Sunday Bloody Sunday

"May the Lord bless you and keep you and may peace be upon you," the priest said to his congregation as everyone stood watching the man recite the benediction. The light from the stained glass windows poured on each devout adult head like beams from heaven while the children and teenagers in the church fidgeted, impatient for the ending of the mass.

Sitting in the third row, fairly close to the front of the church, Renata Jizzabelli sat down with the rest of the congregation, closing her Bible ever so gently. She liked to keep a low profile at her Catholic church, the place where she found sanctuary once a week.

If it weren't for the sexism in the Bible and the traditions of the Catholic Church, she might actually believe in God. Still, she felt an extraordinary feeling at church that she couldn't find anywhere else, the feeling of a community in thrall; hundreds of people speaking the same words all at the same time and sitting, standing, kneeling together. How she longed to be the one leading and organizing such an operation; what a feeling...

Driving into her garage, Renata admired the mailbox that her wife had made for her. It read "Renata Jizzabelli and Mila Laurent." Her name was first on everything.

Everything was so beautiful and neatly placed. Lovely items filled the rooms of their home; fainting couches, golden-framed mirrors, throw pillows with intricate 18th century designs, all arranged neatly and intelligently. It was like a French impressionist painting. Mila was a gorgeous woman; honey-brown shoulder-length hair in tight curls, big red pouting lips, skin like porcelain, a thin smooth waist and large breasts with wide reddish-pink nipples. Mila was a baker and pastry chef, but she loved to read and garden and was incredibly charming and intelligent. But the woman was so suffocatingly boring. Or maybe marriage was boring.

Renata would never know just what made her keep seven slaves in a warehouse on the other side of the city. Even with the most perfect perfect wife in the world, or even the sexiest, she was never satisfied. She would divorce Mila soon with as little tumult and heartbreak as possible. No woman deserved such abuse.

"Good morning Nata! I didn't hear you leave... How was church?"

They held each other for a loving peck as Renata walked inside.

"Lovely! And beautiful music today; the flute player was there," Mila had no idea that Renata was atheist.

"Really? Well then," her wife paused and smiled coyly, "What unholy things should we do today?"

She playfully tickled Renata's cheek with her finger, waiting for an answer. Renata turned away, quickly grabbing a Thermos from the kitchen table.

"God, I'm so sorry, honey, but I have to go back to work. We're really busy this week."

The light went out of Mila's eyes, "I thought this week was a slower one."

"I know, I know, love," Renata tried to avoid her wife's eyes, "they're always calling me over at the last minute."

"Can't you stop being an engineer just for one day, for me?" Mila pleaded, "Just tell them you're sick."

She suddenly pulled Renata into a french kiss, feeling up every inch of Renata's mouth with her tongue. Renata's Thermos slipped out of her hand. Her hands stroked Renata's shoulders and then wandered down to her large breasts and further down, to her crotch. She stroked sensually, but Renata pulled away, more disgusted than aroused. It wasn't always this way. She used to be attracted to her wife.

Mila looked extremely hurt and Renata felt a strong surge of guilt.

"I'm sorry, it's just... I'm already late," the engineer picked up her Thermos.

And then Renata went out the door and into her Toyota Prius, driving straight to the bad part of town, where her girls were waiting for her.

*****

"Sunday, Bloody Sunday," a woman's voice sang loudly and cheerfully, getting closer to the room.

Sunday shook violently, frightened of what might happen today. After last week she was terrified of sex; something completely new to her. The blood gushing from her vagina, soaking the phallus... She preferred not to think about it. The other prisoners had told her that she would only encounter Renata once a week, so at least by the end of the day she would have some peace for another week. The girl tried to enjoy her last few moments of tranquility, lying still on the white bed, but she could not calm down. Her heart was racing.

"My innocent, blushing Sunday," Renata grinned at the girl lying naked, chained to a white queen-sized bed. Renata had named her Sunday because before last week, the girl had been a virgin. One word that would describe the girl would be white. Sunday had pale (but not white) skin, light ash blond hair and light blue eyes. Even her nipples were a pale, whitish pink. Her hair was long and straight, flowing down to her hips. Sunday's breasts were slightly smaller than most but round and perky. She was the youngest of the slaves. The girl looked frightened out of her mind; far more so than the other girls.

"Now, now, don't worry," Renata whispered, stroking Sunday's breasts gingerly.

