The Complete Unrepentant (Gay BDSM Erotic Romance)

by C. M. Knox

  The priest caressed his face, held it there so close he could have closed the gap between them in a fraction of a second, could have brushed his mouth against the place where Justin had cracked his lip open grinding into the table. “Then you'll just have to come and confess, won't you?” he murmured softly.

  The youth smiled, and despite everything, Justin's face was almost predatory. “I'm not going to stop sinning, Father,” he said. “You'll just have to keep punishing me.”

  Father Burke let it happen, let the youth lean up and plant a shy kiss on his lips, felt the shape of Justin's devious little hellraiser's grin against his mouth... but only for a moment.

  “I suppose that's more or less how sin works anyway,” he observed. “Though I have a feeling it'll be difficult to find harsher punishments to inflict on you.”

  “You'll think of something,” Justin dared, his voice mocking. He slipped his shirt on and limped towards the door, wincing as the uniform slid against the bruises from his spanking. “Unless you want to just let me get away with it.”

  He grinned and slipped out the door without being dismissed, but Father Burke let him get away with it.

  Just this once.

  Sinner

  The rosary clicked through Father Burke's fingers in a rhythm as steady as a metronome, counting down the time in counterpoint to the huge old grandfather clock that dominated the edge of his little study.

  He was trying, with little success, to push Justin out of his mind.

  A week since the Incident, since the unrepentant delinquent had been hauled into his office for what felt like the thousandth time. A week of quiet, while the youth nursed bruises hidden by the conservative cut of the Academy uniforms, lying low.

  Justin had been good. For once. And God forgive him, Burke couldn't say whether that pleased him or not.

  His hand spasmed around the rosary beads, remembering the feel of impact against Justin's bare flesh, the way the youth's taut body had flinched helplessly under the blows. How foolish, to use the paddle for so long. The next time, he wanted to feel every tiny quiver, every minute tremor against his palms and fingers.

  The next time. What am I doing? Burke mused, unhappily. What is the point of punishment if all I want him to do is keep offending?

  The phone on his table chimed, breaking the quiet with startling violence. He plucked it up before it could sound a second time.

  “Yes?”

  “Father, I'm afraid there's a... rather urgent disciplinary issue that requires your attention.”

  “Sister Meriope.” He sighed, briefly entertaining the idea that his thoughts had summoned the call, but the truth was that he had been thinking of little else for days now. “What's Justin done this time?” He tried not to think of her as “the old nun,” but she had already been middle-aged when he'd been a student here, and that had been nearly fifteen years ago.

  The old nun took his assumption in stride. If she suspected what had gone on in his office, she gave no sign.

  “I think you'd best come down to the office, Father,” she said evenly. And was it just his imagination, or was there a bare hint of amazement in her voice?

  “All right,” he said, standing up and brushing the dust from his pants. “Have him wait in the office and I'll be along in a few minutes. You go on to bed.”

  “Yes, Father. I'll... leave them in your office.” The phone clicked back to silence.

  Them? But Meriope was already gone.

  Gird your loins, Father Burke thought, wrapping the rosary around his wrist. Time to face his own personal lion.

  Justin stewed in the office, a wash of stubborn defiance tinged just faintly with fear sloshing around in his stomach. Maybe I finally went too far, he thought. Maybe this time...

  The door opened, sending a crack of light into the darkened office as Father Burke gravely stepped inside. He flicked on the light switch, glanced at the youth in the chair, then went straight to the desk and poured himself a glass of scotch.

  “All right, Justin,” he said, his voice guarded. “What was it this time? Back to the childish pranks, or did Meriope catch you touching yourself again?”

  Justin swallowed hard. He'd been all fire and vinegar when he did it, relishing the thought of this moment... but now that it was happening, uncertainty was creeping in.

  He forced a cocky little smirk onto his face and waggled his eyebrows at the priest. “Forgive me, Father,” he said, “for I have sinned...”

  Father Burke was having trouble keeping his eyes up. All they wanted to do was drift down the tight lines of Justin's body, trace the places where the uniform bunched out or hugged in tight. Images leapt unbidden behind his eyelids, of that youthful man's body, the broad sinewy shoulders, the bunches of muscle in Justin's back that twitched helplessly when the paddle landed, the narrow curve of his hips. The dark place up between his thighs where legs met... the fragile opening into Justin that convulsed and flexed invitingly each time the priest's hands moved, separating buttock from buttock, spreading the youth open...

  He downed the whole glass in one go, set it down too hard on the desk. “Tell me,” he commanded, his voice throaty, forcing himself to meet the youth's stare.

  Justin's gaze dropped instantly, a hint of color rising on his cheeks, and Father Burke felt a flash of triumph. Still mine, he decided.

  Most of the students were in awe of him, or at least in awe of his office. They came into this place and cowered, and Burke could let them off easy – detention, suspension of privileges, the occasional suspension. Not Justin. When Justin came into this office, he came in ready for a fight. It was a fight that Burke could still win; even with Justin, the weight of his authority held some impact. As long as he didn't show weakness, didn't give the youth a chink in his authority.

