The Destruction of Cadence Lux

Cadence said she needed therapy, but only The Pope could give it. Rougher than usual, she told him. She wanted the devil fucked out of her, and this was how she knew to do it clean. No slow build, no mercy. She starts standing, burlap sack over her head, legs spread wide, arms locked. The leather comes down hard and fast. No warm-up. Just heat, just pain. Her skin flares bright red, yet she laughs like someone already half gone. Next she is on all fours, a bowl of water waiting in front of her. The Pope shoves her face in between strikes, dragging her up choking, only to push her back down again. She is breaking, but he holds her there, riding the edge without letting her tip. Last position: she is locked to the fucking machine. Before he even lays a hand on her she starts to unravel. A long zipper bites into her flesh, then hot wax spills over the raw skin. The machine keeps working her cunt, steady and merciless. One sharp rip tears the zipper free exactly when she comes, and the sound that leaves her throat is pure pain. Tears streak her face, sobs shake her chest, yet every broken cry leaves her standing taller than when she walked in.