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Expiation

By: Samandiriel



"Did you feel me lover? Did you feel my arms around you at night as my lips melted into yours, my tongue searching? 

Did you feel me kiss your tears away or hear me whisper against your ear my words of a love that would keep you safe and always be with you?

Did you ever hate me for who I was? That I was born one of them?

Did you look up at the blue sky and see my eyes looking back at you from across the pillows and wish it had never been?

Did you see my face in theirs and feel like I had used you, that I was the one that deceived you?

You could never hate me as much as I have hated myself."

I sit here and wait, smoking cigarettes, unfiltered like the ones we smoked back in the cabarets when we thought the Germans would never come into France. If I can't find them unfiltered, I break the filters off and leave them unused in the ashtray stacked like cords of wood. I stare at them thinking back to that night at Le' Monde when you lit my cigarette, your small hand with lacquered red nails holding the lighter, I thought you were so bold, so wicked and it excited me. You asked to sit down and I nodded, then you ordered a bottle of wine, it comes in boxes now, can you believe? Boxes, it tasted smooth and heady like earth and sky. You introduced yourself, then I did the same and we talked and laughed. I felt so mousy next to you with my plain dress of earthy colors and my straight brown hair pulled back like a farm girls, while you had yours curled and you wore a full skirt and jacket, you were always so stylish even when material was hard to come by you were well tailored. You had on that purple hat with the feathers on one side, tipped just over your left eye and the feather had slipped down tickling your cheek so you took it off. Then you asked me to dance and I was afraid, embarrassed really, I was young and naive, women didn't do such things, but you reassured me and promised you would behave like a lady.

The lights went low as you held me close and I prayed that you couldn't feel my heart pounding in my chest. I don't know if it was the wine, the place or the song but it felt right. I put my head on your shoulder drinking in your perfume, it smelled clean like rain, not like the heavier flowery candied scents like the other women wore and I just wanted to stay there in that moment swaying to the music as our bodies pressed together and you whispered the words to the song in my ear.

I was only a girl then all of 19 and like so many others I came to Paris from the countryside to live my dream. I was going to be a famous artist in the city of lights. My family protested a young woman should either marry or become a nun artists were decadent and poor. I arrived a country bumpkin staying with my cousin Simone, she was the one that took me to the cabarets and led me to find you. It was all sinful, the cabarets, the dancing, the art, the absinthe and falling in love with you. I chose to be a sinner.

I can still taste the wine and cigarettes on your lips and how exquisite it felt when you kissed my neck, my collarbone and down my chest. You made me sit on you lap facing you and I let out a gasp when you tugged down the front of my dress and ran your tongue along the top of my corset. It was after you freed my breasts completely and kissed my nipples that the gasp turned into a moan. I had no idea how wonderful it could feel to have someone's mouth licking, sucking and nibbling my breasts, I felt my nipples harden as you flicked your tongue over them and I twisted my fingers in your hair pulling you closer not wanting you to stop. When I felt your teeth start to sink in and then the bite that followed, I felt a shock go from my nipples to my pussy. 

"Merde! Vous socie'rie. Cici doit e^tre errone' parce qu'il se sent trop bon."

You pulled away and looked at me with a slight grin, a flicker of mischief showed in your green eyes as you asked me if I had ever done this before. I lowered my head as I blushed and admitted that I had not and that I was still...untouched.

You lifted my chin with your fingers, your face was softer and you looked into my eyes and said, " Then I shall remedy that situation." Gently pushing me from your lap you took my hand and led me to your bedroom, it was dark and you let loose my hand for a moment then I heard a match strike, there was a quick flare and then the soft glow of the lamp. Putting your hand out for me I walked over and you swept me into your arms and kissed me deeply.

Slowly we undressed one another, touching, tasting, exploring, you put my hands on your breasts and joked that I couldn't break them. I measured their weight in my hands, my fingers feeling how soft your skin was and as I ran my fingers over your nipples the softness grew harder as the skin around them puckered and rose underneath my touch. Bending down I placed a kiss on each one before I braved using the tip of my tongue to lick around the raised mounds, swirling and flicking before the desire to suck on them took over and I didn't want to stop. I loved the sounds of your moaning and I silently took pride in knowing that I could make you feel such pleasure and when you took one of my hands, placed it between your legs and I could feel the heat and the wetness I helped to create my own arousal heightened. I let my fingers explore the folds and I painted your wetness onto the soft hair of your pussy, rubbing over your clit and making you lose you balance. 

I left your breasts to raise up to look into your eyes, touching my forehead to yours and I remembered back to a crude drawing one of the artists in my class left at my easel. It was of a man and woman having sex, I had never seen such a thing, he drew the man's member in large proportions and it filled the woman's pussy. I was appalled at that time, but at this moment it inspired me and I slid a finger up inside you making you gasp and close your eyes. You wrapped an arm around me and then slid your other hand between my legs and mimicked my movements; below I felt the stirrings of the first of many orgasms that night. The smell of sex grew heavier in the room as we fingered each other, my fingers felt your orgasm and the sudden gush of wetness that drown my fingers as you came, my own thighs did not escape the wetness of my climax as I felt a hot stream trickle downward and end behind my knees.

We eventually made it to the bed where you went down on me, fucking me with your fingers while your mouth enveloped my clit sucking and biting until I came so hard and so loud that I startled us both. You took me over and over again in a kaleidoscope of fucking, licking, sucking, biting and kissing, I felt your tongue everywhere, your fingers probing and pleasing. I learned how to please you and loved how you grabbed my head forcing me to eat your pussy as if it were my last meal on earth, you ground into my face screaming at me not to stop, to suck harder or use my teeth until you came hard and collapsed beneath me.

