Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  The hot breath and scraping of teeth on Dawn's neck was maddening, and her senses were on fire. "Yes, but... not fair," she whined.

  Temporarily abandoning her attentions elsewhere, Mallory turned Dawn's face towards hers. "Don't think I won't put you across my knee, young lady," she threatened playfully.

  Desperate to gain the upper hand, Dawn surged forward, hooking her bound wrists over Mallory's head and around her neck in an instant. She used the momentum and gravity of the movement to send them falling backwards until she was victoriously astride.

  Wriggling her wrists free of the satiny bathrobe tie, Dawn placed her palms on Mallory's chest and declared her intentions. "I want to fuck before I die slowly in a loveless marriage. How can I do anything to you without my hands?"

  Despite the proclamation, her blush rose up her neck and to the tips of her ears, giving away her nervousness. Her bare breasts glistened with perspiration from the moonlight peeking through the bedroom curtains as she began to move slowly and experimentally against Mallory, moaning softly at the sensation.

  There was little resistance from beneath her, as Mallory seemed perfectly content to lie there and stare for the moment, though her gaze hardened exponentially at the mention of Dawn's dying, or marriage, she wasn't sure which.

  Dawn picked up the pace of her writhing atop Mallory, who began watching her in amusement. She considered that perhaps a more gentle show of obeisance might spur the stubbornly smiling woman into action. "God, I want you. Please," she moaned. “Why are you smiling like that? Please!”

  With that simple word, Mallory seemed to lose her mind. She rose upwards in a flash to flip Dawn, and held her down. Roughly pulling the pair of cheeky pink panties down her thighs, Mallory ripped them from Dawn's body with one swift motion.

  Dawn bit her lip in determination. Two could play at this game, she decided. Reaching around, she grasped at Mallory's underwear as well, desperately attempting to remove the slip of black lace, and eventually succeeded with a satisfactory rip of the fabric. Sliding a leg around Mallory's waist, she cried out and lifted off the bed at the sensation of hot, moist skin against her own.

  Bliss began to fog her mind as she caught sight of their reflection in the vanity table mirror across the way: Mallory was grinding herself between her legs, and hooked Dawn's thigh up and around her slim waist. A pleasant kind of pressure began to gather in her abdomen, and Dawn leaned forward to cry out.

  She must have sounded scared, because Mallory stilled immediately. "Are... Are you sure, Dawn?" her teacher, cum lover asked, breathy sighs punctuating the thick air around them.

  "Yes! Oh god... Oh god, please," Dawn panted, fumbling her hands towards Mallory's dripping curls, only to have them intercepted and put above her head by the wrist.

  Mallory blew out a huge breath, and appeared to be convincing herself to be more gentle. Dawn doubted that the teacher thought her to have previously sampled the pool of other young ladies in the dormitories, as many of the school girls did. While that was true, Dawn didn't confirm the fact out loud. The last thing she wanted was for this to end on account of her perceived womanhood, or lack thereof. "I want you. Really, I do," she babbled.

  "Hush now," Mallory murmured, and ran a reassuringly heavy hand down her belly. Sliding a finger slowly into Dawn's depths, her thumb began to circle the swollen flesh just above. “You have to let me. I understand.”

  As Dawn felt her depths begin to relax, her lover added another finger. The feeling of being stretched open so reverently released a flood of warmth through her veins. A scream tore from her mouth as her back arched out of pure instinct, presenting her breasts to be worshiped. The keening was replaced by embarrassingly deep moans as she felt Mallory's mouth sucking and nibbling at her nipples and the pebbled flesh around them.

  Fire licked its way from a pool in her belly to wash over skin that felt too tight. It was as though she was going to burst from within, and if she didn't trust the woman pulling such sensations forth, she would have definitely been frightened.

  Minutes passed, and Dawn's voice became hoarse. She attempted to move her hips in the same rhythm that Mallory's hand was going, but lost it moments after gaining the correct speed. This was new. This was all new.

