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

by Coco Mingolelli

  Moving them away from the wall, Mallory sat with Dawn in her arms and pinned her again - this time with only a stare. "Your insolence is becoming tiring, Miss Rose. The sisters provoked me to beat you soundly for the whole woods party. It reminded me that I've been quite remiss in disciplining you for that adventure."

  Dawn blushed at the insinuation, and a sly grin spread across her face. Taking Mallory's face in her hands, she giggled. A game! "Then punish me. Spank me."

  Shockingly, her lover moved to oblige before she could insist that she'd been only kidding too, and Dawn bit her lip to stifle another giggle. After all - how much could it hurt? Mallory wouldn't really hurt her.

  While pulling Dawn forwards to position her across a thigh, Mallory pushed the end of the robe up past her waist. A loud smack echoed throughout the room as her hand administered the first strike. "Paenitet enim me esse peccatum - I repent for my grievous sins," she began, her voice rough even though she'd only just started.

  Dawn's fingers clawed the carpet. "P-Paenitet enim me esse peccatum," she stuttered, tears springing forth. Shite, it did hurt.

  "Mea Maxima Culpa – My most grievous fault," the teacher chanted before clearing her throat and laying her hand again. "Repeat, again!"

  "Mea Maxima Culpa!" Dawn squeaked, unable to control the quivering of her thighs. With each smack, shocks of pain bloomed into heat so similar to the one she felt when she came for the first time under Mallory's skilled hands. "Y-Yes, again!"

  "Purgatio erit per doloremmeum – My purification shall be through pain." Mallory kept going, though her hand must have begun to sting.

  How could it not? Dawn's rear was sore, and it smarted like hell. She screamed as Mallory dealt a final blow. "Purgatio erit per doloremmeum!"

  Her mouth hung open in shock as she felt wetness dripping down the inside of her thighs. Dawn had known that such actions could be considered erotic, but to actually experience it for herself was breathtaking, and totally strange. Laying face down over Mallory's legs, she breathed rapidly, her punishment soundly delivered. She reached back to grasp the instrument of her pain, and brought Mallory's hand to her mouth to kissed it. That would quell the itch for further spanking, Dawn hoped.

  "Good girl," Mallory whispered, her hand coming to rest upon the small of Dawn's back. "My my," she admired her well spanked bottom, "Your love of field hockey certainly has paid off."

  Dawn bit her lip again as she felt the tips of Mallory's slender fingers trail across the back of her thighs, traveling upwards at an agonizingly slow pace. A hand rested gently on the globes of her rear, caressing and soothing wherever it had struck.

  Before sliding off of Mallory's thighs, Dawn sighed at the sensations, and looked up at the woman's gloriously reddened face. It was probably that way from the exertion of holding her down, but that only made Dawn enjoy the sight more. Her body ached to be near, but it wasn't as if she could just lay across Mallory's lap all afternoon.

  Sensing what she needed, Mallory opened her arms up wide, and Dawn gladly tucked herself within the tight embrace. Humming in appreciation for the feeling of protection that blanketed her, she whispered her gratitude. "Thank you."

  The arms that held her jumped a bit with their owner's astonishment. Atop her head, Dawn could feel Mallory's strong, sharp chin move as she spoke to her just as quietly.

  "No, thank you," her lover responded. With a small sigh, she joked lightly, "I hardly think my Confession on Friday evening as ordered by Sr. Eileen will be half as nice. She knows you're here."

  Dawn threw herself back to bark a laugh, hooting and snorting as she stood.

  Whether it was from true delight, or anxiety at their rashness and precarious situation, she wasn't sure.

  _____________________________________

  Mallory entered the confessional under duress. Sister Eileen and several tittering novitiates that had collected Dawn’s things and brought them to her over the course of the week stood a few feet away, and she hesitated the urge to hiss at the teenage penguins.

  Sitting down, she unzipped her coat it before folding her hands primly across her lap. Fairly mortified at the entire situation, she sniffed and held her chin haughtily to combat the feeling. The wood partition rolled back to reveal the silhouette of Monsignor Flaherty – as if she couldn’t tell the man who had been one of her most closely held confidantes for over a decade. It was quite surprising however, as it certainly was not his shift for confession. Gritting her teeth, Mallory realized that Sister Eileen had called the big guns down on her, the meddling penguin.

  The Monsignor crossed himself, and with an irate sigh she did the same. Mallory began to recite what she knew by rote. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been…” she paused, her heart falling at the statement she knew needed to be truthful, “a really, really long time since my last confession. These are my sins…” Gulping and then taking a cleansing breath, she began speaking rapidly in nervousness. “I have partaken of the sins of the flesh. Ehm, twice? Twice; both fornication and impurity.”

  Fingernails digging into the wood bench of the confessional to steady herself, Mallory continued while the Monsignor listened on. “I’ve coveted something that was not mine to take.” Dawn’s innocence. A single tear rolled its way down her hot cheek. “I haven’t been good at attending daily Mass, making excuses for my busy schedule even though I know nothing is more important than my eternal salvation. I actually haven’t been to weekly Mass in a few months.”

