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“Remember you’re mortal, Sarah!”
Sarah Alder didn’t need Petra Bellweather to remind her of that. She never forgot it, not for a second – she had never been more aware of that fact than when she had seen her first coven burned at the stake. Being mortal was a heavy burden to bear when you were more than three hundred years old. It meant you carried three hundred years of emotions, and most of them were unbearable. Sometimes, she wished she had died with them. However, she believed she had been given a mission then, and she had to do her best to fulfil that mission. Sometimes, she wished she could lay down her burden for a while. Just not enough to give her position to Petra. She had remained impassive, but in truth, the scene with Petra had left her shaken. She always managed to get under her skin, somehow. Her ancestors had been the same – always so sure of themselves, those Bellweathers. Some would argue that General Sarah Alder was the epitome of self-assuredness, but she knew herself better. She was not confident, she just projected what she wanted to be – a fearsome and fearless leader. Inside, she was insecure and self-conscious.
Maybe this was why she needed this. When Petra left, Sarah paced in her office for several minutes before taking a deep breath and walking out, towards the basement of the fort.
She arrived to a familiar closed metal door and dismissed the biddies. Then she took another deep breath and entered. The room was bare, containing only two metal chairs. She knew she had only a few minutes to prepare, and yet she dawdled, reluctant as always to accept her presence in this room. When she felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of her task, this was the only thing that sedated her, though. Finally, when she knew it was already too late, she started to take off her tunic and fold it, putting in neatly on the nearest chair. She was still in her undershirt and trousers when steps rang in the corridor, and she felt a presence near her.
“What do you have to do when you come here, Sarah?”
Sarah immediately bowed her head and started to take her trousers off.
“Well?
- I have to be naked and waiting for you, Mistress.
- Oh, so you haven’t forgotten. You’ll be punished for your transgression, girl.
- Yes, Mistress.”
Sarah hurriedly got rid of the rest of her clothes, hesitating as always a brief instant before taking off her underwear, put everything tidily on the chair – she knew better than not to, and anyway, neatness had become ingrained in her after so many years in the army - and lowered herself on her knees on the hard cement floor, back straight, head bowed. She felt the other woman circle her slowly, a black leather crop in her hand, and she shivered. As much as she desired, as much as she craved this humiliation, she also feared it. Not the pain but the intense sensations that came with it, the pleasure as much as the agony. It made her feel, and feeling made her weak.
The crop landed on the top of her thighs, and she hissed in surprise rather than in pain.
“Legs apart, girl.”
Sarah fidgeted to obey, putting herself on display for her mistress, despising the fact that her pubes were already wet.
“Better. Now…what should I punish you for today, in addition to your mistake at the beginning?”
Sarah didn’t want to say it aloud. She never wanted to admit any of her shortcomings, because saying something aloud made it true, made it real. All the witches here knew the power of their voices. Words, too, were potent.
“I thought I had defeated the Camarilla”, she finally murmured. “I thought we were done with them, and I scoffed at the idea that they had come back.”
“Yes, you did. Even though we had convincing proof they had.
- Yes, Ma’am.”
- You know what to do, girl.”
Knowing better than to stand in the presence of her mistress, Sarah crawled to the spanking bench which had appeared in the middle of the room and rose only enough to drape herself on it.
“I’m waiting, girl.”
“Please, Ma’am, will you chastise me for my hubris and my shortcomings?”
She hated begging for punishment even more than the punishment itself. Year after year, century after century, she always reddened and stumbled during that part.
She heard a whip crack behind her and she lowered her face to the smooth leather, welcoming its coolness against her skin. And then the first lash landed on her bottom, and she twitched and clenched her teeth. Again and again, the punishing blows landed, criss-crossing her white skin with red streaks. Her mistress wouldn’t draw blood, she was too skilled for that, but it was not needed. She knew exactly how to bring Sarah to her breaking point and then past it, to a degree of utter torment and release. Sometimes, she offered Sarah the respite of a warm-up with her hand, but on this day, only the black leather of the whip had burnt her skin, in a brutal and relentless agony. And when she thought she could bear it no more, when she believed she would pass out either from the pain or from her mounting orgasm, it all stopped. Would she be allowed a release? She wondered if she could hold out, but she couldn’t yield to her body’s demands just yet, or the consequences would be agonising. Slowly, she went back to her knees on the floor, hissing as her heels touched her bruised bottom, and she buried her face in her mistress.
“Hands behind your back!”
The sharp order thwarted her fingers, already on her mistress’ thighs, preparing to lower her black silk panties. She whined a little and was rewarded by a sharp blow of the crop on both her hands. She quickly held them in her back and she saw her mistress lay the crop aside for a moment and use the whip to bind them. Seeing no other options, Sarah softly bit the black silk and lowered the panties with her teeth. And then, finally, she had access to the offering and she reverently sought the glistening clit with her tongue, doing her best to forgo her own completion, and teasing and titillating it into climax. When her mistress moaned, she knew she had succeeded in her task and she dared to beg: “Please, Mistress, please, may I…”
It took almost nothing – a quick tweak of her nipples, and then she was bent lower, her bottom up, and the two fingers entering her brought her to extasy. She let herself drop on the floor, exhausted with pleasure, and then her mistress was beside her on the floor, holding her in her arms, cradling her trembling body against her own, and whispering soothing words. They remained on the floor for almost half an hour, Sarah seeking the comfort of the embrace as much as she had needed the punishment. Then, when the trembling had stopped and the tears running on her cheeks had dried up, she disengaged herself from her mistress’ arms and both women got up and dressed in silence.
When the General had finished putting on the uniform she often despised, she stood straighter and bowed her head to the other woman who was waiting for her to finish.
“Thank you, Izadora”, Sarah said before striding out of the room.