  He had to stay in control.

  “I won't ask it again,” he said quietly. He didn't threaten. Justin had a habit of forcing threats to happen.

  “I've been... I've been bad,” the youth said. He held up a flash drive, finally meeting Father Burke's eye again, reckless and alive with daring. “Maybe you want to see just how bad.”

  Father Burke turned on the computer, let Justin fidget as his flash of defiance faded to doubt. He took his time inserting the drive, arranged the monitor just so.

  It had only one file on it, a massive video titled showtime.mpg, and Father Burke suddenly had a pretty good idea just what he was in for. Do I turn the monitor and make it watch it with me?

  He decided not to, chose to make the youth fill in the picture from his own memory. Justin was amazingly resilient to physical punishment, but maybe anticipation would get under the boy's skin more.

  The video opened with a familiar view, one that brought Father Burke's eyebrow up involuntarily in a way that brought that smirk right back to Justin's face and undid whatever progress he'd made that night towards dominating the younger man. It was a view of the office, this very office, angled from the door.

  Justin was sitting in Father Burke's chair, wearing his uniform. He'd brought it out in front of the desk and positioned it so that even sitting, his whole lanky form was visible in the frame.

  Text was moving on the side of the screen, part of the video. A screen capture, Burke realized. This is...

  The Justin on the screen reached back and fiddled with the mouse, the same mouse Father Burke had his hand on at that very moment, and a red light flashed in the corner of the screen and turned green. Video-Justin typed something for a moment, and then words appeared in the white box to the side...

  “im going on cam,” it said. “better open it fast.” A number appeared next to the green pip, just a low number, but as Burke watched it grew from five to eight to fourteen. “anyone like catholic school uniforms?” The number jumped abruptly, climbing past fifty.

  He glanced from the screen. Real Justin stopped biting his lip immediately, schooled his expression into serene defiance, but Burke had already seen that flash of weakness.

/>   Video Justin had turned back to the camera now, was playing with his tie. He loosened it, pulled it in circular shapes across his chest.

  The chat room text came alive with encouragement. “Strip!” they called, in their broken internet-English. “Show us your cock!” “God your hot.” “want...”

  Real Justin was looking at him with big dark eyes, unconsciously fiddling with his tie in an eerie echo of the video even as the bolder Justin on film slowly teased the buttons of his shirt open, giving his watchers the slightest views of pale flesh, the downy patch of dark hair that dusted his chest, the slope of young abs.

  “Take off your shirt,” Father Burke said, suddenly. There was something missing, something that should have been there.

  “Father Burke?” Justin was clearly surprised by this turn. Good, you little punk. Be on guard.

  “If you continue to make me repeat myself, I'm going to get angry,” the priest warned.

  Justin's hands rose wordlessly to his throat, opened his shirt. The other Justin was already stripped to the waist, his tie flapping against bare flesh.

  “Get on the desk.” Justin climbed hesitantly up. “No, lie the other way. Show me that bruise.” Burke pulled the youth into place by the armpits, spreading him out on his back under the light with his legs dangling awkwardly, his head lolling back into empty space. Burke pulled his shirt open, traced the dark line the edge of the desk had left across his stomach the week before, when the priest had forced him against it again and again from behind.

  It was already fading, the bruise paling day by day. But it was missing entirely in the video.

  “When did you make this?” Burke growled. “Obviously this wasn't just tonight.”

  Justin glared up at him, his arms pinned out like bird wings on either side of Burke's hips, and it occurred to him suddenly that the boy was looking up at him right past the growing swell in his pants. “Every night,” Justin gloated. “Every night. Since before that old bag caught me in the library.”

  The priest sat down again quickly, hiding his arousal, but when Justin moved to climb off the desk he grabbed the youth by the hair and yanked him back down into position, turning Justin's head to watch the video. “I think you should watch this with me.”

  The Justin on tape was sprawled out coquettishly in Father Burke's chair, one leg up over the armrest. He flicked his tie at the camera, lazily playing with his nipples.

  Father Burke watched, fascinated, as the viewership numbers rose, climbing past a hundred. How many people had watched this show, had seen the little hellion tease them with the temptation of his perfect flesh?

  Almost unconsciously, his hand was miming Justin's in the video, stroking the soft hair on the youth's chest, flowing over his hardening nipples.

  Justin lay on his back and stared up at the priest, his arms cramping with the effort of holding still, but the expression on Father Burke's face kept him cowed. Something in the priest's mind was shifting, whatever lingering perception he held of Justin as the quiet boy he'd once been sloughing off like a chrysalis and revealing the man within.

  Revealing the filthy cock-hungry whore within, he told himself, grinning fiercely. Burke was fixated, beyond help, hunger and revulsion and shame mingling openly on his face. Yeah, take a good long look. Look at the slut I turned into.