  Her head rolled back to hit on the wood of the confessional as she spoke, and her voice cracked in equal parts sorrow and anger. “I find myself doubting, Father. My happiness is my sin, and it has been for years. How can I reconcile that?”

  Monsignor Flaherty exhaled loudly, and began to flip through his pages to look for a kind verse for the fallen angel he knew to be seated on the other side of the divide, but came up empty. “Some times, my child – the line between sin and happiness is difficult to ascertain. The evilness of the world seeks to envelop us in its foul embrace, singing songs of peace and safety. But there is no peace or safety there, daughter. It is merely an illusion to lead you into the darkness. Once inside, you’ll come to realize that love isn’t meant to hurt as it does when you feel the sting of sin when accompanied.”

  “But,” Mallory sputtered back, “It only hurts because it is sin. The actions themselves don’t hurt! Why must all in my life that is even remotely gratifying or joyful be a sin?” she demanded, a dangerously unhinged edge to her voice.

  “That’s something I’d like you to pray on, dear,” the Monsignor advised. “Along with meditating on your questions, give it up to God while reciting the rosary for peace to fill your heart. Four full rosaries along with the Twenty Mysteries, please. Your penance is to reflect upon the pain you’ve caused others in your sinful actions. Be at ease, daughter. All is not lost…” he attempted to gentle the seriousness of the situation. “Are you ready to make your Act of Contrition with me? Are you truly sorry?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Mallory blew out. She murmured her contrition along with the Monsignor. “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.”

  She bit her tongue then to punish it for lying. It was hard enough to draw blood, and Mallory relished the salty sting.

  _____________________________________

  Summarily refusing the sisters’ invitation for tea in their commons room, Mallory escaped through the front doors of the chapel. She scurried down the stairs, her lungs gulping in the air that smelled like trees and rain rather than wood polish.

  In the Jag, her forehead fell upon the steering wheel while her eyes slid closed. She’d been prone to panic attacks in her teenage years, after the horrible events that threw her entire life into chaos. Sweat rolled down her back from between her sho
ulders, and tears trailed a path down her cheeks as she gasped for air.

  The headmistress marched into the tiny garret that served as her room, as she had no way to pay for her education or boarding until she received her trust fund at eighteen. Fifteen-year-old Mallory held up her hands in pleading once she saw the instrument of torture that the vile woman held. She hadn’t brought a ruler with her, or even the paddle. It was the heavy wooden rod today.

  “You sinful little bitch! You think you can kiss upon the innocent lips of the other girls we’ve been entrusted with? You mean to take their chastity in recompense for your own being stolen, don’t you? Don’t you, you evil thing?” the woman bellowed, pulling Mallory’s hair with such a fury that there was a rip as some was torn out.

  Her hands shakily put the keys into the ignition, and she wrenched the car from the parking spot to drive onto the main road. Still, the memories continued their assault.

  “No, please! I didn’t!” Mallory squalled, being thrown around like a rag-doll by her hair. Her bearings were hard to get while being tossed like that, and she figured it must have been the Devil woman’s purpose in doing it. She couldn’t block the oncoming blows that way.

  Mallory’s stomach roiled. Her foot slammed down on the gas pedal so hard the tires began to squeal on the pavement of the highway.

  “Liar! Though I suppose it’s not surprising for an orphan. Did your heathen of a father never tell you not to lie before the Devil-sent robbers came to slit his throat and your mum’s for their sin of having you outside of wedlock?” the Headmistress mocked.

  Her hand shifted the car’s gears roughly as she turned down the lane to the cottage she called home. She sat a few minutes in the car to collect herself, jaw clenching at her inability to calm down. The world was beginning to blur behind the veil of tears that refused to stop.

  “I’m not lying!” Mallory cried, desperate to do anything to escape the woman’s wrath. It wasn’t true, of course. She had indeed kissed Bridget O’Cleary this afternoon behind the big oak tree. The headmistress began her assault wordlessly, striking at her harshly and without really aiming. One particular blow came to her face, and the crunch beneath the rod and bloom of blood in her mouth told Mallory that her nose had been broken.

  Entering the house on unsteady legs, Mallory’s heart jumped at seeing Dawn’s wide smile at her. The smile quickly turned into a frown as the sunshine-bright girl reached out towards her from the settee in the library nook.

  “Sooooo, how was confession? Mallory… are you alright? My God, they didn’t sack you, did they?” Dawn demanded answers in rapid fire, nervous energy rolling off her in waves.

  Unable to abide Dawn seeing her in such a state, Mallory turned to pound up the stairs and into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. Sliding her back along the door, she crumpled into a heap. Hugging her knees to her chest, the twenty-nine year old woman sobbed like the lost girl she truly was.

  The door wiggled a bit as it bore Dawn’s weight on the other side. She must have followed her upstairs, frantic to know what caused her such pain. “Mallory…it’s okay if you’ve been sacked, you know. I wouldn’t expect much else from the bastards. I have money... I think.”

