The Sisters Sans Merci

by Baker Nikolaidis

When I came around I found myself lying in a hospital bed feeling weak and nauseous. Through my cloudy vision I could just make out a nurse standing over my groin tying the ends of a bandage between my legs. Then, the terrible recollection began to form in my mind. Could it have been a dream? Why else should I be in this hospital with this attractive nurse snipping the ends of a bandage around my genitals if it was only a dream? The stirring of my consciousness alerted the nurse and she looked up from her work.

“Stephen Jackson?”

She whispered,

“You’ve lost a lot of blood Mr. Jackson; you’re very lucky to be alive!”

She motioned to another nurse who slipped to my bedside. Though they giggled confidentially I could just make out their conversation:

“Is this the one with complications?”

“Yes. I’ve just finished binding his…,” said the first still toying with a pair of forceps in her elegant fingers.

“When we got him into surgery he was completely anaemic. Nothing obvious was wrong with him until I got him stripped off;then I saw the blood on his briefs!”

They both giggled and looked down on me with incredulity.

“What could he have been up to?”

“I don’t fully know; but the surgeon did her best to patch him up.”

I tried to stir on hearing this but my frame was numb; then pins and needles crept across my body.

“Quiet! He’s coming round,” whispered my nurse nudging her colleague with her elbow. They eyed me once more then set off down the ward barely concealing the occasional giggle.

The story of how I came to be in such a state needs to be told as a warning to all men who, like lambs to slaughter, go out in search of encounters with a Dominatrix. Read on, then, and be warned.

The previous evening I had answered an obscure personal column advert in a fetish magazine:

“Full beautiful–a Faery’s child–requires sanguine male for ritual worship.
Must be fit, healthy and keen to please.”

Her instructions led me to a small Georgian terrace once belonging to a village now swamped by London. Oddly, the tall dark-oaken front door stood ajar. Before me was a neat little passage way; yet there was no sign of anybody to greet me. From the depths of the house came the call of a female voice:

“Stephen! You’ve kept me waiting! Come, come; come down stairs.”

This was a strange arrangement indeed! How could she have known it was me? Still, nothing ventured, I mused and followed the voice down the passage to a set of descending steps at the end. I hovered at the head of the steps not quite knowing what to do next when the voice came more insistently from below:

“Downstairs Stephen; don’t be shy; you’re expected!”

On reflection I should have fled then while I had the chance but there was a siren-like seduction in that voice. Somehow the owner of that voice knew I was destined to submit to her call. I descended the steps and paused before an old arched doorway. Centered on the ancient timber paneled door was a small, brass plate upon which was etched the word:

“Grot”

I pushed it open and entered a darkly lit vault far older than the building on which it stood. The dungeon was humid with an intoxicating scent of ferns and coals; polished flagstones reflected the warm glow of an open fire. Gaping into the warm gloom I caught the outline of a Maltese Cross which loomed high over a raised stone altar bedecked with an assortment fruits and plants more reminiscent of harvest festivals or a school nature table than the ill-famed house of Mistress. No Mistress though; just this weird altar on a low stone dais, a gilded bowl on top and me, apparently alone, standing before it. From the dark recess behind the cross came the voice that had led me here:

“A male not naked and tethered is an affront to this altar and the Sacred Order it represents! Do you understand Stephen?”

“Wh-who are you,” I stammered, “I can’t see you.”

“In time Stephen, but for now you must respect my wishes and obey the laws of this shrine. Turn to face the wall behind you,” she commanded.

“Strip until you are completely naked. On no account look back until you have completed my commands.”

There seemed nothing for it but to obey, especially if I wanted to get a look at the creature who owned that enchanting voice.

Gazing at the flagstones that conducted the warmth from the soles of my naked feet into their ancient atoms as my head hung over my small pile of clothing. Was it was the warmth of the air or my anxiety that brought out a prickly sweat under my arms and on the palms of my hands? Standing naked with my bare bottom presented to this creature seemed like an eternity and I swear I could feel her eyes gloating over my compliance. Curiosity was beginning to get the better of caution and I longed to look over my shoulder to get a glance at the sight that had, up until now, been denied me. She spoke again:

“Ahead of you Stephen you will find a small manacle on a chain that is secured to the wall. Unlock the ring and secure it tightly around your balls.”

Too intrigued to resist, I groveled at the foot of the wall for the heavy iron chain on the end of which was a miniature locking collar of about an inch in width. It lay open like a trap. I squatted over it and fiddled with the thing until it was secured around the top of my scrotum.

“That’s good Stephen,” she purred. “Your obedience shall be rewarded; turn and face the altar.”