"I'm going to keep you." I ran my fingertips along your cheek as you lay on your back looking so peaceful and beautiful.

"Oh you are? For how long?" You turned onto your side to face me, one eyebrow raised and a terrible attempt at feigning seriousness.

"Hmmmm? Until three days past forever."

You stared at me for the longest time, your eyes misted and you gave me a simple smile and said, "I love you."

It wasn't only the sex it was everything about you that I loved. You let me be myself, never judging or trying to change me; you supported my art as well as supporting both of us. Then they made you leave your job and I could only paint at night, sometimes by candlelight, but it didn't matter as long as you were there. I worked the days in the factory while you hid in the flat staying silent all day. I would try to bring you things to read or small things to do and I loved that you decided to paint also. I lost the paintings, yours and mine; actually they were stolen from me just as you were.

I waited everyday for the sounds of your footsteps coming up the stairwells, but they were silent. I waited for your hand to touch the back of my shoulder and I would turn to find you standing there apologizing for being late before wrapping me in your arms and kissing me, but my arms never held you again, your kisses became just memories. I would cover my ears at night to block out the whistle of the trains because I knew that's how they took you away. I went through all your clothes and ripped those damn stars off and burned them to ash, why did you register with them, we could have worked out something couldn't we? We could have found someone to forge papers, I know we could have, fuck, why did I wait? Why did I think that you would be the only one they would ignore?

Believe me when I tell you that I did search for you, I went to the various offices and departments trying to find out where they sent you, I didn't know what I would do when I got the information but I would at least know something. I had to be clever and deceitful like them, and so I lied. Please, please forgive me but I told them you had stolen something from me, a family heirloom, they took the information and I waited to hear something. It wasn't until a few years after the liberation that a package arrived containing the ring I gave you, the one I claimed you had stolen. I placed it on my finger. That was the day I became a ghost, floating through life all these years, hoping and praying that by some small chance you had made it through the war. I played scenarios in my head, I imagined you had escaped and had to hide or that you were injured and lost your memory but one day it would return just as you would return to me. In darker times when I just lay around not eating or moving, smoking cigarette after cigarette and downing bottles of whiskey I imagined that you thought I had turned you over to them and you hated me, that was the thought I had when they found me on the floor with blood oozing from my wrists. I heard you then, you were singing to me but I can't remember the words, it was that song we heard Edith singing outside the window, she became famous just like you said she would.

Sometimes I wondered if you were ever real or if I was going mad slowly. The person who changed my life, the one who made me take chances was gone taking all the magic and surprises with her. You spoiled me with all those little gifts and notes that you would pull out from behind your back or hide in my pockets or purse but mostly I loved the flower that would appear on my pillow when you left early for work. My pillow. It still smelled of you and I held it to me every night so I could fall asleep or when I needed to feel you near me. I kept your things where they were so when you came back it would be just as you left them and I re-hung all your clothes after I ripped them from the hangers and buried myself with in them. Even when things were at their worst and food was scarce I set a place at the table for you and talked to you. Not a birthday went by that I didn't forget to celebrate until I had a box full of unwrapped gifts waiting to be opened.

The hardest times where when the snow would fall in those big flakes and all was quiet, we would walk along the river, do you remember that? We joked that Paris looked like a giant cake iced and decorated and you told me if you could you would wrap it up and give it to me. It never looked that way again after you were gone. Then there was the mornings when it would rain and I would remember how we made love so sweetly, my fingers found their way between my legs as I imagined your fingers, your lips, your tongue taking me over the edge again and again.

I had heard all the stories, I visited the places and I saw the pictures, meticulously searching for your face hoping and yet not hoping to see you in them. I questioned those who were there, the ones that survived it all and asked if they knew of you, but to no avail. I showed them the picture of us taken at my birthday party at the Moulin Rouge, I was wearing that blue dress you loved and you were smiling with a cigarette dangling from your mouth and a glass of champagne in your hand clinking against the one I held in mine. We were carefree back then, the Germans were just over the border but we felt safe, they wouldn't dare to come into Paris.

I went to Poland in the early 90's to see the camps with my niece Yvette, I found my family after the war and we reconnected, you would love Yvette she has great spirit and has been my joy these past years. She worried about me going, I was an old woman then but she knew why I had to go and wanted to travel with me. Her husband and children took us to the airport, I was nervous about flying in an airplane but I could not go there by train, you understand.

Yvette handled the arrangements and booked us with a group and a guide that spoke French. She held my hand, they trembled as we walked through the gates and I wondered...no, I knew that you had done the same when you arrived there those many years before me. Were you scared and confused? I tried to conceive in my mind what you endured as I walked through that place of death. Did they shave your head after taking out the combs I gave you, the ones of ivory carved with angels and roses? They belonged to you because I loved how they looked floating in the waves of your chestnut hair, that's how I imagined they would look when I bought them for you. Did they take your clothes and your shoes? Did they strip you of all dignity reducing you to no more than an animal? I imagined that to be so as I walked through the barracks, I didn't go near the gas chambers or the crematoriums.

