which definitely wasn’t the response she was expecting. 
“Its alright baby, we’re almost finished, ok?” 
He had his dick out now and he was stroking it slowly and methodically. He loosened his grip on her forearm but not enough for her to pull free.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he promised, “ I just want to cum on your tail, OK? Let me see you wag it. Can you wag it for me?” 
Vicky glared at him, but she did as she was told for the sake of expediency and soon enough he had ejaculated all over her tail and naked ass. If allowing Joey to jack off on her wasn’t enough to satisfy Miss Boolanje’s stipulation for “paying a neighbor to degrade you” then nothing ever would. She left Apt. 6D with a sticky tail and a rotten attitude. 

After a quick shower Vicky headed to the Catholic Church across the street and found the first available priest. Boolanje had written the address for a church several blocks away but Vicky was in a rush and the instructions Boolanje gave her didn’t say she had to use any specific church. She handed the priest a $100 dollar bill and asked him to bless her money and give it back to her, which he did. She was back at Mistress Boolanje’s Mystical Predictions Boutique before noon.

“I’ve done everything I was asked to do,” Vicky told the woman behind the counter, “I was degraded by a neighbor and a priest gave me $100 dollars... purified.” 
“Yes... I must say you did successfully complete the first part of the test,” she said with an evil grin, “But ah don’t think you read the instruction for the second part did you Miss Victoria? It was YOU the priest was sposed to purify, not the money!” and with that she laughed so hard she literally collapsed over the counter. Vicky’s face flushed with embarrassment and anger. 
“Besides, you can’t give the priest money ta give back to you. That’s cheatin!” 
Vicky turned on her heels and headed out the door of the shop.  “...but I wouldn’t expect no less from a dirty little bitch such as yourself!” the shopkeeper yelled after her. 

Vicky was furious. She walked for several blocks until she came to the church Boolanje had written on the letter. It was a small storefront church located in a run-down part of the neighborhood and the metal security gate was pulled halfway down so that she had to duck under it to get inside.
“Hello Miss,” a very handsome middle-aged man was standing near the pulpit across the room. He walked toward Vicky, passing several rows of neatly arranged white metal folding chairs.
“I’m sorry but our services are over for today,” he said. He had a kind voice yet it was very strong and authoritative.
“Are you a priest?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes I am,” he clasped Vicky’s hand, “I’m Pastor Mills. What can I help you with today?” he said with a broad smile.
“I’ve been sent by Mistress Boolanje”, she replied and the pastor’s smile abruptly faded. They sat in folding chairs near the front door and Vicky told him her story. He summoned his assistant, Sister Fatima, and asked her to lock up the church so they would not be interrupted. Sister Fatima was a massive woman. She wore a long flowing white cotton dress and her wide hips brushed against every chair as she made her way carefully through the aisles. She did as instructed and then returned to the pastor’s side. The metal chairs would not support a woman of her size, so she stood nearby silently. Vicky reluctantly explained how she had run over the dog, found the dead chicken on her doorknob, and woken up the next morning with an extra appendage. She passed the red envelope over to Pastor Mills and waited as he read it, silently hoping he wouldn’t think she was crazy. Sister Fatima began trembling and praying in a low steady whisper.
 