Before me stood a most exquisite young woman, tall before the alter. Her straight shoulder length jet-black hair fell from the coolness of the pale mask forming a face of only twenty years or so. Her dark gaze emerged from beneath the arch of her ebony eyebrows which complimented the tapered elegance of her alabaster jaw-line. Her slight but perfect frame was veiled only by a cloak of translucent black gossamer that fell around the six-inch heels of her thigh-high leather boots. Apart from this her breasts swung naked; each dark nipple brushing against the folds of the cloak that denied me a clear view of a silken G-string with thin straps that clung to her shapely hips.

“You will call me Priestess,” she advised, eyeing my condition.

The key to my predicament grew strangely warm in my hand and there was the oddest sensation that the manacle was contracting, of its own volition; biting into my swelling balls.

“I will answer a few questions you may have, Stephen, but do not try my patience.”

“Why sanguine?” I challenged.

“Insolence will only cause more pain Stephen.”

“Why sanguine, Priestess?”

“I prefer strong men,” she admitted, “they’ll need all their strength.”

“Am I the first you have brought here Priestess?’

“In a way you are Stephen, but there have been many other, let’s say, offerings made to this shrine by men such as you.”

Elegance comes to those women who perfect the art of walking in heels and this exotic nymph was no exception. With a tiny bite of her bottom lip she circled behind the dais and emerged behind the altar.

“I find this cross-examination tiresome in the extreme. You may have one last question, Stephen.”

“What is going to happen to me, Priestess?”

“Ah!”, she reflected momentarily; then her eyes flashed with certainty, “When the time comes, Stephen, you will offer yourself to the very limits of your capacity to serve. When I have drained you of all, release will come; sweet oblivion will be yours. You will beg me for it, Stephen. You may even love me for it.”

Perhaps, for a moment, there was a hint of pity in her eyes; but then they filled with a strange, icy blankness as if lit by the light from an alien world. Raising her hand over the altar these new, cold eyes commanded:

“The key, Stephen! Bring the key to your Priestess right now!”

That was the time I should have unlocked my tether and made a break for it. But the voice that had so seduced me now began to work its insistent charm again. Her voice demanded obedience from weaker souls such as mine. Her white, upturned palm hovered over the altar and beckoned me to place my fate in her slender fingers. I staggered forwards, the weight of the chain swinging between my legs reminded me that there must be limits to the circumference of my actions. I got a few feet from the altar when the slack was taken up and the manacle bit into the sides of my scrotum. Even reaching forward, I couldn’t quite place the key in her hand. For a moment I struggled in confusion, half expecting her to reach out the last few inches and pluck the key from my finger tips. But she remained statuesque:

“Stretch for me, Stephen,” she teased, “give me every inch your frame possesses.”

I heaved. The sweat oozed from my pores as I pulled against the cruel bite of the manacle. My balls squeezed beyond endurance as I strained full-length to reach her.

“I don’t care if your balls burst! Put the key in my hand Stephen.”

She stared expectantly into my furrowed brow willing every sinew in my body to fulfill her command. The manacle griped like the jaws of a vice. My balls exploded with agony. Sweat trickled between my toes as they clawed for grip on the stones beneath.

“The key or its good-bye, Stephen,” she warned.

With one last Herculean effort I landed the key in her hand and collapsed on the dais panting for breath. Overhead I heard my tormentor shriek with triumph:

“I have him in thrall my sisters! Secured beyond doubt! Come Dames Sans Merci, come and review our quarry!”

Suddenly, I felt the temperature drop. An icy gust seemed to rally from the centre of the dungeon. From the shadows I heard the report of heels on stone; the rattle of crops; flails and rods. I smelt leather boots mingle with intoxicating scent of Women. Gazing up in confusion I found myself lying at the feet of two more dominatrixes. They stood gloating over their captive: the High Priestess and her two sisters from hell. Each was like the first only older; three generations of terrifying beauty towered above me. The eldest bent down and gave the chain a sharp tug with her strong, dagger like fingers. The snatch made me gasp with new pain and I rolled over and opened my legs in an attempt to reach to my scrotum. The other lashed out with her crop and caught my hand as I attempted to relieve strain on my balls. I jerked with the shock, instinctively I licked the throbbing welt with my tongue.

“Look sisters!” sung the harpy, “See how he licks his wounds.”

“Just like a dog,” the elder purred as her lips broke into a cruel smile.

She reached out with her crop and began to stroke the length of my penis with the tip of her weapon while gently tugging on my tether.

“Do you think there is enough here?” she mused greedily.