As I walked the exhibits reading the history, admiring the artworks and writings, and looking at the things they kept, the shoes, the luggage, eyeglasses, all things that were a part of someone, things that identified them as people I saw them. I saw the combs. I knew they were yours because the one angel's wing had been chipped from when you dropped them as you hurried to loosen them from your hair. I loved your hair down and the way it spilled across the pillow and your shoulders when you slept, how wild it looked when you were in the throes of passion and how soft it was against my face as I curled up next to you, my face buried in your neck.

I knew then the awful truth. I knew that you had been there and there was never any hope of you coming back. They stole you from me; they took you away and shipped you here like you didn't matter. Didn't they see in your eyes that you were in love? No, they didn't because they had no souls and only one heart, mine because I gave it to you to keep forever. They took you, they took my heart, they gave you a number stripping you of your name and making you nothing more than an object than a human. You didn't belong to them you belonged to me and they had no right to claim you, Bastards.

Bastards, bastards, bastards I screamed as I hit my hands off the glass case holding the last things on earth that would let people know that you existed. They scraped away your face from this earth, they killed your soul as they killed your body and all because of whom you had been born unto. Did this not make sense to anyone else? Didn't they know how wrong it was? 

I wanted them all there, right at that moment so I could ask Him and all his soulless sheep to show me the paper or the tablet of stone where it was written that He had the entitlement to decide who had the privilege to live on this planet and who didn't. I wanted that proof to try to justify how one man's evil could make other men and women believe that it's reasonable to take away the lives of millions because they don't fit the mold of what He believed to be the perfect race.

I had taken a deep breath, filling my lungs with air that may contain a particle of dust that was once you and I could feel the brush of a billion fingertips upon me, all trying to be known again to be remembered, to touch life one last time. 

I had collapsed onto the floor and woke up to see Yvette standing over me and patting my hand. She looked into my eyes and knew, she knew that I had found you but you were lost to me again. They drove us back to the hotel and we sat in silence because no words existed at that time. The air was dead. 

While Yvette called home to say when we would be arriving at the airport in Paris I pulled out the photograph. As I traced my finger along your face I noticed my hands. They were now the hands of an old woman not the ones of the girl in the picture sitting next to you. I don't remember how I got that way and where the girl was who danced in the best cabarets, walked the along the Seine with you, bought those chocolates from the corner shop when she sold her first painting because they were your favorite. She faded into the background of a painting, a lesser character used only to fill the space, colorless and faceless, part of something but not the focal point. She was the ghost that impersonated a human, blending into the population of a living city but not being able to interact with them.

I sit here and wait, smoking cigarettes and reliving my memories as they curl up and drift away with the smoke. I wait for you to come and collect me so we can finish the cycle leaving behind a fading photo of two people who once shared a love and a life.

Expiation



It is 2083, and I am a female Augment. The Church gave me the name of Kyoko, though I am not, so far as I know, of Asian descent. I'm the youngest Augment in this parish, though of legal age. It would lose the purpose of the Church to have Augments, if I was not of legal age. 

The Church officially states that Augments are not born of humans, and therefore we have no souls. Yet we appear human, we think and act as human, but still, we are not born of humans. 

So much trouble and strife over the years, after the great wars of the earlier decades of this century, so much prejudice against the Church, any church, any religion, really, that the Church finally took drastic measures some 23 years ago and accepted Augments onto its staff, for limited purposes. Now priests who are tempted by the flesh can, in the eyes of the Church, use an Augment, and not sin, though the dilemma with the older priests is such that those who use Augments who have been bred for sex, trouble those elder priests to the point that often, the nuns must enforce expiation of sins, so the priest can be cleansed and really, the matter hushed and thought of no more. 

Some Augments serve in the government as mathematic savants, or in place of computers, where computers are no longer trusted. Others of us serve in enforcement, in areas where it is too dangerous, too risky, for true humans. 

And some of us, such as myself, serve for sex, and for that purpose alone, as alleviation of stress and expiation of sins, so that priests can minister to true humans, while the nuns tend to the torment of the unholy Augments.

I was bred for the purpose of sex, and as I grew up and was trained in my arts and given an education of the highest degree, priests and on occasion, nuns, would visit the Center, to observe, to make suggestions, to make requests. I remember, with the excellent recall of an Augment, the priest who began to visit more often, who, it was said by our trainers, was selecting Augments for what would someday be his diocese. Our Center was on the continent that used to be North America, towards the northern area, before the great deluge ripped apart the arms that held North and South Americas together across a canal. The two no longer touch and indeed, that canal no longer exists, swamped with the rest.

I began the habit of keeping a journal while I was in my 12th year of education and training at the Center, and I have kept one to this day. Since my free time is my own, I am allowed to keep my journals, so long as I not give names or indiscretions that would reveal too much of the true humans. So I have called the young priest Father Michael, for the great archangel who held the flaming sword at Eden's gate, because it was Father Michael who eventually caused the great uprising of Augments, and who knew there were more of us than was ever told to the true humans by their governments? Certainly not us, so it was a great step of faith in the end for us to risk ourselves. But that is later, much later.

Three of the priests specifically requested an Augment who looked small, so I was bred to be no greater than 5 feet in height, and tiny, though I am strong and supple and very flexible. My hair is jet black, so black that in the morning sun, it almost seems to glint with blue and purple, but I do not change the color of my hair with dye. That is only for the Church to do, in my case, or Father Michael. My eyes are purple, a deep violet, like pansies, Father Michael told me once, and I smiled. My breasts are high and firm and very full; my belly flat and tiny; and I have an hourglass shape to my body that is not exaggerated, but is pleasing to the eye of my owners. My skin is cream and fair, with a faint blush to my cheeks; my eyes have a very slight slant, as that was considered to be more alluring by those who bred me. My cheeks are high, though not sharp. I have a small mouth, even teeth, and perfect vision, though of course, an Augment is perfect in body, if not in spirit. 