Finally the pastor spoke, “I’m familiar with Mistress Boolanje...” he said, “There has been bad blood between our families for many years. Her wickedness can never affect me; however she knows I would never turn away a person in need of spiritual healing so she sends me her victims. I suppose she wishes to impress me... or intimidate me.” Pastor Mills sighed impatiently, and ignoring Fatima’s obviously growing anxiety, he said, “I will help you but it is not an easy process. You must be cleansed in holy water... you must be anointed, purified and punished for your sins. It will be very difficult at times,” he said. The look in his eyes worried Vicky but she was desperate, and for some reason she trusted this man. It wasn’t like she had too many options at this point anyway. Fatima was sent off to prepare the baptismal water for the cleansing process, then Pastor Mills stood and dusted off his neatly ironed black slacks.
“Are you ready?” he asked Vicky. She nodded yes and took Pastor Mills’ hand. He led her to the back of the church and up an old wooden staircase to the second floor of the building. She was sent into a bathroom to strip and put on thin white robe and then led into a huge room which looked like a cross between a pulpit and a bordello. There was a large, old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub on one side of the room and a fireplace on the other. The altar was on a platform at the far side of the room draped by floor to ceiling blood red curtains. A crisp, brand new hundred dollar bill had been laid on the altar and Fatima had started a fire and was sitting quietly near the bathtub holding a stack of fluffy white towels.
Vicky was asked to sit in the bathtub for several minutes while Pastor Mills read passages from the bible and Sister Fatima quietly sang hymnals. The water was extremely cold because, as Pastor Mills explained, “Evil does not like discomfort.” As she sat there shivering, Vicky was starting to have doubts as to the effectiveness of Pastor Mill’s treatment. Then suddenly she noticed the area underneath the front of her robe appeared to darken in color. When she pulled the thin white fabric away from her thighs a flood of course black hairs floated to the surface of the water. Vicky gasped and jumped back, sloshing water over the end of the tub.
“It’s O.K.” Pastor Mills said, pressing her back down into the tub as a mass of black hairs swirled around her, “Your tail is shedding,” he explained. Sister Fatima drained the water from the tub and helped Vicky to her feet.
“You’ll need to undress now,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She slowly lifted the hem of Vicky’s gown and pulled it upward until it was over her head. Then she laid the wet garment neatly across the end of the tub and connected a shower attachment to the tub faucet. Vicky stood naked before Pastor Mills as Fatima meticulously rinsed her body clean and although she didn’t make eye contact with the pastor, she knew he was staring at her. Vicky reached back and touched the smooth bald skin of her tail. Whatever Pastor Mills was doing was obviously working.
“You must be anointed now,” he said as Fatima toweled Vicky dry. She stepped outside of the bathtub and followed him to the altar.

Pastor Mills began rubbing some type of odorless, colorless oil on her arms, shoulders and back. Fatima stood silently nearby holding the bowl of oil which he dipped his fingers into frequently and applied to Vicky’s naked body. He rubbed the oil along her furless, bony tail while reciting some type of scripture. Vicky was sure he wasn’t quoting the bible but had no idea what  it might be. His hands seemed to get warmer and warmer as they glided along her oil-covered body and she felt her inhibitions starting to quickly fade away as the intensity of his voice increased. He was standing behind her and she could feel his breath on her neck as his hands passed over her breasts and across her stomach. Vicky was  overwhelmed with emotions and before she could stop herself she was pressing back against him, pushing her ass against him. He pulled away but his touch became more forceful and his words no longer seemed to make sense to Vicky. He was speaking in some kind of language she didn’t recognize, but at the moment all she could think about was the throbbing between her legs.  Fatima had crossed the room and was grasping at some type of pulley system behind the edge of the curtains.  Two chains with leather restraints began to slowly descend from the ceiling. After Vicky’s wrists were secured to the chains, Fatima returned to the curtain and slowly began winding the mechanism until Vicky’s arms were pulled straight up above her head. She then returned and chained Vicky’s ankles to two metal hitches that were inlaid in the floor about three feet apart. When she was done Fatima knelt next to the pastor and held aloft the bowl of holy oil.

Pastor Mills dipped his fingers into the oil and then thrust them between Vicky’s legs. She writhed in pleasure but remained tethered tightly to her restraints, and immediately came to orgasm. He kneaded her pussy and fucked her with as many fingers as he could fit inside her. She came a second time and a third, moaning loudly like a whore. His hands were all over her body now, and she was trembling with pleasure.  Then suddenly he stopped and Fatima handed him a bundle of leafless green twigs that were sturdily bound together at one end. Vicky felt drugged and exhausted but upon seeing the bundle of branches her mind started to clear a bit. Before she had a chance to question the pastor about the twigs, Fatima had slipped behind her and pulled a thick piece of cloth over her mouth. She pulled it tightly until it wedged between Vicky’s teeth, effectively gagging her, and then tied it securely behind her head. Fatima quickly darted out of the way as Pastor Mills brought the birch down across Vicky’s back.