“He is strong” interjected the young Priestess, “I have tested his will to serve.”

“But will he stay the distance; will there be enough for all?” queried the third.

“He will yield enough if he is properly prepared” reassured the second, smiling knowingly at her sisters.

“I hope for his sake he will,” muttered the eldest as she began to address me.

“Young Man! I am the High Priestess Andromeda and these are my sisters Romana and Belle. This is the holy altar of the Order of Sans Merci. Prostrate yourself before our altar.”

I was still dazed with terror when a hail of crops and lashes descended upon my body from all sides. I tried to crawl away from the storm but was hauled back into their reach by the chain that tethered my balls. In agony I capitulated and lay face down in front of the altar.

“You will find it easier if you obey instantly and without hesitation,” instructed Romana as the thin hot wire of her crop penetrated the constant stinging sensation that now engulfed my entire body.

“Let us see if this dog is ready to offer himself to our Sisterhood,” pronounced the powerful Andromeda as she mounted the dais and turning to face my cowering body.

“Belle will you assist me?” beckoning the young temptress onto the altar.

The young nymph joined her sister on the shrine. With a nod from Andromeda, Romana brought the lash down across my prostrated back:

“On your knees!” she bellowed.

Instantly I jerked from the cold stone floor and found myself in supplication before the altar of Sans Merci. Not quite knowing where to put my eyes they fell on two exquisite pairs of stiletto heel boots that towered above me. Another hot wire of pain cut across my bottom and Andromeda began to declaim:

“You may look upon this shrine only with the express permission of a Priestess. At all other times you must approach head down and crawling on your belly as nature decreed. No male may approach the altar unless he is naked and tethered by the organ that is his burden. Only then is he fit to worship our sisterhood. Only then is your offering acceptable to the great Creatrix Woman. Woman, Stephen, is the object of your worship and through worship of Woman you shall discover the purpose of your existence.”

A tiny gesture from the Priestess’s hand and Romana’s whip strafed my back again.

“Kiss Priestess Andromeda’s boot and answer her,” ordered Romana.

At first I responded for fear of another cut of the crop yet as I bowed down, my lips pressing against the coolness of Andromeda’s boot, I felt an extraordinary sense of meekness come over me. A tear gathered in the corner of my eye, a lump formed in my throat that tried to stifle the words forming in my heart. The tears rolled as the words reached my mouth.

“I worship your Sisterhood Priestess Andromeda.”

With satisfaction Andromeda replied, “I believe you do Stephen and there is hope for such as you; raise up your eyes.”

Gazing up through my clouded vision I beheld Andromeda and the young Priestess Belle standing along side her sister. The elder reached around her shoulders and parted the gossamer cloak that so enthralled me before. The royal nymph’s breasts, now unveiled, heaved arrogantly before me as the magnificent creature eyed me from beyond her defiantly upturned jaw. Proudly Andromeda arranged the gossamer folds over her shoulders. She cupped a breast in her bejeweled hand she tuned her gaze upon the chagrin now etching itself across my face.

“Did you foolishly think you could obtain such beauty as this with your dirty money Stephen?”

The question was purely rhetorical; Romana’s whip cut across my back again as I flopped across the stone dais. The chain snatched at my balls as she commanded:

“Up!”

Obediently I resumed my posture to find Andromeda easing the beauty’s G-string from her hips. The silken string fell away to reveal the true nature of their noble lineage. Before me was a Venus-mond of straight ebony pelt; more like a fine layer of fur than pubic hair; the dark pussy-willow bud of their regal order.

“The leathern wings of democracy have cast a shadow over the modern mind Stephen. Like children men believe they can control their destiny and control their bodies. Yet for centuries men have eagerly crawled here in chains for a sight such as this. Kings and Princes too have cried before this shrine and drained every drop they posses in humble worship of our order.”

Andromeda tossed the fragile silken string on the steps of the dais.

“Think hard, young fool,” she warned, “If you are prepared for sacrifice, take up the offering before you, it may be the nearest you will ever get to touching us and you should be happy to exchange your life for it.”

In the ensuing silence I contemplated the bargain. What wouldn’t I give to bury my face in a scent token from her fury mound? What was my miserable existence to compare with a brief taste of her mossy sex? Could I pay the ultimate price for such a sensation? I lunged hungrily at the tiny string and gorged my senses on the silken gusset.

“It is so!” shrieked the sisters, “the fool is ours to devour for eternity!”