  When Mallory did not respond, the doorknob jiggled as Dawn begged entrance. “Open the door, please? I can’t bear being locked away from you,” the young woman whined, scared but afraid to show it.

  Insolence replaced fear to make strength, Mallory knew. She didn't take offense to the whine, but she groaned at it. The rustling sounds of a moving body against carpet and the unlocking of the door met Mallory's ears before she realized it was herself moving. Once the door opened, it revealed Dawn’s triumphant smile.

  Ignoring the girl, Mallory crawled over to the bed and curled atop it, her back to the door. Undeterred by the action, Dawn climbed in immediately, and hugged her from behind.

  Mallory tried not to think about the trembles that skittered across her skin when fingertips ran tenderly through her hair, or when a kiss was pressed to her shoulder blade.

  “It will be all right, Mallory,” Dawn tried to pacify her. "Won't it?" Tucking a cotton throw over them, the girl snuggled even further into the crook of Mallory's neck.

  Closer, and closer she moved – it seemed that they could never be too close less than forty eight hours after their tryst, and the idea of the Dawn being anywhere but here was becoming unmentionable. The sun outside continued to set until their breathing evened out, cocooned in each others safety.

  _____________________________________

  In a dark, ostentatiously furnished office in London, Steven Rose steepled his fingers. Oliver Ulster entered, and hurried towards his desk, newspapers and files in hand. Placing them down, Oliver stood back and waited to be bid to speak.

  “What’s all this, then?” Steven rifled through the paper stack. He was bored, and the Ulster lad jumped to attention whenever he would snap. It was quite amusing to him.

  “Uhh, the research you asked for, sir…” Oliver answered quietly. “About Miss Mallory Moore?”

  Irate that he had to dig at the young man to get any straight answers, Steven brushed the files to the side and glared. “And, what did you find? Speak up, boy!”

  Oliver shuffled from foot to foot, but looked up with a grin full of cunning. “Lilith Mallory LaFey, nickname Mallie, was born October 1st, 1984 to Mr. James LaFey, of indiscriminate Native American and Louisiana French stock and Ms. Mia Christopoulos, heiress of the Greek gem-trader Paul Christopoulos and his English wife Evelyn. LaFey was born poor, but was a Rhodes scholar for his intellect. He and Miss Christopoulos met at university, and apparently she fell in love with the man for his activism against the maltreatment of tribal peoples in America and Africa. She hated her parents' business in the trade. As they say, the rest is history. ”

  He pointed at the sheaves of paper that were now scattered on the desk when Steven’s eyes widened at the joke. “Y-You’ll find a copy of her birth certificate there. When she was fourteen, there was an invasion into their summer home here in England. Robbers, apparently looking for jewels. Angry that they found none, they slit the throats of her parents and had their way with her.” Stopping to clear his throat, Oliver waited for Steven to catch up.

  Steven knew far more than Oliver should realize at this point, so he shrugged his shoulders and motioned for the lad to go on with the sorry tale.

  Nervous at his employer's obvious lack of sympathy, Oliver pulled at his tie before continuing. “Seems whomever had hired the robbers didn’t stop there. They murdered Paul and Evelyn the week next, hell bent on whatever they were looking for. Lilith was given over to the Middlesbrough Catholic Diocese Home for Girls in North Yorkshire after she fought her way through several foster homes that the Department of Children, Schools, and Families had placed her in. Quite the wild teen, rumor has it. Anyhow, she went to school at St. Augusta’s during the day. After receiving her trust fund at eighteen, she attended The Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. When she was in America, she must have changed her name to – ”

  “ – Mallory Moore. Her grandmother’s maiden name; how very original,” Steven interrupted. It was clear that Oliver was a mite bit unsettled by his reactions, so he sought to wrap this meeting up neatly.

  “Yes, sir. How did you…” Oliver interjected. "How did you know Evelyn's maiden name? I didn't get to that part yet."

  Pointing towards the door of the office, Steven used his harshest voice to reply. It was better the boy had a healthy appreciation for where his anger could lead to, and so today's revelations didn't particularly set him on edge. If the boy was stupid enough to challenge him once two and two had been put together, he would address it then. “That will be all, Mr. Ulster. You may show yourself out, and close the door on your way.”

  Doing as he was bid, Oliver exited the office, tail tucked with an appropriate amount of respect. Once the door had shut, Steven leaned forward to angrily shuffle through
the files, pausing on a picture of "Mallie" as a young teen. Those soulful green eyes stared back as if to mock him in their former innocence. She looked so very different as an adult; her nose once pert and perky was now aquiline and strong. Round cheekbones had sharpened into the relief of one who took themselves much too seriously. Her dirty blonde hair had either darkened to brown with age, or was dyed to disguise herself.

  Mallory’s parents and grandparents had raised a philanthropic stink about Steven's trading with African diamond mines all those years ago. They had wanted him to stop trading blood diamonds, and threatened to name his company as one participating in the exchange of the controversial goods. It pricked Steven's ego greatly. While the Christopoulos family had been his family's rivals in the business, they had always brushed shoulders in the same circles. Members of his family had even married into the Christopoulos family and vice versa, now and again through the decades.