Vicky immediately panicked and began pulling at her restraints in a futile effort to get free. The pastor ignored her muffled screams and continued whipping her ass, legs and thighs relentlessly. He stopped briefly and slipped two fingers inside her still wet pussy.  Although she was crying hysterically at this point, it was as if Vicky could not control herself, she began grinding her pussy against his hand and immediately came for the fourth time.  Pastor Mills glared at her distastefully then continued whipping her even harder. By now welts had begun to form on the back of Vicky’s thighs and her knees had given way. He stopped again and slid two fingers inside her snatch but this time she did nothing but sob miserably.
“She’s ready,” he said.
Fatima lowered the chains and Vicky slumped into the pastor’s arms.
“The worst is over,” he assured her as Fatima removed her restraints and gag, “The tail is almost gone.”
Vicky reached behind her and was shocked to find there was only a very small stump left where the tail had been. It was now only about an inch long.
“Thank you,” she whispered, still sobbing.

“We must purify you now,” he said.
Fatima was seated on the first step of the altar and Pastor Mills had Vicky kneel before her. Fatima slowly unbuttoned her blouse and lifted one of her massive brown breasts from between the white folds of her gown.
“You must drink the milk of a virgin,” Pastor Mills said.
Vicky shook her head no and began sobbing again.
“It’s the only way to be fully purified,” he said firmly. He slid one hand under Fatima’s huge breast and pulled Vicky toward her with the other. He pushed Vicky’s face down and ordered her to take Fatima’s dark nipple into her mouth.
Vicky did as she was told, sucking weakly at her nipple until Pastor Mills shouted at her to suck harder.  Fatima began kneading her breast vigorously until finally a trickle of milk squeezed out into Vicky’s mouth. She gagged involuntarily and pulled away from Fatima, but Pastor Mills pushed her face back against the breast and told her to continue suckling. Vicky cried as she felt  hot streams of Fatima’s breast milk squirt into her mouth, but she managed to gulp it down somehow.  Once satisfied, Pastor Mills pulled Fatima’s nipple out of Vicky’s mouth .

“You’ve done well Vicky,” he said, leading her over to a mirror near the bathtub. Vicky looked at her reflection and slowly turned sideways. She was amazed to find the tail had vanished, and aside from the welts, her ass was completely back to normal.
“Oh my god! It’s gone… totally gone!” she cried, tears of joy streaming down her face.
“There’s still the matter of the money,” he said sternly, “The curse can not be lifted until all aspects are completed.”

Pastor Mills picked up the hundred dollar bill from the altar and dropped it in the bowl of holy anointment oil.
“Once this money has been purified you can return it to Boolanje and the spell will be fully broken,” he explained.
He motioned to Fatima, who had been kneeling quietly, her breasts safely tucked away, and she immediately got on all fours. She was turned away from them, facing the altar, and Pastor Mills raised the back of her gown revealing an enormous ass which must have measured at the very least 50 inches around. After everything that had occurred within the past 24 hours, Vicky doubted that anything else could happen that would shock her, but she was wrong.  Pastor Mills removed the money from the bowl of oil and smeared it across Fatima’s ass, then using two fingers he slowly pushed the bill inside her asshole until all that was visible was one corner with “100” stamped on it. Pastor Mills spread more of the anointment oil onto his fingers and pressed the last corner of the bill in. Fatima exhaled and three of his fingers disappeared into her huge ass.  He worked his fingers around inside her, first clockwise then counter-clockwise until he was able to fit his pinky finger inside her as well, and then with one final push his entire hand was swallowed up by her gigantic ass.

Fatima moaned loudly as he balled up his hand and began fist fucking her. The flesh on her ass moved in undulating, almost hypnotic waves with each of Pastor Mills’ forceful penetrations.  Judging by the ease of entry, it was obvious to Vicky that this was definitely not Fatima’s first time having a fist up her ass. The fisting went on for several minutes and by the end of it, Pastor Mills was elbow deep inside of Fatima. Finally he removed his hand and pulled Fatima’s dress back down.

“When the money is purified you will receive it back from Fatima,” he said.
Vicky was a bit worried about the state it would be returned to her in, but didn’t say anything.

The pastor gave Fatima instructions and then left to cleanse himself. The women were required to shower and later Fatima rubbed some type of herbal preparation on Vicky’s sore skin which was very soothing. Vicky tried to make small talk but found that, although seemingly pleasant, Fatima was not the most talkative person. Vicky was allowed to put back on the clothes she had worn into the church, and then she was led to Pastor Mills’s office downstairs where he was seated behind a large mahogany desk. He was wearing a black, long-sleeved robe with a dark red sash down the middle. It reminded Vicky of choir practice when she was younger and still attended church. She sat down in the vintage studded leather chair facing him.