Sunday jumped suddenly at the mere feeling of skin on skin. Suddenly, Renata unchained the girl's hands and draped a soft white blanket around her. Sunday's eyes were wide with confusion.

"Do you drink?" Renata asked.

"N-no."

"Course you don't," the woman smiled, pouring her fruitiest Australian Chardonnay into two glasses, "I know it doesn't taste that great the first time around but it gets better with time."

She handed Sunday a wine glass but the girl just stared at it quizzically.

"Drink it. You'll feel more relaxed."

Sunday hesitantly drank a tiny sip and then bigger sips each time she drank. It was actually quite delicious.

"This isn't that bad."

Renata convinced her to drink two more and at that point Sunday definitely looked relaxed.

Renata took the blanket from Sunday and delicately removed the chains from her legs. She kissed her lips while stroking her breasts and then started making out with Sunday. Every hand on her pale body was gentle and delicate after what she had suffered last week. A woman's body was a precious thing. A work of art to be fully appreciated.

She sucked on each nipple licking around and then licking the pointed part. Sunday moaned in surprise at each sucking. Renata took off all of her clothes and then kissed Sunday's delicate body below the breasts and down the stomach making a trail of kisses to Sunday's clitoris. Renata abruptly licked Sunday's vagina, from her asshole to the skin above her clitoris. This made Sunday cry out in pleasure and shock, squirming with her entire body.

"That felt different, didn't it?" Renata smirked.

"Yeaahh," Sunday moaned, barely able to speak coherently and blushing profusely.

Sunday was one of her favourite girls. She could always get a reaction out of her, no matter what she did. Renata moved to Sunday's clitoris and licked the area several times, her rhythm increasing in speed. Sunday screamed, overwhelmed sensually. Her hands gripped the white linen of the bedspread with white-knuckled intensity. Renata moved her head away, pausing.

She looked around her enormous sex lair which was the size of a high school gymnasium, equipped with state-of-the-art sex toys and large machines with purposes that were not immediately obvious. The room was full of extravagant items, machines and outfits. A large closet and changing area took up a large portion of the room. There was an enormous bin filled with vibrators and another large bin filled with whips. Around the room were seven beds. Six of them made up the perimeter; a blue bed with white stripes, a red bed with silk sheets, an orange bed with rough wool bedding, a purple-sheeted bed, a bed with pink lacy bedding and finally the white bed where Sunday lay. In the middle of the room was a black bed with black, ratting-looking sheets, making the seventh bed. The bed looked well-worn and disheveled, like a wild animal had torn it to shreds. Close to the black bed were several weapons and ominous-looking devices; needles, clamps, electrodes, tasers. Renata looked back into the girl's frightened but exquisite face.

"I shouldn't tax you too much," Renata said, "We'll do more next week and you'll gradually get more comfortable with sex. Don't worry, soon you'll be begging me for more because when you do it right, sex feels great!"

"Really?" Sunday looked hopeful.

"Absolutely," Renata gently kissed Sunday on the lips, "Now walk over here with me to the massage table. Take the blanket with you if you want."

Sunday wrapped the blanket around her body like a dress and quickly followed Renata, not sure whether to trust the middle-aged woman or not. A sharp pain took over her right foot and she cried out in pain. Sunday felt as if a piece of something had lodged itself in her foot as tears sprung to her eyes.

"What's wrong, sweet pea?" Renata rushed to her side, worried and concerned.

"My foot hurts!" Sunday whimpered and managed to say, "the right foot!"

Renata picked up the girl and carried her wedding style to the white bed where they had begun their adventures. She delicately lifted Sunday's foot and put it on her lap in order to inspect it. The foot was half-covered with blood and there were two small wounds in the middle of her foot. Renata ran over to one of the many rectangular tables in the room, ducking down to retrieve a large First-Aid kit and a damp white washcloth. On her way back to the white bed she looked over at the ground by the massage table, noticing a spiked whip on the ground.

Renata sat down by Sunday, who was still whimpering like a dog. She took her washcloth, gently wiping the blood away and cleaning the wound. She noticed how small and white Sunday's feet looked. Sunday's hot pink nail polish made her feet look dainty and feminine. Renata looked for any matter inside the wound but she couldn't find anything. Renata rubbed some alcohol into the wound, making Sunday wince.

"Sorry about that, hun," Renata spoke tenderly.

She wiped the foot dry with a towel and kissed it gently.

"Kissing it better," the engineer smiled and then gingerly bandaged Sunday's foot, "Good as new, my dear."