While I was trained and taught the ways of many ways of pleasure, to give and to receive, to be innovative and creative in the giving of pleasure, I was also implanted, as is the way for nearly all Augments. All Augments, of course, have the implant at the base of the neck, for control; it would not do for an Augment to refuse an order or an assignment, or to question their roles. It would cause disorder and strife, and since the great wars and the deluge, order is all. Order is everything.

The Church – indeed, all churches, all religions – had had its problems for many years, having sex at times with those who, since I must be careful in my wording in my journals lest I not be allowed to write them any longer – those individuals who were not willing to have sex, or unable to choose sex for themselves.

Augments, though...Augments have no souls. We must be of legal age, yes, before the transaction can be finished, the purchase made. But once made, we are the property of who or what company, even, has bought us. 

Since I was bred for the purpose of sex, I was kept with others, male and female, who were being trained for the same purpose. Part of my day, as I grew, was education in classics, literature, music, the arts. Not all who wish for sex choose to have it with an illiterate oaf. The rest of my day was dedicated to physical attainment, strength, flexibility; yoga and methods of studying ancient ways of pleasure, the understanding of true humans and their anatomy, how their bodies received pleasure, or pain. Early on we learned that there are many who enjoy both, and who enjoy giving both. So we were taught to receive and to give, as our future owners might wish. 

Others at our Center, in different buildings, were given additional implants to help with memory, calculus, meta-human abilities to take the place of computers, for instance, since those caused great trouble and lost much trust in the old wars. It is easier to terminate an Augment who can walk and retain information as your computer, than it is to stop a network from carrying out orders, once it's been hacked. 

Those at my building, including myself, were implanted for pleasure, for greater stimulus and ability. I have small rings piercing my nipples, for instance, but there is a small prong from those rings that is embedded into extra tissue and – material – in my breasts, to keep my breasts aroused, to keep my nipples tingling at the slightest touch when I signal it, so my nipples will enlarge and swell in a manner that is most pleasing to my owners.

I likewise have a piercing through my clit, that runs the length of it to the outward view, and on either side of my clit, in the tender flesh between the joining of my legs and crotch, I have two additional piercings. But beneath my skin, they are joined and embedded in a heightened, increased set of nerves that true humans do not have. The clit piercing, for example, has three prongs; the middle prong is longest and is meshed directly with the vital nerve that runs through my clit. Two smaller prongs run to each side, joining the smaller piercings, and together they link and intertwine with added nerves and blood sacs, so that I am able to sustain orgasms far more often, far longer, than would a true human. When we first received these, our instructors demonstrated with the Box, one by one for each of us, how this would feel. I do not think any of us survived that first demonstration, or even the next dozen or more, without fainting from the brain-throbbing intense pleasure that went on, and on, and on. It took great skill and training to endure this without fainting, but now I am able to take intense rounds of pleasure or pain or both, and not shame myself or my owners. I can also heal more rapidly than can true humans, something most Augments can do. For some reason, this only causes the true humans to fear us more. I don't know why.

My owners. Yes. I knew when Father Michael began to visit more and more, and single me out, that I would most likely be theirs, and one day I was told by my instructors that the Church had bought me. I had just finished the Kama Sutra yet again, so I was flushed and happy. I was glad that I would be going with Father Michael, though he was not so young any more, though possibly in his early 50's by now. I would not ask him, of course.

I was given clothing appropriate for my new station, last minute instructions, and told to report back to the Center in six months for "fine tuning" and any adjustments which my new owners might require. Credits changed hands between the Church and the Center, and an old nun, whom I would learn was far stronger than she looked, drove me from the Center, my only home, to my new home, though it is foolish for an Augment to think of new owners as being a home. It is a job, and owners, nothing more.

The nun, who turned out to be the Mother Superior, drove the entire time with either her lips pursed and an angry look on her face, or else she would snap at me and give me directions on what I would be doing.

When we arrived, the view was very beautiful. The Church sat on a hill that had once been part of a great city, they say, and looked out upon the ocean now, though long ago the ocean had been much further away. I found that hard to believe, even though I had studied this very thing. I carried my own bags; Mother Superior huffed at me and began walking away, so I picked up the two bags and began trailing after her. Being an Augment in my case does not mean enormous strength, though there are those of us who are bred for such a thing, but I still managed to carry my two bags into the hallway of the priests' home.

I knew that I would not live in their building, but it was very beautiful and of course, fairly new, having been completed a dozen years or so before. So many churches of so many religions had been destroyed in the old wars. When churches rebuilt, or at least in the case of this Church, they had gone back to old style fortifications, with embankments and great walls that surrounded the buildings as well as the Church itself, so that never again would Churches be destroyed in the night. I scoffed at that idea, but only to myself. Whatever man builds, man can destroy. I shrugged and followed Mother Superior further into the hallway. She introduced me briefly and very curtly to each of the priests, who looked on me with interest, as I did them, and then we scuttled down the smooth cool hallway towards the nuns' building, and then to my quarters. 

Sister Bernice and Sister Agnes were told to examine the clothes I'd brought with me, and to explain my duties. Here the old nun looked at me with great venom and called me "a wicked child," though as I said, I am of legal age and a woman, and certainly no child. 