“How do you feel?” he asked, smiling at her pleasantly.
“Much better,” she replied, “Thank you so much for helping me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said smiling at her.
There was an uncomfortably long silence and Vicky found herself unable to hold a gaze with him. It wasn’t that she was ashamed too look at him, she just felt strangely timid around him, which was definitely not normal for Vicky.
She was relieved when he finally spoke again.
“There is one small matter which we need to discuss,” he said in a very serious manner. Vicky immediately assumed it had to do with the money, but she was wrong again.
“If Mistress Boolanje is not appeased after the spell is broken, there is nothing to stop her from putting a second curse on you,” he said, “or a third… or a fourth.”
Vicky did not like the sound of that. She had wrongly assumed that once a curse was lifted, the cursed person could not be cursed again, but her knowledge of black magic was obviously limited. Pastor Mills could tell she was worried.
“I can break any spell that Boolanje puts on you,” he said, “but… the process may become more and more difficult… and painful… with each successive curse.”
There was another uncomfortable silence during which again Vicky was unable to hold his gaze. She stared down at her hands which she was nervously wringing together in her lap.
“There is only one way that I can guarantee you will be permanently protected,” he said, “But I am somewhat reluctant to mention it because it involves… well… intimate things that you may not be willing to accommodate.”
Vicky raised her eyebrows at him. She wondered what could possibly be more intimate than what had already taken place today.
“What kind of intimate things?” she asked.
“You would be required to submit to me,” he replied, “Emotionally, spiritually, and physically.”
Pastor Mills got up from his desk and walked over to the floor-to ceiling oak bookcase which covered one end of the room. There was a polished wooden box on one of the shelves and he ran one hand across the top of it as he spoke.
“Submitting one’s self to another can be difficult for some people. You are a very strong-willed person Victoria, which is why removing Boolanje’s curse from you was a much more arduous task than I expected,” he said.
“In order to protect you fully, you will have to dedicate yourself to serving this church… and to serving me.”
He stared at her intently. “I don’t know if you are capable of that type of commitment.”
“I will do whatever it takes,” Vicky said. She was determined to take whatever steps were necessary to prevent Boolanje from cursing her again.
“Come here,” Pastor Mills said, and Vicky immediately went to him.
“Kneel,” he commanded, pointing to his feet. Vicky didn’t hesitate.
He opened the polished wooden box and removed a silver collar which looked to be decades old. The collar was placed around Vicky’s neck, and then he secured the locking mechanism and closed the box. Suddenly the bookcase swung inward revealing a narrow passageway leading downward into the basement of the church. He took Vicky’s hand and led her down the stone steps into a room which appeared to Vicky to be some sort of ancient ceremonial chamber. There was a large throne at one end of the room and a stone altar in the center.
“If you ever speak of this,” he warned, “you will no longer be protected.”
Vicky promised she wouldn’t. Pastor Mills sat down in the throne and instantly flames began roaring in the two fire pits to the left and right of him. Huge columns of blue smoke plumed upward into dark shafts in the ceiling. Vicky was so awestruck she could not even speak. He ordered her to remove her clothing and kneel before him which she did immediately. He was chanting something in the voice she didn’t understand again but the effect it had on her was undeniably arousing. He lifted the hem of his robe and told her to remove his shoes, which she did, and then he raised his foot to her mouth. Vicky kissed his feet, licked his feet and even sucked his toes. She wasn’t sure how far she was supposed to go with the foot worship thing but figured he would tell her to stop if she crossed the line. She never had a foot fetish, not that she knew of anyway, but she was finding the experience to be reasonably enjoyable. She licked the bottom of his feet and ran her tongue between his toes, all the while becoming more and more aroused. Pastor Mills was obviously a powerful man and Vicky was absolutely intoxicated by his power to say the least. She hadn’t thought once of her fiancé since she’d met him.
“You must prove your devotion to me,” he said firmly, his strong voice sending shivers through her pussy.
“Yes, Sir,” she purred, smiling at him from her position at his feet. The pastor didn’t smile back which worried her a bit.
He led her to one side of the chamber, made her face the wall, and attached her wrists to metal restraints above her head. Vicky watched with interest as he retrieved something out of an ornate chest near the throne. When he returned he was carrying a dark red flogger made out of thin strands of oiled leather.
“If you scream or cry out in pain, then I will know you are not capable of devoting yourself to me,” he said, “Do you understand?”
Vicky nodded, “Yes, Sir.”
He began flogging her back and ass lightly and at first Vicky felt confident that she would not cry out, but as the intensity increased she started to worry. Several minutes later he was hitting her so hard that she was convinced she would be left permanently scarred and bleeding. Her back was on fire and the pain was excruciating but she refused to scream or cry out no matter how much it hurt. “I’m strong,” she said to herself, “I’ve been through much worse,” she tried to convince herself. But the truth was, she’d never allowed a man to beat her and she had no idea why she was allowing this man to beat her. But she was determined if nothing else, so when the pain became too much to bear she gritted her teeth together and made her mind go completely blank until there was nothing left to focus on but the sound of her own breathing.
And just as her knees began to buckle he stopped. He unchained her and helped her back to his throne where she again knelt before him, relieved and proud of herself.

