A literotic sexstories: Confess! by Krombomich ,
Every character in this story is 18+. It contains scenes of intense torture but everyone is OK in the end. You could even consider the ending… wholesome.
The lobby of the Museum of Accurate History was bustling with chatty school girls that morning. Even with the museum’s reputation for active guest participation, the general mood was boredom and wishing they were anywhere else but here.
“Paul?” the gallery receptionist said over the phone when the class from St-Mary Academy arrived.
The accompanying teacher and some of the closer students could hear the voice correcting her on the other end: “Brother Paul.”
“Right, Brother Paul, your 9 AM group is here.”
“Do you think they might be witches?”
“I don’t know, Paul. They look like regular schoolgirls to me.”
“Brother Paul. And we shall see.”
The teacher was already impressed; a procession of tall men dressed in black and wearing narrow top hats entered the lobby in a single file. Twenty docents for her twenty girls. At that age, it was a good idea to give them personalized attention.
The leader of the inquisition, presumably Brother Paul, spoke in a booming voice that made every head turn: “It is rumored that a group of young girls was seen dancing by the light of the moon. It was said some of them had hair of unnatural color.” He stared at Shereen’s bleached blonde hair over pitch-black locks. “What do you have to say in your defense?”
Shereen just stared, waiting for the awkwardness of the silence to humiliate the bad thespian.
“Take them to the interrogation chambers,” he finally said after turning red. Then the show got wild. From behind, blindfolds were forced around the students’ heads, and the ones with the instinct to fight had their arms locked into submission.
“Do not resist! If you are not witches, then you have nothing to fear.”
“Well, you girls seem to be in good hands,” the teacher said, having been left out of the theatrics. “I’ll hang out here until you’re done learning about the Witch Trials of Salem. Remember to think about what you’re going to write in your report while you have fun!”
It was hard for Shereen to stay unimpressed; the smell of mold and cold dampness was entirely too realistic. She only wished her blindfolded classmates walking the same corridor would stop whimpering and asking pointless questions like ‘where are you taking us?’ Didn’t they understand this was the reaction these pathetic losers were fishing for?
Once everyone was split into pairs, Shereen realized she was stuck sharing an interrogation chamber with the whiniest of her classmate.
“I don’t like this. I don’t want to participate. Can I just watch? What are you wrapping around my wrists? Do they have to be so tight?”
“Relax, Maxine, they’re just old men who took a minimum wage job for a chance at touching teenage girls’ legs. Getting a good look at my panties while you’re down there, museum guy?”
“Wha… I wouldn’t… I…” stuttered a guilty voice from below.
“Do not let yourself be flustered, Brother Bobby.” That was Brother Paul. “Lack of reverence for men is also a sign of witchcraft.”
“Yeah, that’s cause I’m a witch. You got me,” Shereen replied.
“Thou confess?!”
“I confess. What now? Do I get burned or drowned?”
“Shereen, don’t…” said Maxine.
“Maxine, we’re in a museum. What’s the worst they can do to us?”
In a rare break of character, Brother Paul whispered in Shereen’s ear with his cigarette breath: “You’re obviously the smart-ass of the group, so maybe you know what a catch-22 is?” He rubbed paper against her blind face. “This is a waiver that you will sign, allowing us to do anything we want to you.”
“Fat chance of that.”
“Good. This is the educational part of the exhibit. Under torture, everyone confesses. And once they confess, everything done before the confession is justified. That’s how the Inquisition operated.” As he was talking, one of his hands crept under her shirt. “Mmm, big, plump breasts, another sign of witchcraft.”
While struggling against her ankle and wrist restraints, Shereen spat in the direction of the voice, unsure of having hit her mark.
“Ahh, now you’re playing the part,” and in one tug, Brother Paul ripped her shirt off her back, her pale breasts bouncing up a storm with her vigorous struggle against her bonds.
“Fuckers!”
“What are they doing to you, Shereen?” asked a panicked Maxine.
“Sign this confession and this will all be over.”
“Suck my balls. I’ll never sign anything. Maxine, don’t sign anything; it’s a waiver! They’ll have to shut this place down if you don’t sign!”
Maxine was already putting her name on the dotted line.
“Brother Bobby, why don’t you give our witch a taste of what happens if a witch does not sign the confession.”
Shereen braced herself for a slap but was hit by a smell instead. “Fucking gross. It smells like dick cheese.”
“It’s… it’s not that bad….”
“You are letting her get to you again, Brother Bobby. Open your mouth, witch. Feel the spikes with your tongue.”