"Don't worry, she calls anyone younger than her a child," whispered Sister Bernice, and I smiled at her. The young Sister seemed flustered, though, at becoming too friendly with an Augment, and one bred for sexual expiation at that, so she stopped smiling abruptly and snapped her fingers at Sister Agnes. We put my luggage on my small bed and opened the cases and began to examine the clothing. Sister Bernice had sent a list ahead to the Center, so I had most of the items needed.

I had thought that I might walk about and learn of my new home, or at least gain a feeling for my new surroundings, but already Father Michael had requested that I go to him that evening, so the two nuns were in a rush. I stripped and they examined me, marveling at my smooth skin and the lack of hair on my body. It is easy, though, for an Augment to have this trait bred into them, and long ago this priest had required that I be hairless in my pubic area, and so my genes had been Augmented for just that. Sister Agnes later confessed to me that she, as had many other women, gone back to old styles of not shaving because of the great loss of metals caused by the old wars; even the old razors were too expensive to warrant every day use now except among the very rich. 

This seems a little foolish to me, because it is an easy matter to inject a genetic marker to manipulate one's body hair, and so I was hairless except on my head, my brows, my eyelashes. It was not a great marvel to me. I shrugged and removed the rest of my clothing and changed while the two nuns watched, fascinated.

This first piece was the biker style clothing, a fantasy ensemble that had been deliberately specified to be in my wardrobe, so I decided that this first night would be a good time to use this outfit. 

It was real leather, not fake, and the nuns timidly stroked the pieces of clothing before I put them on, amazed at such things. Very little true leather or fur now exists, and I had both. They are necessary for a sex Augment to own, and legal for me to have, and the nuns took great pleasure in examining and delighting in touching the furs and the leather. I told them that more trunks of clothing and items would arrive the next day, and that I would welcome their assistance in unpacking. They were very happy with this opportunity and assured me they would be ready to help the next day. The bells rang then, and they scurried away to their prayers, and I finished dressing in the peaceful silence. 

I had only ever seen Father Michael through windows at the Center, and spoken to him by means of the vidphones or when he came to visit, so this would be my first time to be with him privately, in person. I smiled at my thought, "in person."

Emilie at the Center was an Augment gifted in matters of clothing. You had merely to describe an item, give the briefest of instructions as to what you wished, and she was able to immediately see the plan of the outfit, down to how many inches of precious materials she must cut in order for it to fit perfectly.

The chaps I wore fitted snugly on my hips, and I loved the short black leather boots with their squared heels. The short biker jacket was black leather as well, of course, and had a pleasant puff in the top of the sleeve that seemed feminine to me, which pleased me. I decided to wear my hair in a long ponytail, as I did not know how my new owner would prefer me to wear my hair. It would be easy to remove the band, and let my hair be long and loose, or to quickly wind it on the top of my head and secure it, as he pleased. I applied makeup, careful to give enough color that it was noticeable, so that the Sin would be obvious, yet not so much that it would be a shock. I recalled one of my instructors telling us, "subtle is better, many times."

A novice knocked on my door just then, and I glanced in the long mirror, another luxury, nodded, and then followed her down the great hallway, to Father Michael's rooms.

His rooms were in the building with the other priests, but being the highest level of priest there at the time, he had his own quarters and did not have to share with others. He had a room that looked out on the ocean, and the windows were open when I entered, bringing in fresh salt air and pleasant smells. 

He greeted me and we spoke for a short time about my duties, though I had been taught these at the Center, and again on the way by Mother Superior. But he was my owner now, or the Church was, so I listened with great care as I had been taught to do, and with great politeness, asking only one or two questions to show my interest and attentiveness. 

Eventually he sighed, smiled, and asked me if I knew about the Sin, and I said yes, but he seemed not to hear me, or else this was part of it, so I listened again with great care. 

"Since the Pope decreed that Augments do not have souls, and to alleviate the suffering and grief of millions of Believers," Father Michael began, sitting in a great chair and swinging it gently to and fro as he spoke, "the Church began to buy Augments for the expiation and alleviation of the Sin." Here Father Michael lit a pipe, another great marvel and surely frowned on by the Church these days, though I knew of no papal edict against smoking. 

He puffed on his pipe for a moment as I sat on a stool by his feet, watching, smelling the rich smoke. It was not true tobacco, of course. It was an Augment of sorts, like me, without the cancer-causing ingredients it used to have. I mused that it must have been something Father Michael did as an indulgence, or maybe it was soothing to him? for I noticed that his hands shook slightly at times during his little speech to me.

The Sin, as the Church began to call it, was when any priest or nun felt the need to void their celibacy; when the human came through the veneer of priesthood, for instance, and the human urges for sex, for orgasm and pleasure, for pain if need be, craved attention so much that the priest or nun could no longer deny it. Then, the Church had decreed, if that priest or nun felt the need, rather than turn to a human, who had a soul, which would be an unthinkable breech of celibacy, the Church stated that why, an Augment could be used, instead, as we have no souls and I suppose do not "count." 

But since a priest or nun is a true human, and commits the act of sex, the act must be punished. And so at the Center, we had learned of punishment and pain, too, for the Great Expiation of the Sin, as it was called, would come later, so that we stood in the place of the priest or nun, and took the punishment for them, yet cleansed them of the Sin. 

To me, it was a little strange and perhaps ironic, but the system had begun to work, and the Center was never one to shy from great sums of money. So Augments bred for sex and expiation had been created, and here I was.