"Thank you. I feel much better now."

Sunday looked much calmer and she smiled at Renata, giving her a little hug. After a few moments hugging, Renata grabbed the spiked whip from the floor.

"This is our culprit," she held it toward Sunday, "It was careless of me to leave it on the floor. I will never use this device on you or any other woman."

Renata threw it into a bin of whips and grabbed a pair of size six flats from the enormous closet a few feet away from the bin.

"Try these on for size," Renata smiled. They fit perfectly.

"So, how about that massage?" Renata asked rhetorically.

The older woman helped Sunday off of the bed and led Sunday to the massage table.

"Why do you have it then?" Sunday asked.

"What?"

"That whip. Those whips," the girl gestured to the enormous bin of whips.

"Oh," Renata sighed, "Well there are creatures in this world that mistreat women and they must be punished. If not by the law, then by me."

"Who?"

"You may have heard of them. They call themselves men. I call them pigs," the engineer snarled, "lie on your stomach to begin."

Sunday obeyed as Renata draped a white sheet over the girl's bare back. Unlike the standard massages performed by massage therapists, Renata's massages were more gentle and loving than therapeutic. She moved her hands down Sunday's back with the white sheet still draped over Sunday's back. The sheet was toasty warm and Sunday was already in an ecstasy. Renata folded the white sheet so that Sunday's back was exposed and then rubbed hot massage oil all over the girl's back in sensual, orgasmic strokes. Every touch was so intimate and warm that Sunday almost couldn't breathe, she was so overloaded with pleasure.

Sunday wasn't sure if she was a lesbian because she had never dated and for her entire life she had only had romantic thoughts about men. But maybe that was just because that was what she felt she was supposed to think and feel for the sake of her family and friends.

One thing that was for sure was that if she loved any woman, it would be Renata. Even now, Sunday longed for Renata's hands on her breasts or her buttocks. Every time Renata's hands rotated around Sunday's back, they seemed to get closer and closer to Sunday's forbidden places. Suddenly, Renata completely removed the sheet from Sunday's body, leaving the girl buck naked. She rubbed more massage oil onto her hands and then rubbed it into Sunday's buttocks, massaging every inch, even inside her butt crack. Sunday gasped but then sighed in delight, blushing slightly. Renata kept rubbing and massaging Sunday's buttocks and then up her back.

"Okay, when you're ready, turn over onto your back."

Sunday eagerly turned over and Renata placed the sheet on the girl's body for a second time, this time pulling it up to her chest, covering Sunday's breasts. Renata delicately massaged the muscles in the teenager's neck as Sunday breathed calmly, slipping into a silent bliss. She craftily used her fingers to press lightly against the tense areas in Sunday's neck. Then Renata massaged Sunday's collarbone. It seemed every new area that Renata touched was even more pleasurable than the last.

Renata pulled the sheet down, exposing Sunday's breasts and navel. The engineer grasped the girl's breasts gently but decisively. She massaged every part of Sunday's chest and stomach with hot oil as Sunday moaned. Her skin tingled with delight. Renata finally removed the sheet entirely. This time Sunday felt even more naked than she felt lying on her stomach. She knew what Renata would do next. The moist hands moved down her legs, softly rubbing. An ever so gentle and short excursion to Sunday's fragile feet and then Renata's hands moved up. Warm hands on her vagina. The fingers covered every inch of the vagina's exterior but were never inserted inside. The entire experience was sensual but gentle, silent, polite. Sunday could not control her voice as she wailed happily. Her vagina leaked clear, white-tinged liquid.

"Don't stop," Sunday managed.

For another five minutes Renata massaged the vagina and clitoris and then moved back to Sunday's collarbone and neck, pulling the sheet up again to cover the teen's body. The evidence was now hidden. The hands finally stopped.

"That was the best massage I've ever had," Sunday breathed, utterly relaxed amidst a room full of weapons and devices of torture.

"I'm glad," Renata said, "Why don't you use the shower by the wardrobe to clean off the oil? There are several shampoos, conditioners and towels to use. And after you are clean you can pick any outfit you like from the closets."

"Thank you!" was all Sunday could say. This woman was so kind to her. What did she do to deserve such special treatment?

When she had showered and dressed in a comfortable skirt and blouse Renata was nowhere to be found. However one of Renata's servants was waiting for her. Sunday was escorted back to her cell below, clean and contented.