Shereen locked her lips tight but was forced to part them when fingers dug at the skin of her cheeks and pried open her jaw. It was a cock, alright, but wearing a spiky cage. Her tongue wasn’t trying to get poked at a hundred different places but it had nowhere to run from the mouthful of flesh, leather, and metal.
‘Mmhhmhh… hother huckers!!”
The cock pulled out. “Are you ready to sign the confession?”
“Fuck you. I’ll mention you both by name in my one-star review.”
“Ha! We delete the bad ones.”
Brother Bobby must have snuck behind her while she flailed because a rough hand on her soft, round ass made her yelp. This personal violation was just as disturbing as the spiked penis in her mouth earlier.
“If you sign the confession, I’ll only do one hole. You… you can even choose which one,” Brother Bobby said while spreading the buttcheeks open. His thumbs used to stretch the young holes sideways for inspection as if deciding which was his favorite.
Shereen would never tell him that empowering detail, but his cock had felt monstrous in her mouth. In a moment of weakness when she felt the large cockhead implant itself into her virgin asshole, she agreed to Brother Bobby’s terms and scribbled her name almost illegibly on the paper Brother Paul held near her right wrist. But the cock continued to push, and the rim of the anus climbed over its first of many spikes.
“Owww! I signed your fucking thing! Now let me go!”
“Let you go?” Brother Paul said. “How irresponsible would we be if we simply let a witch go free when she confessed to being one.”
“OK, I get it. Catch 22. I learned my…” Another set of spikes buried itself into Shereen’s asshole and she mostly just moaned the end of her sentence.
“Until the museum closes, the paper you signed says your body is part of the exhibit.”
“What about…” The cock in Shereen’s ass was picking up a cadence. It wasn’t fully inserted yet but it already felt as if she was sitting on a pineapple. “…our deal. Change holes, please. I beg you.”
“Deals with witches are no better than deals with the Devil himself. Brother Bobby will do as he pleases for another… eight hours and fifteen minutes. And so will I.”
“I hold in my hand a pear of anguish. Do you want to touch it? It’s like a metal flower that blooms when I twist the end. I will give you a choice, witch. Either you endure the pear blooming to its maximum size inside your filthy witch cunt, or you let your friend take her fair share of the torture.”
On the other side of the room, Maxine was still confessing to every naughty thing she had ever done in her life, and that was just from being stripped down to her socks. She was a fragile thing with nubs for breasts and a waist a man could wrap his hands fully around.
Brother Bobby was going to town in Shereen’s rectum, and the pain was driving her mad to the point where she surprised even herself by saying: “Leave her alone, you cocksucker. I’m the only witch here.”
“It was the first time since the Salem exhibit opened eight months ago that Brother Paul encountered a schoolgirl willing to take the pear of anguish to save her classmate’s hole. The thought of letting them go early crossed his mind; maybe compassion and friendship were even better lessons to learn… but then what would he do for the rest of the day?
“Trying to trick us again, witch? For your insolence, your friend will get a pear in each hole!” Then he mumbled an almost inaudible “Shit, why did I say that? Now I have to borrow a pear from one of the other cells.
“Nooooo!” Shereen was livid, and her thrashing on the spiked cock gave a sweating Brother Bobby a short break from his intense hip thrusts.
Maxine got a break, too, when her tormentor went from cell to cell trying to find someone with an extra pear. She listened, sobbing, to Shereen’s garbled moans and Brother Bobby’s rhythmic testicle slapping.
“OK, ready to pear! Do you get my pun, Brother Bobby?” Paul said, bursting triumphantly through the door, but the other brother did not even notice his fellow inquisitor come in. With hands reaching around his witch to squeeze her boobs like a cyclist’s handlebars, he had finished with the gaping, misshapen asshole and was now remodeling an exquisitely tight pussy.
The unbloomed Pear of Anguish started at the size of a deflated football. About a dozen times bigger than the skinny finger that Maxine once used on her little twat to see how it felt. Her tears and drool mixed in the same puddle while Brother Paul got her holes ready with his fists.
“Shereen… I love you. I’ve always loved you,” Maxine said out of the blue when the second pear joined the first between her kidneys. A touching moment but her screams erased her classmate’s response. Brother Paul was twisting the rusty faucets of both antique torture devices, expanding Maxine’s birth canal and rectum to unfathomable girths at the same time. The membrane between both holes was getting squeezed, thin as paper, between what felt like two giant spoons.
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