“Yes, Father. I regret them deeply and sincerely.” Her voice was soft and erratic beneath her sobs, but her words were clear.
“Then your contrition is sincere. Go forth and sin no more.”
She stood and smoothed her skirt over her scarlet cheeks. Her face was dripping with tears and her cheeks scarlet with shame. She kept her eyes demurely downcast as she walked back to the door.
“Don't forget your strap,” the priest said, holding it out to her.
“You keep it, Father,” she replied, her voice quivering. “I'm sure it won't be long until I sin again and need to suffer another harsh penance. I’m a slow learner.”
* * *
For three weeks, Father Luke lived in a fog. He felt like he was sleepwalking through his days. He could not stop thinking about Mary White's ass. In his mind, he replayed over and over how her tender white cheeks had bounced from the blows of his strap. His mind dwelt for endless hours on visions of the intimate parts that he had seen peeking from between her upper thighs. He imagined how soft those hairs would feel. He dreamed of caressing those plump dark lips. He believed that he could feel her slickness on his fingers.
He damned her for what she was doing to him. A man of God was supposed to be more self-disciplined than other men. She was showing him that he was still an ordinary man.
Performing the mass became an ordeal.
As soon as Father Luke mounted the pulpit he could not control himself. He had to scan the congregation, searching for Mary's pious face. He knew that she only attended the eleven o'clock Sunday mass, but he searched for her at the beginning of other masses as well, on the chance that she might have broken her routine and come to an extra service. When it was the wrong mass to expect her, then his heart was still pierced by disappointment by her absence, even as he knew that he should expect not to see her.
When it was the right mass, the eleven o’clock Sunday morning mass and he did locate her, he was unable to turn his eyes away. He preached to her alone, as though the rest of the congregation did not exist. As he spoke, he searched her eyes, trying to forge some deep spiritual connection with her across the gulf between pulpit and pew.
But it was the spirit of Lucifer, not of Christ, that forged a carnal, bestial connection. He lusted after her as avidly as any rake lusting after his favorite whore in a sleazy cathouse. It made no difference to Father Luke that Mary's husband sat only an arm's length away from her or that their two sons were seated between them. When Mary was in the nave, her family did not exist for the horny priest.
Mary's face showed no hint of reciprocation. She sat on her pew, knelt in prayer, and stood for hymns looking up at him with a bland expression as though nothing unusual had ever happened between them.
He mumbled his sermons, lost his place, and rambled on, spouting disorganized nonsense.
Not a single person complained. Not a single person approached him after a service and asked him what the hell he had been trying to say. He realized with wry dismay that nobody in the entire congregation cared about what he said from the pulpit. They did not even pretend to listen.
He prayed fervently that no one would notice his erection beneath his cassock and alb. He began resorting to taping his penis to his thigh with adhesive tape before he left his office. It was the only way the he could be certain that it would not tent his garments in front of his flock. When his cramped member became engorged by the sight of Mary, the pain served to further distract him from the business of conducting mass. He often had to rely on his alter boys to guide him through his duties.
Hearing confessions was the worst. Why should he care if Joe Picelli picked up some floozy in the Commodore Lounge and was afraid that he might have caught herpes? Why should he get upset if Nancy Pekedale found her son's stash and smoked some of his grass? And if Roger Quann was embezzling from his clients' retirement savings, that was their problem, not his. Caveat emptor. He was wrestling with sins of his own. If God couldn't be bothered striking those assholes dead on the spot, why should he worry about them?
The only asshole that he cared about was Mary White's. He had had a wonderful view of it while he was beating her behind. He wondered if her husband had ever sodomized that lovely tight rosebud. If so, he'd never admitted it in confession. The priest would have remembered that.
Father Luke wished that he could ask Mr. White outright, but he could hardly raise the issue without reason. “By the way, Roger, have you ever buggered your wife?” That would be quite the icebreaker. His only option would be to press him a lot harder for details about his impure thoughts and deeds the next time he had him in the box and hope that White would volunteer something interesting.
Maybe he should give a sermon on Sodom and Gomorrah and see if he could stimulate Mary to confess something more intimate than using indelicate language when she was driving on the freeway.
For three weeks, confessions were an agony because Father Luke strained his eyes trying to peer through the wooden screen every time someone entered the confessional, praying that he would catch a glimpse of Mary's lovely features; then strained his ears, praying that he would hear her delicate voice asking for his blessing. For three long weeks, he was sorely disappointed by every earnest, dull confessor who was satisfied to serve a penance of Hail Marys.
His blasphemous prayers were finally answered on Friday afternoon. His heart almost stopped when he heard Mary's sweet voice saying, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last confession.”
His heart began pounding so hard that he was certain that it was going to burst from the strain. He could barely speak; his lungs were bereft of air.
Mary recited her usual litany of venial nothings. The only item that held any promise was her confession that she had lust in her heart.
“Please tell me about that,” he stuttered.