There was another female Augment for sex at the Church, I learned that night; Alanna, staying in quarters two doors from my own. A male Augment, Dylan, was in the rooms between ours, so that if we needed our own relief, we might be with each other. We could not have sex with a true human, unless it was by their wishes, their decree. Among ourselves, though, was another matter.

I nodded, asked a question or two as I had been trained, and I stood eventually as I spoke, and in a few moments my arm was curled about the neck of Father Michael, and he was fondly patting my hip. His pipe went out, and he seemed to start, realizing the passage of time. 

This first time, he chose for us to be alone, and I was grateful for that, as I did not wish to make any mistakes. I had been perfectly trained and had perfection mental retention, of course, but an owner, being a true human, may suddenly desire something new, or change his ways on a whim, so it was wise to be careful and to know the owner well.

The Curing Room, as it was called, was next door to Father Michael's bedroom, so we stepped through a door in his room and into the great Curing Room, so that there was no need for us to be in the hallway, and again I was grateful for this small kindness on his part.

He showed me about the room, and I explained the nature of my outfit to him, its small hidden treasures. We examined a beautiful lacquered cabinet from China that was in the center of the room, with various drawers and two fine strong doors. Having exhausted our examinations and explanations, Father Michael smiled and, I saw again, his hands shook slightly, and he noticed my glance. I at once turned my head so as not to embarrass my owner, but he smiled and said, "No, it's all right. Never fear to look me in the eye. Give me your word on that," and so I did. He was nervous, he said, and the body excited. I later learned that he was 54, and that he had waited, upon learning that the Church had purchased me, for nearly a year since his last expiation of the Sin, so I was flattered for his wait.

He rang a small bell, and immediately two male novices entered and quietly shut the door behind them as they came into the room. For this first time, Father Michael wanted, as he put it, "the simplest means," so they laid me on a beautiful bed at the back of the Curing Room, the room which cures the true humans of their urges, and the two novices took the small hooks that were on the black bands around my wrists and ankles and clasped them to the four bedposts, never speaking a word to me nor indeed, looking me in the eye, though I did notice the one named Peter eagerly looked at my body several times, when he thought I did not see.




Expiation



Father Michael shooed them out of the room, and then he stood by the bed for a moment, looking at me with a smile, and I smiled back, remembering his order for me to always look at him. He slowly began to undo his cassock, letting it fall open. Then, recalling my instructions, he leaned over me and slowly unzipped my jacket, opening it just as slowly, causing the soft leather to brush against my nipples. I took in a breath at that and waited, looking at him; he nodded, so I gave myself the mental command and stimulated the prongs that were embedded in my nipples, and felt them begin to slowly swell and tingle, sensitive to even the air far more than would be that of an ordinary, true human.

Father Michael sat on the side of the bed for a few moments, enjoying my breasts for a time, playing with them, stroking them gently, and it was difficult at times to keep my eyes on him, and he laughed ruefully when he realized this. 

"Do whatever feels natural to you," he finally said, and with that, I was able to relax more and enjoy the sensation of the calluses on his large fingers, stroking the soft but firm skin of my breasts, moving up to my nipples, as he marveled at the rings in my nipples.

"Did this hurt? When they put these in?" he asked, and that surprised me, for no one had ever asked me this. I do not know if anyone has ever asked any Augment this. I assured him that I had anesthesia and no sensation when it had been done, and he nodded, satisfied. 

He began to reach for my pants, but I gently reminded him of the Stim, and he nodded and picked up the small blue tablet and the glass of water from the table near the bed, and swallowed the Stim. I knew that in a few minutes, he would feel the vigor and strength of a young man, and he knew it, too, and smiled and playfully pulled a strand of my hair. 

The pants were a marvel, thanks to Emilie. The crotch completely unsnapped and came free, leaving me open to view and exploration. I gave myself the mental command to activate the prongs in my clit and crotch, and felt the added nerves and additional blood sacs that true humans do not have, begin to sing in me. I moved a little on the bed, and looked at Father Michael's eyes. They were pink-tinged now, and in another moment or two, they would have the red film of the full Stim. He abruptly stood and pulled off his cassock and clothes, and his penis was erect, waving a little as he moved so briskly around the bed. He tightened one of my restraints a little, saying that he preferred to have me stretched very tightly, my belly sunk in with tension, and I made a mental note of this. I would recall it next time with ease.

The bells for prayers to end rang, and I knew this would mean a double expiation for me, as he had missed Mass, but his need was great, and his eyes were filmed with red now, and his penis engorged and huge. Even lying on the bed, I could see it throbbing, moving slightly like a snake that is arching and moving its way to find its prey.

He fingers the piercings at my clit for a moment, stroked one of the smaller piercings to the side of the clit, then grunted and flung himself onto the bed and between my legs. His body pressed on mine. He is a tall man, and has missed few meals, though he is not overly fat. He is fully a foot taller than me, though, and most likely some two inches beyond that. His penis had the oversized bulging effect of the Stim, and in spite of many tests and much training, I was small and narrow in my passage and always would be, thanks to my Augmentation. I gasped as he entered me and clinched my eyes shut for a moment, for he was very large and very aggressive and very, very anxious to be inside me. He thrust and jerked, pushing inside me, pummeling me really, as I lay helpless on the bed. I could not help him since I was restrained, but he needed no help and enjoyed himself twice more before the Stim began to fade. Some will take another Stim tablet then, but he was sparing. Maybe it was a religious thing, for him. I am not sure, and did not ask. 