  Aiming her lips towards Dawn's ear after kissing her way there, Mallory tugged the earlobe lightly. Curling her fingers upwards in a come-hither motion, she whispered things that only the flutterings in Dawn's stomach could understand. The flutterings swelled to full on clenching, and Dawn stiffened at the sensation, her cries to the heavens becoming more and more inarticulate by the second.

  "Dimitte, Dawn… Release it. Let go."

  _____________________________________

  It was very early morning, and while frantically sorting through Dawn's clothing and toiletries in the dormitory room, Mallory cursed. What did eighteen year olds wear these days? What was necessary, and what wasn't? She'd been happy with two pairs of black jeans, an assortment of white, gray, and band shirts with alternating holes and slashes, and a leather jacket.

  She flinched at the memory. Here, she was now twenty-nine, wearing a Burberry walking coat over one of her multitude white button down shirts and black pants. At least one thing hadn't changed: she still wore boots. Though, looking down wryly at her Wellies, these weren't the kind she used to wear.

  Outside the room there rose quite a ruckus, and the sound of men arguing with a woman. The handle on the door began to jiggle.

  Mallory dropped the purloined items and stuffed them quickly underneath a blanket. 'Shit,' she cursed internally. Standing full height and adopting her trademark look of sternness, she waited with baited breath at who would enter.

  As the door swung open, Steven Rose marched himself in. The sniveling brat that was Dawn's fiancé Oliver and Sister Eileen followed him.

  Catching the sight inside, he roared. "And what is this? I told you she was missing, Sister! You tried to keep me from her room, and when we enter we find not Dawn, but some deviant rifling through her things. What kind of a school are you running here?"

  Angry at the accusation, Sister Eileen pointed at her "Deviant?! Why, Mr. Rose! That is our beloved Latin professor, Miss Mallory Moore. How dare you insult her?"

  Turning towards Mallory, she looked her up and down, her nose curling slightly. "Bit heavy on the perfume today, dear. Are you looking for Dawn, too?"

  A blush crept up Mallory's neck at the nun's offhand comment. She'd purposely sprayed the scent heavily; in her rush to get here before the rest of the staff, she'd foregone showering. Knowing that nuns could smell the stink of sex from miles away, she'd figured it was better to smell like a French whore than a whore, period. It seemed to be working, though she planned on being slightly honest with the other staff regarding the issue at hand.

  "Oh no, Sister Eileen. Dawn is at my home in the countryside. I found the poor thing wandering about the woods, frightened out of her mind. I think she was caught up in that party nonsense." She cleared her throat and attempted to look innocent.

  "Oh-ho! I hope you gave her a good tongue-lashin', Mallie!" Sister Eileen exclaimed. "I'll loan you a few rulers to break over her behind, if you need."

  The blush climbed to the tips of Mallory's ears, and she made a motion with her hands to close the line of questioning. "Uh, thank you Sister. No need for that; I've punished her as needed."

  Steven's eyes narrowed, showing he wasn't fooled. "And what purpose would bringing her to your home suit, madam? To beat her in privacy?"

  Malice burned in her gut as Mallory turned to address the brute of a man. Still, she kept her voice light and cheery... for now. "Why no, Mr. Rose. Dawn informed me that she was frightened for her life as we walked back from the woods. Something about being forced into an arranged marriage, and her poor innocent sister being held prisoner as some sort of bargaining chip. I thought surely she must have cocked up the craziness, so I brought her to my home for some tea to soothe her. Poor little beast, she passed out
right in her arm-chair," she finished with a tsk.

  Anger at the veracity of the statement spurred Mallory to circle Steven Rose, and Oliver. She knew that her expression was fierce, because the boy took an involuntary step away when her gaze zeroed in on them. "Imagine my surprise when I did some asking around and found her tale to be true! Can you just imagine, Sister Eileen? Surely the sisters and the Monsignor didn't know about this!" her voice strained in appalled shock.

