The Book of Lucia, Chapter II - Oblatio Incendia

[Lightman]

There was a particular quality to a strike from a paddle that set it apart from all other instruments. Compared to the focused, sharp bite of a cane or the stinging, flaying lash of a nine-tails, this was something fuller, more encompassing. The impact spread wide and deep, a statement rather than a mere sensation. With BDSM, it was never simply about pain - which many seem to fall into that mistake - it's is all about the command, presence, and making the body listen when the mind might hesitate.

The English Rose watched closely as the first strike settled into Sister Chastity’s form, her emerald gaze taking in every reaction with measured interest. The tremor in those powerful legs, the arch of her back, the way her breath hitched before she steadied herself again. There was resilience there, undeniable and impressive, yet it wavered beneath pressure. That was where Madeline thrived. Her lips curved faintly at the confession that followed, though there was little warmth in it.

“Voices.”

A single word, but Madeline stressed the syllables in particular. “Not a voice…voices.” The paddle rested idly against Chastity’s derriere, her head tilting as she regarded the Enigmatic Nun before her. “Pray tell, do you truly hear them…or do you simply prefer the excuse?”

The question lingered only briefly before the paddle came down again with firm intent, striking clean towards Chastity’s buttocks. “Unless, if this is your way of confessing that you have gone mad. Because it’s quite convenient to blame these ‘voices’ to justify your own selfish, rather carnal desires.”

The brunette stepped closer. Her presence pressed in with no need of force. The paddle would trace a slow line across the nun’s back, as though guiding her posture back into place. “Stand properly.” Madeline instructed, a sharp voice cutting through the haze that threatened to claim the blonde. “If you are to confess, then do it with clarity.” There was something almost methodical in the way she moved, like an artist refining a piece rather than a brute seeking domination. Yet the authority in it was unmistakable.

Another strike followed. “So, there's two things that are established, but now it's finding out which one.” Madeline pressed, her voice steady, unwavering. “Madness… or indulgence?” The question was not rhetorical, and the next impact came swiftly after, each one punctuating her demand rather than overwhelming it.

“You claim to be guided…” And then another impact. “…yet everything I’ve witnessed suggests choice.”

And another. “Desire.”

And another. “Hunger.”

A harsh smack punctuated the last word. “So tell me, Sister Chastity… are you led… or are you leading yourself exactly where you wish to go?” The cadence of her strikes was deliberate, leaving space for thought, for response, for truth to surface beneath the sensation.

Another strike answered her own question in part; the sound was sharp against the stillness of the room. “Do not hide behind ghosts.” Madeline said, her tone firm and expectant. “Confess.”

[BlackAkuma]

In truth, the paddle was a poor instrument for delivering pain. Sister Chastity was often put in charge of chastising the church’s initiates as they came up in the order, and whenever she was tasked with punishing them, she greatly preferred the thinner implements. The wooden cane in particular was a favorite. She loved the sound as it swished through the air, instilling fear on her blindfolded subjects. When it landed on bare flesh, all the impact was focused to an acute area, making it sting like a hot poker for a flashing second. The muffled screams she could elicit with such a device were nothing short of sublime.

The paddle was heavy and cumbersome, spreading the pain over a wider area and dulling the effect. Made even worse when the target had a thicker hide to strike, as Sister Chastity clearly did. For pain, it was subpar.

But what it lacked in damage, it more than made up for in presence. This was an implement chosen for the effect, to strike the mind as well as the flesh, and it was certainly effective in that regard. Sister Chastity’s spine tingled with each strike, her muscles tensed, her body quaked from both the anticipation and the effect.

She bit her lip as the woman rested the paddle on her backside and spoke, further inquiring about what she had said. It was not surprising - the few she had told about this were often skeptical. But then, history was rife with skeptics, those who doubted until they were truly shown.

Another strike, another accusation. Sister Chastity’s mewling moans bounced around the stone, and her knees wobbled, but she did as she was bidden and stood as straight as she could manage. She closed her eyes and waited for the next strike, staying still as Madeline laid out her thesis, a familiar refrain. Another blow landed, but this time she was rigid.

Again the blow fell. Again and again. Sister Lucia’s toes curled, and her thighs swelled, as if seeking out something to crush between them for relief, but she held fast with her bared feet against the wood. Like a tree standing by the water, she would not be moved.