I was bred to orgasm at the slightest touch, or to hold an orgasm and sustain it far longer than could an ordinary true human, and my training had been extensive. I could ripple and tighten the muscles of my body around his penis and hold it like a cocoon, increasing his pleasure and mine, and the ripples and throbbing of my own orgasm sustained, and sustained, and sustained, and they could hear the cries of pleasure out on the lawn, a fact Mother Superior told me later that evening.

After a time, Father Michael was satisfied and lay on top of me for a few moments, panting, and I could feel his heart beating against my chest. He pulled himself out of my body and kissed my forehead once, gently, and then left the room into his own room, ringing the small bell as he left. The two male novices entered, leaving the door ajar; there were several, male and female, who paused or craned their heads to look into the Curing Room as they passed, having heard the cries and moans of pleasure and orgasm that had come from there moments before, and more than once.

Peter was very impressed with me, but his fellow novice, whose name I learned was August, scowled and unclipped me from my restraints. Peter pulled up his pants for a moment when August left the room briefly, shouting at some novices to stop gawking, and Peter offered to meet with me later. 

"Only in the Curing Room," I said firmly, and he looked angry and pinched one of my nipples fiercely before he finished removing the last restraint. I had forgotten to stop the mental commands, so it hurt, and I bit my lip. Peter took great pleasure in my pain. Peter, I would learn, took great pleasure in anyone's pain.

The Sin having been committed, it must now be paid for, so I was now ushered down the hallway between Peter and August, who said not a word to each other or to me, and we made our way to the Mother Superior's office. 

To show that the Sin had been committed, of course, they had left the crotch open on my pants, and my jacket unzipped, so that my breasts were bare as was my crotch. All who saw us knew that Father Michael had done the Sin, though in a way acceptable now to the Church. The two males bowed to Mother Superior, then left me standing in her office, and shut the door behind them.

I stood still, my hands by my sides, and she asked me formally if the Sin had been done, and I replied just as formally that it had. She then rang her own small bell, which had a tinny sound, old like her, and two of the older Sisters entered her office, saw me, and likewise frowned at me. Neither had the great anger in their eyes that Mother Superior had, however.

We three followed Mother Superior down a short hallway to the Expiation Room, which was of nearly the same size as the Curing Room, and in some ways had much the same equipment, though for different reasons. Now I would take the place of Father Michael and expiate his Sin, so that he would remain pure, though his body was now satisfied and at ease, and he would not lust after some unsuspecting parishioner or act on it. So went the theory.

Mother Superior lost no time in making it clear that she wanted me to understand from the very first how much she detested these new ways, though they had been around legally for the Church for more than two decades now. She hissed at me and told me to strip, which I did, and the two Sisters pulled me to the center of the Expiation Room, to a padded bench that was heavily curved in the center, like an elongated upside-down U. Having seen and used one of these before at the Center, I asked if I should lie face down or on my back. My ankle and wrist buckles remained on me, would always remain on me when I was in the presence of true humans. Mother Superior snapped that I should lie face down on the bench to begin with, and I did so, calmly and with the dignity of my trade.

As I wrote earlier in my journal, Mother Superior was old and gnarled but had a strength that belied her age, and I learned that strength that night from her hands. Unlike Father Michael, she did not choose to dismiss her two assistants but instead had them to watch, even to assist if need be. 

I lay on my stomach lengthwise on the curved, padded bench, and the two Sisters quickly snapped my restraints. I was naked otherwise. Mother Superior did not care for their work and unsnapped the clips, told them to adjust me here and there, then she moved apart the sections of the bench, and I saw that while it was stable and firmly attached to the floor, it had segments that could be moved, then locked into position. To that end, I was lying face down on the bench with my belly hugging the great wide curve, my bottom up in the air, and my legs now spread outwards to each side, with those segments now locked into position. My arms had been stretched forward and were clipped again to the restraints. Mother Superior intoned the formal words, asking again if the Sin had been committed; in a slightly muffled voice, I replied that it had. She then intoned the litany that I had tempted Father Michael, against his will, and in spite of my having been restrained to the bed, she repeated aloud the ritual words that were required, that I had subdued him, tempted him, and forced him to commit this Sin. She then formally asked if I would accept expiation on his part; I said yes because what else was I to say? And besides, it was part of the ritual, the requirement.

Mother Superior was a bitter, angry old woman, I decided, who hated and despised the ways of the Augment, the Sin, and the Curing Room, but who thorough enjoyed the Expiation Room. I spent more time there than I had with Father Michael, and with far less pleasure, though the old she-goat made certain that I had some pleasure, so I would associate it with pain, and with her. 

She took great pleasure in showing me a ruler first, shaking it as she leaned down, telling me how wicked I was for tempting poor Father Michael, a man twice my weight or more and far taller than me, who had had me restrained to a bed for his pleasure, but it was, nonetheless, my role and thus my fault, and so I took the expiation for him, and agreed that I had tempted him. She stopped shaking the ruler in my face then, pulled up a chair beside the bench, and then began to smack the ruler against my bare bottom with long, hard, very sharp whacks. After a few moments, she ordered me to mentally command my implants to stimulate, so I realized then that she knew far more about me and my abilities than I had known. I obeyed, though, and made the mental commands, and now as the old witch used the ruler on my bare bottom, spanking it and spanking it, as my body jerked back and forth on the padded bench, my breasts tingled and were aroused, and my clit – my clit was on fire. I was actually getting aroused by the spanking! And she knew it. She spanked my naked bottom until the tears rolled from my eyes, though I did not sob aloud. She finally stopped, not even needing to catch her breath, and ordered the two Sisters to turn me over on the bench. There was to be more?