“What can I tell you?” she asked. “I felt a surge of lust in my heart that was most inappropriate.”
“Were you lusting for a specific person?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Who were you lusting for?” he asked, his heart thudding audibly. He feared that he knew the answer already.
“For my husband.”
Father Luke was struck dumb for a moment. He felt his heart sinking in utter disappointment. Why was she not lusting after her priest? “You are married to your husband, right?” he finally asked, feeling foolish at hearing his own question.
“Oh, yes, Father. Roger and I were married in this church ten years ago by Father Peter.”
“God approves of physical relations between man and wife. You should lust after him. That is one of the joys of marriage.”
“Not the way that I was lusting after Roger, Father. The nature of my lust was sinful, even in marriage.”
“Oh. I see.” Father Luke spoke softly and cautiously. “It's true that the purpose of sex in marriage is for procreation and that there are some acts of a sexual nature that a man and woman may perform that cannot lead to pregnancy, but that does not necessarily make those other acts sinful in themselves. It's a matter of intent and context. Simply put, as long as a man and wife are loving to each other and engage in normal sexual relations most of the time, there is nothing wrong with the occasional deviation. A little variation is permitted for the sake of love. If a husband and wife are in agreement and want to experiment a little, that is not automatically sinful.” He let his admonition trail off in a way that he considered tasteful. This was not the first time that he had encountered this situation. He gave the same advice, word for word, to someone's husband or wife every month or so. Some older priests were more straitlaced but he believed that there was nothing inherently sinful in a husband and wife enjoying their physicality. He firmly believed that many marriages would be a lot stronger if more husbands ate out their wives’ pussies more often. And he preferred not to hear those stories in the confessional.
“We do those things, Father,” she answered with a hint of annoy
ance in her tone. “I'm not talking about going down on him. In my heart, I lust after him in other ways that are not so natural. Ways that are truly sinful.”
“What might those ways be?” Father Luke asked.
“I cannot bring myself to tell you,” Mary replied. “It's too shameful.”
“If I do not know the sin, then I cannot give you absolution for it.”
“I'm not asking for absolution, Father. I'm asking that you make me penitent. I'm begging you for it. The penance that you administered last time worked perfectly, Father. Did you notice that I had no sins to confess for three weeks? And that, this time, I did not have to confess to a single one of the sins that I committed last time? Every time I thought about committing one of those sins, I reminded myself that there would be consequences and I was able to turn my thoughts in another direction. You are blessed for giving me this strength. But now, I need further correction to improve myself more.”
“You want me to do the same thing again?” Father Luke' heart began skipping beats in anticipation of more thrills to come.
“Not quite the same thing, Father. The sin of abnormal lust in my heart is more stubborn than my previous sins and will require a more severe chastisement. I will prepare myself for the appropriate discipline and wait in your office after your last mass on Sunday evening.”
“Not my office. Go to the undercroft at nine o'clock. There is a room below the alter. Wait in there. It is more private than my office.”
“Undercroft?”
“A fancy name for a church basement.”
“Yes, Father. I will be there.”
He heard the rustle of the woman leaving the confessional.
* * *
Father Luke was never certain how he managed to stumble through the next two days. His mind was plagued by questions about what Mary might consider “more severe chastisement.” The two dozen strokes of the strap that he administered to her naked buttocks the first time had been severe by his reckoning. He had not stinted in their delivery. But, this time, she said that she expected more. He was aware of many different possible punishments but had no idea which one she would choose for herself.
The fact that she would choose her own method of correction was interesting in itself. Not asking for his recommendation suggested a lack of trust that he found vaguely offensive. He was a priest. He was guided by God. Did she fear that he would do something too severe or did she fear something not severe enough? Or did she fear that he would have no idea what to suggest?
That latter concern was ill-founded. In two days, he imagined dozens of different punishments that he would be happy to visit upon the lovely Mary's luscious body.
As soon as he could get away from his well-wishers after the last mass, he rushed down the stairs to the undercroft. It was a miracle that he did not trip on the hem of his cassock and break his neck.
When he reached the door, he paused for a minute to regain his composure. It would not do to appear unpriestly before his penitent.
When he pushed the door open, he found Mary seated demurely on one of the two rough-hewn wooden chairs in the room. A paper bag was sitting on the table near at hand.
This room had been used for extra storage but, after suggesting that Mary's penance be served here, he had cleaned it out. Then, inspired by the Medieval nature of physical chastisement and the natural setting of the stone walls and concrete floor, he had taken the trouble install some sturdy, rough-hewn missionary-style furniture: two chairs, a table, and a cabinet with a good lock. It gave the room the air of a dungeon.
He hoped that Mary was impressed by the effort that he had undertaken on her behalf.
As soon as he closed the door, she spoke, softly and demurely. “My sin has been lust, Father, so the appropriate penance will be the denial of sexual satisfaction.”
She stood and unbuttoned the front of her sundress. When she slipped it from her shoulders, she revealed that she was naked underneath.
