The Training of Fallen Angels

Cover

Also by Kendal Grahame

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Copyright

Also by Kendal Grahame:

FALLEN ANGELS

DEMONIA

THE CLOAK OF APHRODITE

PYRAMID OF DELIGHTS

Kendal Grahame

Madam Stone stood grim-faced in front of Lisa and Janet. She held a vicious-looking whip in her hand.

‘The students Kelly and Serita must be punished for their impertinence. They must be whipped before the whole class, and I wish you both to administer the punishment.’

Lisa looked at Janet nervously. ‘But they are so inexperienced, madam,’ Lisa said. ‘They may not –’ Madam Stone interrupted her by lashing a nearby chair in fury.

‘Know this, my young charges,’ she barked angrily. ‘After they have tasted the joys of sensual pain your pupils will be yours to command!’ She handed the lash to Lisa, who smiled broadly. ‘Now go. The class awaits you!’

LISA LAY ON
her back on the hard, wooden surface. She felt confused. She had no idea where she was, nor how she had got there. All she knew was that she was naked and totally vulnerable. Her thighs were splayed apart and her wrists and ankles had been secured to the legs of the bench by invisible but unyielding bonds. A heavily padded cushion had been placed under her bottom which, whilst affording her a little comfort, had the effect of raising her crotch in blatant display of her most intimate charms to anybody who might choose to look.

And there were many who were looking. She could see them all waiting, standing motionless in eerie silence. They were all anonymous, faceless men with their bodies completely swathed in black. Lisa raised her head to look at the long line of nameless figures. The queue seemed endless as it disappeared into the darkness of the chamber. Only their genitals were visible, each uncommonly large and menacing, protruding from their shadowy clothing like white beacons in the gloom.

The first in line stepped silently forward and positioned himself at the foot of the bench. He held his stiff cock firmly erect by gripping the thick shaft at the root. Lisa lay her head back in abject subservience and waited for the inevitable. She felt the touch of the
bulbous
head against her wet sex-lips. She couldn’t understand why she was so aroused. There had been no foreplay or stimulation and yet her soft pussy was as soaked as if it had been licked by a thousand tongues. She sighed deeply as the delightful pressure of the stranger’s flesh against hers caused him to enter her warmth in one slow, smooth movement. Their groins met, and she realised that she could feel him throbbing heavily inside her.

Then he was gone. Lisa hadn’t even felt him withdraw. He had vanished, as though he had faded into the darkness along with his sated lust. Then there was another entering her, with equal finesse but a lack of emotion. He, too finished the act before she could respond and his image quickly blurred into nothingness.

Then another, and another. Over and over, Lisa’s prone and shackled body was penetrated by an endless procession of well-endowed, unknown lovers. Their actions were identical, and their ejaculations immediate. The more cocks she accommodated, the more her frustrations increased. Her loins craved for release as every nerve-ending in her body seemed to become alive with lust.

She heard music. At first the gentle strains soothed her and helped to take her mind off her agonising need for the ultimate satisfaction. Another stiff erection slid into her soaked pussy. Lisa strained the muscles of her inner thighs in an endeavour to force her orgasm, but to no avail. The immediate, rhythmic thumping of the thick, hard shaft inside her told her that yet more sperm was filling her honeyed depths. She attempted to press her crotch against his and rub her hard little bud against him, but he vanished as if into thin air.

The music was becoming steadily louder. Instead of
the
Wagnerian strains which would have suited her predicament, it was the raucous wail of modern rock music. Lisa raised her head and looked at the dark figures before her. They were fading into a swirling, black mist. Her limbs seemed to have become freed of the shackles, and the bench was suddenly softer against her back. She touched herself between the legs. She was very wet, but it was her own juices that soaked her probing fingers.

Lisa looked in the direction of the men. The mist had melted into darkness, and the figures had gone. She was alone. She lay back again and closed her eyes. She allowed her fingers to play around the soft lips of her sex then purposely rubbed them against her erect bud. She moved her hips as if in response to a lover’s insistent thrusts and slipped all four fingers inside herself.

Lisa turned and twisted her hand whilst moving her thumb hard against her clitoris. Her loins ached, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps as she rose to the pinnacle of erotic joy. She was close, so very close. But the noise! The music had become deafening. She snapped her eyes open and glared in the direction of the sound. The alarm-radio met her gaze impassively. The rude, illuminated figures declared the hour triumphantly as Lisa allowed reality to goad her into full consciousness.

The sharp crispness of the early morning sunlight quickly replaced the gloom of her nightmare. Lisa blinked against the glare as she gradually focused on the foul machine that had forced her from heavy slumber. The song ended, to be replaced by the inane prattle of some youthful idiot whose job it was to coax reluctant commuters into action. Lisa eased her fingers from between her legs. The moment had gone. She reached out wearily and smacked her hand
against
the clock to bring instant and welcome silence to the bedroom, then let her arm flop down the side of the bed and pressed her face into the relative coolness of a pillow. Gradually, she began to drift once more into sleep.