When she was finally allowed speak again, she took her time, gazing up at the ceiling as if the answers were written across it. Finally, after a deep exhale, she spoke. ”Desire? Hunger? I have both.” I take delight in my work, for good or ill. And I am not always driven by these higher orders. I am indulgent, surely.”

Sister Chastity rolled her shoulders, revealing the hardened line of muscle along her back for a moment before she relaxed and let the curves cover it once more. ”But madness? You are not the fris to say so, and there was a time I might have agreed. But that was before those voices led me to Sister Lucia. Before they led me to LAW. Before they led me to you. They tell me what is, what was, and what is to come. My challenge was not made on a whim, sweet rose.”

She tossed her hair back so that she could look over her shoulder and catch sight of Madeline once more. The sight of her with that look, so dominant and controlling and assured, was worth whatever pain it provoked. ”Call it mania, if you wish. You would not be the first to doubt, nor will you be the last.”

[Lightman]

Madeline’s lips curled into something faintly amused as she listened, the paddle resting idle for a moment as the Enigmatic Nun spoke her truth with such conviction. When the words settled, the English Rose let out a soft breath, almost thoughtful.

“So mania is what we’ll go with, then.” She murmured.

Her hand rose without warning, fingers threading into that cascade of blonde before tightening and pulling back, guiding Sister Chastity’s head just enough to expose her expression more fully. Madeline stepped in close, her body aligning behind her opponent’s, pressing firm against her back. The contact was deliberate and measured. The warmth of her chest settled against taut muscle, her midsection rising and falling against the line of Chastity’s spine as if imposing her presence through breath alone. She could feel it there. The strength. The tension coiled beneath the surface.

Even now, after everything, those muscles responded. The blonde nun did not yield in the way most would. There was no falling apart, no hurried withdrawal. Instead, there was rigidity. Resolve. A body that chose to endure rather than falter. The powerful musculature flared beneath the thin fabric, a testament to the enduring strength.

How fascinating indeed.

“You know, there was once a woman I knew before…” Madeline whispered near her ear, her tone almost conversational. “…who claimed she was guided as well. Though not by voices, but by signs. Patterns in the world that only she could see. She would follow them without question. Every choice, every step, justified by something unseen.” Madeline paused, letting the story hang. “She found herself convinced that every consequence was ordained. That nothing was truly her fault. That indulgence, cruelty, even failure… all of it was simply part of a grand design. She abandoned all else for guidance, dedicating her life to their every capricious whim.” Madeline’s grip on Chastity’s hair eased slightly, though she did not release her. “It was comforting, you see. To never be responsible.”

Her lips brushed close to the nun’s ear, her voice lowering further. “She lost everything. It wasn't because of fate. And it wasn't because of guidance. She stopped choosing. And now she’s utterly alone, with nothing else to keep her company. Well, except for the psychiatrists every now and then.”

The paddle lowered, its edge drifting between the powerful lines of Chastity’s legs, the contact deliberate as Madeline shifted her stance behind her. “You speak of desire and hunger, of revelling in instructions and indulging in selfishness.” Madeline continued, her voice gaining a sharp, philosophical edge, cutting through the haze of pleasure. “But these are inherent human traits. To ascribe them to ‘voices’ is to divest yourself of responsibility, to elevate common impulses to divine command.”

The side edge of the lacquered wood pressed directly against the damp crotch, a solid, unyielding intrusion. With a slow, deliberate movement, Madeline began to saw it back and forth, a grinding friction against the nun’s most sensitive flesh.

“You claim that your challenge was not made on a whim, that these voices led you to that confused shepherd, to LAW, to me. Yet, is it not equally possible that your own profound cravings, your own hunger for control and sensation, orchestrated this entire magnificent scenario?”

The paddle continued its grinding motion, the wood finding purchase, creating friction, building heat. Madeline leaned in closer, her breath warm against Chastity’s neck. “Confess. What does this legion of spirits tell you now?” she whispered, her voice laced with a knowing challenge. “Do they tell you to defend them? To cling to them? Do they demand that you give in again…to chase that same indulgence you claim is not your own? Or…” Madeline paused, letting her words sink in, the paddle’s grinding motion slowing to a provocative pause.

“…Is it perhaps that they are telling you to squeeze?”