While I coveted my prize a strange chorus filled the air as the sisters chanted their communion:

Daughters of Eve,
Daughters of the Serpent,
Sisters of the willow tree,
Ours is the seed. Ours is the blood.
Ours is the sanctity of ancient sources.
Propruim volantis arbitrium

I was still grovelling over my trophy when Andromeda stepped forward placing her stiletto boot across the nape of my neck thus pinning my face firmly to the dais.

“Romana! give this dog a tail.”

Romana’s strong hands forced a bulbous stump into my sweating anus. All I could make out was the tapered girth of a yard long tail made from some kind of animal skin. As the head of the thing sank into me I could feel my anal muscles contract around a hooked barb within. I panicked, abandoned my prize, and tried to expel the weighty mass; but the more I squeezed the firmer it held.

Removing her heel from my neck Andromeda kicked me in the ribs sending me sprawling before the base of the dais. Andromeda stepped over me and turning to her young sister on the altar bid her walk down on her cowering dog. Like a lumber-punch in my backbone the young nymph’s heels dug into my flesh as she used my body as a stepping stone to the cold flags underneath my belly. Yet such agonies were relieved by the wash of her gossamer cloak as it trailed behind her exquisite ankles.

“This is the fate of all men, my gentle sister” Andromeda informed the young goddess as she took her small hand in hers.

“His tail is a mark of the bestial cravings that have accompanied his foreshortened evolution. You did well to trap this pitiful dog, he will quench our thirsts and give us sport as well. Observe my dear.”

She unhitched the weapon hanging from her belt and dealt me a blow across the backside. The hot flash made my buttocks contract with pain which reverberated down the length of my tail.

“Look,” laughed Romana, “see how the cur’s tail twitches when he is whipped”

“Indeed,” agreed Andromeda, then yelled, “On all fours, dog!”

“Since you possess a dog’s tail you should sound like one too; bark like a dog! Bark for your Priestess.”

At first I was beside myself with humiliation, but before I could appeal in any human tongue Romana took hold of my tail and yanked the barb further into the walls of my rectum. There was only one thing for it:

“Woof’ I ventured under my breath.

“Louder!” boomed Andromeda as she cut my shoulders with another blow.

“Woof! Woof!, Woooooof!” I amplified for their sport. Andromeda and Romana shrieked with derision at my feeble attempt to please them.

“We would fit a dog’s collar to your scrawny neck save that the only collars here is for your balls,” chided Romana tugging my chain as a reminder. It was then that the young Belle’s silence broke,

“He would make the dearest pet sisters; must he perish?”

“He has his trophy and has submitted to his fate child” confided her elder sister.

“Besides we thirst for him,” Romana contended.

The elfin girl approached and bent down to stare into my face. The strands of her hair fell evenly from her shoulders like dark curtains framing her nubile breasts. Was there the slightest hint of compassion in her mysterious glance?

“Good doggy,” she petted, “retrieve my G-string and you may lick my hand.”

“What will the poor fool have for a bargain?” protested Romana.

“Patience sister,” cautioned Andromeda, “let the girl perfect her spells.”

It was all I had of hers. I had bargained my life for this morsel and even now her charm was so intoxicating that I was driven relinquish my side to please her. Like a fool I crawled over to where the silken string lay took hold of it with my mouth and retrieved it for my enchantress.

“The skill is strong within her,” remarked Andromeda,

“But her heart is still soft,” Romana complained.

Taking the silken string from my mouth and proffering her hand for licking she retorted:

“My body may be young Romana but my heart is as wise as each sister.”

“But you feel sympathy for the hound my child,” Andromeda intervened, “and sympathy in woman is a weakness we cannot encourage.”

The young temptress withdrew her hand from my lapping tongue and considered the challenge to her resolve.

“Since you insist my sisters: Romana bring me the seal of our order.”

The instant she had risen Andromeda leapt forward and lashed my hind quarters:

“On your back dog! Legs apart! Prepare to receive the seal of our sisterhood.”

Not having time to reflect on what this meant I jerked obediently into position. It was inconceivable that this lovely innocent would harm me yet Romana had returned from the fire with a small, red hot branding iron which she handed to the naked girl. Andromeda shoved her stiletto heel into my throat; Romana held fast to my chain thus exposing the base of penis. The girl stepped between my legs aware that she was being tested.

“With this brand I mark you for servitude to the order of Sans Merci for eternity. . . proprium volantis arbitrium.”

She only had to touch the inside of my thigh with the glowing rod and I bucked as agony shot from my loins to the tip of my scull. Only the faint smell of burning flesh impressed itself upon my senses before I passed into oblivion.

What seemed like a few seconds of lost consciousness was halted by a vicious swipe across my face from Andromeda’a deadly crop.