The sound of the doorbell snapped her back to reality. Lisa struggled out of the clutches of the dishevelled sheets and blankets and wrapped her naked body in a small dressing-gown that had been thrown casually over a chair. The bell rang again.

‘OK, I’m coming,’ she groaned, sleepily. She stumbled towards the door and opened it. The postman stood in the hall, a broad grin playing across his handsome features. Lisa clutched the front of her gown tightly. The damn thing was too small; obviously one of Janet’s.

‘Miss Janet Angel?’ the man asked, as his eyes widened in appreciation.

‘Yes, er, no,’ replied Lisa. She ran the fingers of her free hand self-consciously through her tousled hair. ‘I mean yes, Janet lives here, but no, I’m not her.’

The postman thrust a small package towards her. ‘Will you sign for this?’

Lisa took the parcel along with his clipboard and pen. She had to release her grip of the gown as she scrawled her name on the pad and the thrust of her large breasts immediately forced the garment open. The man simply stared at her exposed flesh and his mouth fell open. Lisa grabbed the gown and drew it across herself quickly, at the same time handing back the board. For a moment time seemed to stand still. He just stood there, motionless.

Lisa nudged the clipboard against his arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said crossly. He shook his head as if awakening from a trance and took it from her. She smiled kindly.

‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ he stumbled. ‘Er, are there just the two of you living here?’

‘Why?’

He looked nervous. ‘Oh, I just wondered if there were a couple of guys here as well, you know.’

Lisa grinned and moved to close the door. ‘No guys,’ she said, sweetly. ‘Just two girls.’ She closed the door and wondered if that had been a wise thing to say.

‘Can I ring you?’ The postman’s muffled voice sounded a little more confident, now that he was shielded from her by the heavy door.

‘Yes,’ Lisa replied.

‘What’s your number?’

‘It’s in the book.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘That’s in the book as well.’ The line was corny, but it served its purpose. She heard him shuffling away to continue with his mundane occupation. He was good looking, that was certainly true, but for the moment she really couldn’t be bothered.

Lisa glanced at the small package. There was nothing to indicate its source, save for an indistinct postmark. She tossed it nonchalantly on to a table. Knowing Janet, she mused, it was probably another silly sex-aid to help her get over Phil.

She stopped in her tracks and sat heavily on the edge of the sofa. The memory of their shared lover filled her mind. She missed him too, dreadfully. She missed the laughs and the fun but, like Janet, most of all she missed the sex. The three of them had become totally compatible over the few, short months that they’d been together. So much so that both she and Janet had rarely found the need to take other partners.

Now Phil was gone, a victim of ambition, to
embark
on a glittering career in America. The three of them had made the usual promises, of course, to keep in touch, to meet whenever possible, all of that. But, in their hearts, the three of them knew it was over.

Lisa reached into a cabinet and retrieved a large photo-album. Turning to the back, she quickly found the small collection of snaps taken when she, Janet and Phil had spent a couple of days sightseeing in the depths of rural Sussex. These photographs, along with an almost permanent ache of desire between her legs, were all the tangible memories Lisa had of her brief relationship with Phil. They’d had to get a friend to develop the pictures; no reputable company would have touched them. There were snaps of Phil impaling Janet’s lithe little body on his huge cock in all manner of positions, and other photos of him and Lisa in similar poses. There was a beautiful close-up picture of Janet attempting to swallow as much of Phil’s monstrous weapon as she could in her tiny little mouth. Lisa was very proud of that photograph; she was sure that, in more enlightened times it would be termed artistic, and maybe even win a prize.

But Lisa’s favourite was one that Phil had taken of her and Janet. They were lying naked and exhausted on a small, grassy bank beneath an ancient oak. Their hair was tousled, their faces flushed and their bodies were covered in the sheen of fresh sweat as testament to the wonderful fucking that they had both just enjoyed. They were posing with their legs splayed wide apart and the engorged lips of their pussies glistening in the sunlight. It had been a truly blissful moment.

Lisa flicked back the pages to the front of the album to look at some of her earlier photographs. She gasped audibly. She’d almost forgotten how huge
she’d
been and how bad she’d looked in those days and yet, incredibly, the pictures were less than two years old. And the clothes she wore! Huge, voluminous frocks that had been chosen for the sole purpose of concealing the true shape of her body. She had been fat to the point of being obese, but with virtually non-existent breasts and features that the kindest observer could only have termed as homely.

That was before
he
came into her life, the old man with his devilish and dangerous plans. He’d appeared as if from nowhere one hot, steamy evening and transformed her into a stunning and voluptuous beauty with a rapacious and nearly insatiable desire for sexual gratification. And he’d been the first to satisfy her needs, the first to penetrate her luscious body. Lisa remembered lying with her back to him and watching the reflection in the mirror of her virginity disappearing as he impaled her.

There had been many more lovers after that, of course; far too many to count. Thanks to her stunning new looks and uncanny ability to bend the will of any man, she had been more than able to sate her lusts. But there had very nearly been a price to pay, a price too terrible to contemplate.

Lisa shuddered and closed the book as she remembered how close she had been to causing havoc and misery on a massive scale. The old man and his evil were gone now but Lisa suspected that one day he would return.