This time, my back was arched, my head downwards again, my arms stretched above my head and back, to the base of the big, curved bench. The small of my back rested just below the top of the peak of the curve, and I soon learned why. My legs, once again, were pulled outwards, though Mother Superior huffed and got up and rearranged the segments, pulling them further apart this time, then locking them into place and my legs with them. She angrily shook the ruler in my face again, and this time she smacked my breasts and nipples with the ruler until I cried out, both from pleasure and pain, and she was satisfied. I realized that was what she wanted, my pain, my true pain. 

I also learned quickly that she knew if I was not sincere, and it was worse for me if I tried to pretend that I cried out from pain, when I had not yet reached my limit. I learned it that very night.

When she tired of smacking my breasts and nipples with her ruler, she pinched the nipples for a time with her old fingers, then sat for a moment, tapping my belly lightly with the flat of her ruler. I trembled slightly, wondering. At last, she called Sister Agnes, one of the two assistants, over to her, and they whispered a moment. I wished that I had Augmented hearing, though perhaps it was best I did not. Sister Agnes walked across the room and I heard a metal door opening, then shutting, though I could not see. It was difficult to breathe easily in this position. Mother Superior laid her hand flat on my belly while she waited for Sister Agnes to return. 

"You tempted Father Michael, you evil, wicked child," hissed Mother Superior, leaning down to my face, and then she stood up and took something from Sister Agnes. "Make certain your commands are still on your implants," she snapped at me, and I told her they were. I felt her old hand touch my clit briefly, to test me, I suppose, but I was not expecting it and I hissed, sucking in air. My clit was obeying my command and the implants and prongs, and it was engorged and tender and throbbing. Even the lightest touch by the old woman's hand aroused me. Rather than being glad that I had obeyed her, though, Mother Superior became angry with me, or angrier, and yelled at me that she was "not of that persuasion," and how evil I was, that I was trying to tempt her now. I said nothing; it is not my place to say anything at this time. I simply waited. What else was I to do?

I saw a fast movement of Mother Superior's arm from the corner of my eye, all that I could see from my position, and I heard her grunt, but then – I felt the terrible sting of a lash, between my legs, directly on top of my clit and its prongs and over-stimulated, Augmented probes and engorged, added nerves, and I yelled out with the pain. But she did not stop, and she struck me again and again across the clit, the insides of my legs, my belly a few times. Mostly she concentrated on using the lash to hit my clit and the piercings. She paused for a moment, panting, and ordered me to increase my stimulant, and I did so, for an Augment must obey. I gritted my teeth and the tears rolled from the corners of my eyes, and my hands inadvertently tried to pull against the restraints, for it is natural for the body to want to defend itself. After a time, though, the increased stimulate from my mental command made the embedded prongs and added parts of my body begin to sing, and I felt the thrum and pulse of blood, my clit growing, the lips swelling, and she screamed at me upon seeing that, even though it was what she had ordered me to do. Very contradictory woman, the Mother Superior. It enraged her to see that I was becoming aroused, but she continued whipping my crotch and clit, the insides of my thighs, my belly, and then back to my breasts and nipples until I suddenly arced my back as much as possible against my restraints, holding still for a moment, quivering from the tension of my body, and I shuddered and cried out, orgasming. 

This was what the old woman wanted, of course, but it infuriated her all the more, and she snarled at me that I was demon spawn, whore spawn, a Lilith who embodied lust and temptation. She snapped her fingers and the two nuns rushed to her side, and the Mother Superior's head suddenly lowered itself to mine.

"Try this, Lilith," and she stood and jammed a smooth, large, cool metal object inside me, and laughed harshly. I heard the click, and felt the vibrations inside me begin, and I shuddered. Mother Superior stopped on the way to the door, turned, and walked back to me.

"You'll stay this way for an hour, whore. And you will not dare to stop the stimulant to your implants. Keep your implants stimulated at this level. I know you can do it. An hour. I am leaving the door open, so I can hear your screams in my office, and enjoy the sound, whore," and she turned on her heel and left the room, followed by the two agitated nuns. True to her word, she left the door open.

This was a very powerful vibrator inside me, I thought, but then had little time to think of anything else. Obeying my owner, I kept the mental stimulant of my implants at that same level, but this meant that my sensitivity was highly increased. I could not move. I could barely breathe. The restraints were uncomfortable, and my body stung from the lashes. I knew I would be healed by the morrow, perhaps into the following day, but this – the vibrator was very powerful, and then I lost all thought of that, and spasmed and spasmed again, my lips, my body, gripping against the cool metal thrust inside me, my body jerking and my body arching upwards at times as much as was possible, my nipples tingling like fire, my clit burning, all of me on fire, and the vibrator inside of me the most powerful I'd ever known, even from my training at the Center.

And so, for the first time since receiving my implants and prongs, I passed out from sheer pleasure, mixed with pain and the sting of lash marks on my body, my trembling, arching body, gathered around the cold metal that had been jammed inside me by an angry old woman who would be repeating this act of holy expiation again, and again, and again with me in times to come. I shuddered, orgasmed, and screamed out when I orgasmed again, my body gripping the metal and shuddering, and I blindly fought the restraints though I could not pull loose, my body naturally wanting me to reach down and pull out this torment, this pleasure, from between my legs, and I could not. Could not. 

I shuddered and screamed and moaned again, and again, and passed out.