Father Luke wondered if she ever wore underwear. He could not tear his eyes from her breasts. They were not large but perfectly formed. They made his mouth water.
Next she removed a metal and leather device from the paper bag. “This is a modern chastity belt. As long as I am wearing it, I will be unable to obtain sexual satisfaction. The metal shield not only bars any kind of penetration, but also protects the sensitive parts of my anatomy from manual manipulation. Small perforations allow the necessary bodily functions.” Her voice was flat and expressionless as she explained the function of the device.
As she spoke, she belted it around her waist and then threaded the metal shield between her legs to cover her sex. There was a flat lock where the three parts met half-way between her navel and pubic mound. Steel hasps fit into the lock with audible clicks that sounded ominously permanent. Father Luke did not doubt that the belt would stay in place until the key was inserted and turned.
She handed two keys to the priest. “These are the only keys to the belt. Please keep them safe. It might be best if you stored them in separate places. I will return to this room after evening mass, two weeks from now so that you can free me. The first part of my chastisement is, as I indicated, the denial of any sexual satisfaction for that period of time. It has been a long time since I spent two weeks without having an orgasm somehow.” She blushed when she admitted that. “The second part of my chastisement is that the device will soon become quite uncomfortable. I had to supply precise measurements to the manufacturer and they made it as comfortable as possible but, obviously, it cannot remain comfortable for long. It is rigid and intrusive and will become an increasing source of irritation. I expect to suffer some chafing as the days wear on. I fear that I may become raw in places if I am not constantly vigilant.” She looked longingly at the keys that the priest was holding. “You may be interested to know that I already feel pangs of denial and I have only suffered celibacy for a few minutes. Two weeks will be a long time.”
A thought occurred to the priest. “What about your husband? While you are denying yourself, you will be denying him as well. How are you going to explain wearing a chastity belt to him? What happens when he asks you for the keys?”
She laughed softly. “That is the third and most onerous part of my punishment. I cannot let my husband know that I am wearing this device. For the next two weeks I will have no choice but to satisfy his needs with my hands and mouth. I will have to keep him so sated that he will not ask to use my body in the normal way. I will minister to him with my tongue and lips morning and night with such enthusiasm that he will not think about doing anything else. If twice a day is not sufficient, then I will service him three times. Or more. Whatever is required to keep his mind off my sex. I will be giving my husband more oral service in fourteen days than most wives give their husbands in their entire life. That is a suitable penance for the sin of lust, don’t you think?”
His only thought was, Lucky husband.
Still naked but for the sandals on her feet, she approached the priest, walking with care, her legs slightly spread to keep from rubbing the insides of her upper thighs against the leather and metal shield. She took his hand and led him back to the chair.
He did not resist. After thinking nothing but lustful thoughts about this woman for weeks, he could not resist. The Good Lord did not give him the strength to resist.
As she sank to her knees in front of him, she said, “I know that I am putting a burden on you, Father. I feel that it is my duty to relieve you of some of that weight. It will also be my honor.” She brushed her hand over the rigid member that was pressing against his cassock, then began unbuttoning the garment.
God help him, he was powerless against her. He watched her open the lower part of his garments, unbuttoning and pushing them aside until his manhood was freed of its impediments.
She pushed him into the chair and then lowered her head and began licking and sucking on him.
After a few minutes, his groans rose to heaven as his seed fill
ed her mouth in powerful pulses.
She swallowed every drop and then licked him clean. Looking up at him with wide green eyes that feigned naive innocence, she said softly, “Do you think that will keep my husband so happy that that he will not think to ask for anything else?”
“God, yes,” the priest gasped.
“I'm not so sure,” she replied with an endearing smile. “It will be a challenge. I pray to heaven that I'm up to it. Don't forget to meet me here after your last mass fourteen days from today. And don't forget to bring the keys.”
As she left the room, she scooped her dress from the floor and slipped it over her shoulders. She re-buttoned it as she climbed back up the stairs.
Father Luke listened to her footsteps fade away. They were slow and measured. She was walking carefully to keep from chafing herself against the belt any more than necessary.
Her punishment was going to be her husband's delight. God willing, for the next fourteen days he would be receiving as many enthusiastic blowjobs as he could handle. And he would never know the reason why.
* * *
The following Sunday, when Mary attended mass with her husband, Father Luke could not stop staring at her again, but for a different reason this time. He was searching her face for some indication of sexual frustration. He saw nothing exceptional. But when he glanced down the pew to her husband, he saw utter bliss on the man's face.
Of all the people in the church, only the priest and the penitent knew that she was being forced to keep her husband contented because, concealed beneath her conservative pink tweed Sunday suit, a bizarre device was locked around her crotch.
Father Luke was exhausted from constant sexual arousal. He had not had a moment's peace since Mary had first asked for corporal chastisement four weeks ago. At this rate, he was going to die of lust himself. And, when he expelled his last breath, his soul would plummet straight to Hell.
Punish Me, Please Me Page 14