  "Saints preserve us!" the nun exclaimed, clutching her chest. Glaring openly at the men, her hand came away to point viciously at them. "How could you, Mr. Rose! I shall have the Monsignor call the bishop, if I have to. Dawn is lucky that Miss Moore found her before you lot."

  Not one to be argued down, Steven pointed at the bed where a lump stuck out like a sore thumb. "And what was she doing collecting Dawn's things, hmm? Does Dawn plan to stay with your staff now?"

  Mallory spoke up quickly to shoot him down. "Yes, Mr. Rose. She'll be safe and happy with myself. The sisters will help me, I'm sure."

  "Indeed!" Sr. Eileen nodded curtly. "Out, Mr. Rose. Out of this sacred establishment, now!"

  To rub more salt in Steven's wounds, Mallory tutted next to the nun. "I'll bet this puny brat he meant to marry our Dawn to isn't even Catholic. Are you, boy?"

  Utterly confused by the chaotic conversation swirling around him or why his religious affiliation mattered, Oliver shrugged and answered truthfully. "No, I'm Scottish, so I'm a Presby."

  Sr. Eileen's resonant howl had Mallory grinning widely at Steven. Inside her mind, she imagined her inner child was dancing a jig.

  "Begone with you, sirs! Off the school premises, before I call Mother Superior to handle you, if you please!" the nun prodded them out the door.

  Turning back to glare daggers at Mallory, Steven sneered. "This won't be the last time you'll have to deal with me, Miss Moore! I will be seeing you very soon."

  Smirking back, Mallory retorted, "I'm sure, Mr. Rose. I'm very sure."

  Sister Eileen slammed the door on their astonished faces before throwing her hands up in irritation. "Mallie, get some clothes for her. I'll have a novitiate pack up the rest and bring it over during the week. Will this mean you're canceling Bridge at your cottage for this Saturday?" she parsed aloud.

  "No, no. Bridge is on…" Mallory reached forward to squeeze the tiny fireball of a nun's hand in solidarity. "I'll make those yummy butterscotch scones, too. Just make sure to tell the headmistress what's going on with Mr. Rose, and have Monsignor Bennett call the diocese anyhow. I feel like we're going to have quite the problem on our hands."

  Leaning forward, Sr. Eileen tsked. "We're going to have even more problems if you don't start showering. You stink of sin." Shaking her head, her lips thinned as she resisted smiling, or whacking Mallory upside the head. "Confession, Friday night. Be there."

  Turning towards the door, she paused and looked back. "Oh, and your scones? I want a dozen for myself, if you please?" she requested pleasantly before exiting the room.

  Mallory rubbed at her temples furiously, feeling a headache brewing. She should have known that the nun would realize what was going on far before an explanation had been formulated. She had known Mallory since she was Dawn's age. Eileen always knew – everything.

  Chapter 4: Innocentiae Furatus (Stolen Innocence)

  Dawn awoke with a start. Shy in the cold light of day, she sought the robe lying in a crumpled heap in the corner of the bedroom. Picking it up, she hastily covered herself before stepping out onto the landing. Her body was sore, but her heart glowed with satisfaction.

  Turning her wrist upwards, Dawn examined the stripes of bruising which matched the length of Mallory's fingers down her pale skin. Smiling faintly, Dawn descended the stairs wincing at ache in her upper legs. She wasn't quite walking like a cowboy from Hollywood movies, but her gait wasn't far off. 'Having your legs wrapped around a beautiful woman's waist most of the night must do that,' she thought with a snicker.

  Heading into the bathroom, she consulted her reflection and squealed. Mallory had ravaged her, and multiple hickeys adorned her neck, shoulder and chest. She couldn't go back to the school like this! The nuns would nail her to the wall; probably in front of the whole school as well to make their point and discourage anyone who might be contemplating similar behaviour.

  The strange, wheezy voice of their biology teacher Sister Dolores echoed in her mind. "Catch it at the root," was a favourite saying of the more conservative nuns at St. Augusta’s. Sr. Dolores was conservative to the point of refusing to elaborate on human sexuality and its possible genetic components when the class had come to it in their textbooks some months earlier.