“Twigs,” she ordered and Romana forced the acrid smoke beneath my nostrils. I had been bound, spread eagle fashion, on the Maltese cross which suspended me over the altar. The cruel barb of my tail sank deeper into my rectum but mercifully the manacle had been removed. Below Romana busied herself clearing the altar of the assorted offerings while Andromeda began to grind strange roots with honey into an ancient mortar and pestle. I began to whimper for mercy.

“Silence him” murmured Andromeda and Romana, ceasing her work, cut her crop across my thighs. I twisted under the shock but it was useless; I was securely bound to the cross.

“Here she comes” announced the proud elder sister; then out of the shadows floated the raven nymph that had branded me into her service. With her hair piled high on her crown she carried a gilded bowl like a Gothic Aquarius. She mounted the dais as her elder sisters joined her on either side of the altar. Three pairs of enchanting eyes gazed upon my limp penis hanging over the upheld bowl. Placing the bowl to one side of the altar the young Priestess turned to her sister superior.

“Bring him up, my child,” permitted the elder.

Parting her gossamer cloak the nymph pushed her hand between her thighs and fingered her sex. With her wetted fingers she pushed and smeared her earthy fragrance around the entry to my nostrils. Though terrified the pungent odour from her sex began to weave its magic upon my senses. Below Andromeda began to massage the contents of the mortar into my aching balls and inner thighs. Though my body was wracked with pain, my tongue swollen and parched with fear all these sensations, were annexed by the minty glow seeping into my genitals as Andromeda’s balm began to burn into my pours.

“He grows ready,” commented Romana while licking her lips.

My terrified heart began to pump rigidity into my organ as Andromeda smeared more of her strange preparation across my pelvis and around the base of my tail. The peppery mash seeped into my anus bringing numbing relief to the barb still firmly lodged there; while the residue was rubbed across my backside and down my thighs thus igniting my loins in a burning cocoon.

“He is prepared!” announced Andromeda placing her potion to one side.

The nymph gazed into my eyes and whispered:

“I love thee true,” then turned her attentions to my hardened cock.

“It’s smaller than promised,” complained Romana, “but his heart is strong,” advocated the young Priestess.

“Bleed him!” commanded Andromeda, “but let him slowly and let him dry.”

********

The nymph took hold of my cock which surged again under her grasp as her strong thumb trapped the pulsing artery running the length of my cock. With her free hand she withdrew a jeweled hair stiletto from her dark locks and shook her tumbling mane across her shoulders. With expertise she aimed the tip of the pin just beneath the head of my cock and nicked a hole in the throbbing vessel. I bucked like a dumb animal in an abattoir as the explosion from my organ flung droplets across the altar. I saw anticipation part their starved lips as each closed in on the feast.

“Stem his flow!” gasped Andromeda as she lay hold of the gilded bowl.

The young Priestess dug a strong thumbnail into artery just below her incision. The hot jet subsided to a steady flow which the Priestess directed into the bowl proffered by her sister. The first bowl was consumed by the greedy harpy who passed it to her sister Romana. Taking her turn of me she held the bowl beneath my penis as the young Priestess monitored the flow from my aching organ. This way each of the vixens quenched themselves again and again on my life-blood.

“More!” demanded Andromeda of my drained existence as she shoved the bowl beneath me.

“His pulse weakens sister” reported the young Priestess,

“Then he must try,” Romana insisted and began to stripe my chest with cuts from her crop.

“Pump dog!” she commanded.

As the new pain stimulated my heart into action the young nymph milked my fading cock for the last of my offering. As the last of my life ebbed way, all I felt was a deep, deep sorrow for these poor women: condemned to an eternity of blood lust.

Having sated themselves upon me the sisters departed arm in arm into the shadows of the dungeon. With the last drops of my consciousness I caught a parting glance from the dark eyed enchantress who had lured me into her fatal service.

So this why I loiter in this hospital bed, alone and pale and waiting. The noise of traffic, here, drowns any birdsong that might be heard. Beside my bed, stood the surgeon, her ward sister and nurse:

“You’ve been under unaesthetic longer than we expected,” the surgeon commented looking over the clip board she cradled in her arm.

“I think you could do with an extra plasma supply at this stage. Will see that he gets one Ward Sister.”

The other nodded and glanced at her younger assistant.

“See that he gets all he needs Nurse Bella.”

The young nurse nodded and pushed back a small lock of ebony hair that had fallen across her forehead.

“Will that be all Sister?” She enquired.

“For now, child, for now,” replied the Surgeon as she beckoned each to continue with her inspection of the ward.