Pastor Mills unhooked his robe and let it fall open around his dark muscular thighs. Vicky crawled toward him and begged to suck him. He nodded yes and allowed her to take him into her mouth. Vicky was intent on giving him the best head she had ever given in her entire life, and judging from how hard the pastor’s dick was, she figured she must be doing a damn good job.  It might have been her imagination but when he moaned in pleasure she was almost certain that the intensity of the flames was exponentially increasing in the fire pits. Suddenly Pastor Mills stood up, grabbed two fistfuls of Vicky’s hair and forced the entire length of his cock into her throat. She tried not to gag but it was impossible because her air supply was being cut off, but she didn’t pull away. She held her hands limply at her sides, palms facing up, and did not move even when the room began to go black and she felt herself losing consciousness. Next thing she knew, Pastor Mills had scooped her up was carrying her to the stone altar at the center of the room. He laid her on her stomach half way over the altar and spread her feet apart. Then he stepped back and began speaking in the language she didn’t understand. He started off in a low tone but soon his powerful voice filled the entire chamber and in response Vicky writhed on the altar arching her back so that her ass was lifted up toward him. Pastor Mills raised his arms up toward the ceiling, as if he was offering Vicky up to the gods, and then dropped them, letting his robe fall to the floor in a puddle of black satin. She could hear drums beating in the distance, or it was in her head, she wasn’t sure, but she could hear them. The temperature of the room had risen dramatically and the flames from the throne fire pits were roaring like an inferno.  Pastor Mills grabbed her by her hips and thrust himself inside her pussy. All the emotions she had been holding in for so many years burst to the surface and Vicky found herself crying, moaning, screaming… all at once.  He filled her, penetrated her so deeply that she felt as if she couldn’t breathe when he was inside her, and it seemed to go on for hours until she was sure she would not survive the savage fucking he was giving her. And then, for a split second the fires died and the room went completely black and he began to come. Nothing could have prepared her for the intensity of his orgasm. As quickly as the fires died, they came back to life with the intensity of a nuclear explosion. The room was filled with light so bright that Vicky instinctively covered her eyes to shield them from blindness. Pastor Mills made a sound that she had never heard uttered from a human before. It was a growl… the rumble of distant thunder… an earthquake… an avalanche or rockslide…. completely indescribable on every level. Nothing made sense at that moment.
And then he exploded inside her and it felt as if a wave of cum was blasting against her cervix. She was overcome with excruciating cramps from the force of his ejaculate and cried out in pain, more out of shock than anything else. Pastor Mills pulled out and a flood of cum gushed out of her pussy and onto the altar floor. Vicky’s pain subsided and instantly she felt ashamed and embarrassed for crying out in pain.
“Sorry,” Pastor Mills said, “I haven’t cum that hard in over 160 years…”
He picked up his robe, draped it around Vicky’s shoulders and walked her back up to his office. The bookshelf closed itself behind them.
Fatima was standing in the doorway holding a fresh robe for the pastor in one hand and the purified hundred dollar bill in the other. Pastor Mills put on the clean robe and sat behind his desk again. He pointed to the floor and instantly Vicky knelt down beside him and began kissing and licking his feet. Fatima placed the 100 dollar bill on the desk before him. It was as clean and unwrinkled as the day it was first minted. Pastor Mills examined the bill and then smiled at the virgin Fatima proudly. She blushed and smiled slightly, her eyes diverted away from his.
“Prepare a room upstairs for Miss Victoria,” Pastor Mills said, “She won’t be leaving.”