  The girls were old enough to realize that this was likely due to the fact homosexuality was mentioned in the chapter and that their teacher would rather self flagellate with a rusty car aerial, refuse a tetanus shot and die like a martyr than talk about such an “abomination.”

  That lesson had been early in her stay at St. Augusta's. Angry that the subject matter was being ignored, Dawn had spoken up, and promptly assigned detention. As punishments went – and Dawn had been the recipient of many at the hands of her disciplinarian nannies as a child and teenager - it had been worth it to see the nun squirm.

  The worst nanny she'd ever had was Ms. Evans from their church. Admired by Steven due to her religious conviction and morals, she had been hired to mind Dawn when she was twelve years old. Discreetly given free reign by Dawn’s emotional terrorist of a father to administer discipline as she saw fit when her mother wasn't home, Ms. Evans regularly sent her into the cold dining room at the back of the mansion to “reflect upon her actions,” most of which didn’t constitute anything worth reprimanding.

  Often required to sit there for often over an hour, Dawn would shiver while trying to avoid looking out the French doors, lest she see some paranormal spectre darting about between the trees at the back of the vast property.

  That was when she began to know what it was like to truly hate someone.

  Over the next eighteen months under Ms. Evans's rule, Dawn’s mobile phone was confiscated and everything she watched on television monitored. Church became mandatory.

  One Sunday at church, there was a reading from the sacred scripture. “Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind, because it is an abomination!” the priest had boomed. “Defile not yourselves with any of these things with which all the nations have been defiled…”

  Outrage burning in her soul at the message that conflicted so vastly with the idea of a loving God, Dawn had fumed in her mind at the priest. She even remembered imagining that something might fall on his head, and stop his cruel fear mongering. The final reading that day was on Hell; that place of eternal torment, tears and misery, loneliness and desolation. Dawn had been there, she was sure.

  “Whomever continues to be closed to the Gospel is therefore preparing for eternal destruction, and exclusion from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might!” the priest had announced to those gathered. Dawn withered in her pew at that. She had grown to wonder if God actually had problem with whom she was attracted to, and wanted to believe in the idea of His love. At the priest's words, Dawn grew resentful, and came to believe that she couldn't rely on that God for anything.

  As she pondered the memories, Dawn wandered the cottage. Entering the living room where she'd fallen asleep in Mallory's arms by a blazing fire, her eyes fell upon the now dark and cold hearth. As she meandered to another room, it became apparent that her teacher had quite a fondness for all things Native American. Books lined shelves in the little alcove library on all manner of tribes, discourses on land claims in America, Huguenot and Creole traditions. Some of the books were in French, which rested next to Latin literature and poetry, interspersed with classics and older fiction.

  A beautiful leather knit and feather item hung from the window – a dream catcher, she reminded herself. Her fingers explored every manner of trinket on the windowsill. T
here were shells, pieces of wood, and even a small canning jar full of dirt.

  "Quite finished invading my privacy, are you?" Mallory teased from the doorway.

  Scrambling away from the earthly treasures, Dawn's first response was to give lip back to assert that she wasn't frightened, even though her heart hammered a stuttered rhythm. "You had no problem invading mine last night," she replied with attitude.

  Dawn held open a corner of her bathrobe exposing the evidence of their lovemaking the night before. "You left me looking like I'd been attacked by a starving vampire. I think I've earned the right to peek around." A challenging smirk followed her obstinate statement.

  With a dark chuckle, Mallory lunged and toppled Dawn to the floor. She clung to her, all flashing eyes, delirium, love and atonement.

  Dawn felt herself being lifted from the carpet, only to be pinned against the cream coloured wall. Refusing to give up quite so easily, she grabbed handfuls of silken mahogany hair before wrapping her thighs around Mallory's waist. It resulted in a delicious friction against the one body part she thought could handle no more, and she broke the kiss to moan aloud.