  Video Justin's hand turned, sloped down muscles that tensed pleasingly, and slipped under the waistband of his pants, bulging out the loose fabric in ripples as his fingers moved under it. He mimicked the motion, carefully, but Father Burke's attention was focused on the video and he didn't notice as Justin eased a hand under his own belt.

  Burke watched, entranced, as Justin locked eyes on the camera, staring out sightlessly from the monitor as the zipper on his pants slid down tooth by tooth, painfully slowly. He tried not to look at the scroll of the chat, tried not to see the words his pet delinquent was pulling from the fingers of dozens of viewers, but it was no use.

  “I've been bad, Father Burke,” Justin whispered, pulling him out of the video. He glanced down at the youth sprawled across his desk, followed the lines of his body down to where his pants opened in an inviting V.

  Justin's young cock was poking up from the divide, a hard pole of manflesh pulsing eagerly in the dim room, unknowing or uncaring about the consequences. Justin was staring up at him, breathing through his mouth like a dog, his hands clenched tight on his hips like it was taking a force of will not to reach down and stroke himself right there in front of him.

  Madness was roiling behind Father Burke's eyes. You... unrepentant hellion, he thought, helplessly. What are you driving me to?

  But he knew, of course. He knew exactly what Justin was waiting for, knew what the youth wanted.

  “You like watching me?” Justin asked, from the video. His pants were coiled around his ankles, pinning them together so his legs splayed out in a closed loop. His cock lay thick and hungry against his bare stomach, as hard and hungry as the pulsing flesh right there in person. Video-Justin played his fingertips across it, showing off, turning it to display every angle, rolling his balls around and arching his back out while his face stared out a challenge across electronic equipment and days or weeks of time to this moment, daring Father Burke to object.

  “Tell me, Father Burke,” the real Justin whispered. His hands tightened against his pants, flexing. “Tell me just how bad I've been.” Fingers drifted in, pushing through the dark patch of hair between his hips, grazing the base of his shaft...

  Burke's hand closed around the rosary beads looped in his pocket, clutching at their familiar weight, watching Justin touch himself in double-view. Video Justin was panting, pink tongue sticking out against his white teeth, pounding away with vigor and enthusiasm as the chat scroll screamed encouragement, but real Justin's strokes were furtive things, jerking up and down on his cock in short fast spasms.

  Father Burke was overwhelmed. He mastered it with effort, grounding himself, struggling to regain control of the situation. Without thinking, he reached down and plucked Justin off himself by the wrists, pulling them up behind the youth's head so far that Justin had to arch his back up against the desk to bend with the pull, his abandoned cock surging up high into the air like the mast of a ship.

  “Right in front of me, boy?” Burke whispered, his voice harsh, and Justin flushed red under him. “You filthy little bastard, right in my office?” His hands were moving independently, looping the rosary around Justin's wrists with a mind of their own, the beads twisting against each other into tight knots. Justin stared up at him, humiliation and anxiety driving all other thought from his head.

  The priest pulled down on the rosary and Justin was pulled further, until he was straining to stay in place on top of the desk. Just when he thought he couldn't stretch any further back, the rosary chain looped under the knob of a drawer, pinioning him into place like a butterfly splayed open across the desk. His cock flopped back and forth with every motion of his hips as he moaned and shifted.

  Father Burke was looking down at him with disgust and disappointment, and humiliation rose forcefully inside him even as his cock twitched and drooled precum, staining the fabric of his uniform pants where they still flanked his hardness.

  Burke watched impassively for a long minute, anger and lust warring inside him. Part of him wanted nothing more than to see Justin like this, shamed and humiliated as he should be. But that same part, deeply and secretly, wanted the youth to never stop. Wanted to find videos like this hidden like Easter eggs throughout the depths of the Internet, to catch Justin doing unspeakable things in public parks, to see that no-longer-virgin ass get torn open by man after man after man. Part of him never wanted to stop punishing Justin.

  And, confusingly, paradoxically, there was another part of him that whispered in his deepest recesses, a growing part that wanted to do nothing more than save Justin – not religiously, not in any way so familiar, but save him personally, to hold him in the night and whisper kind things in h
is ear, to see the delinquent graduate college and grow a family, to see Justin smile for some reason that had nothing to do with goading him.

  The two parts warred inside him, one wanting to beat the delinquency out of his ward and bring him to heel, the other wanting to soothe him and please him, to make him sigh with happiness instead of pain. And, yes, he had to admit it, to see that beautiful body spasm and groan and shoot lust out of him for no other reason than because seeing Justin come had brought him enormous pleasure.

  But both parts of him were in accord on this one thing. Justin had to be punished. Had to be punished briskly, and powerfully. He wanted to ride this horse, to bring them both pleasure that he had so long forbidden himself... but first he had to break him in.

  There was wildness in Justin's eyes as he watched this quiet drama play out behind Father Burke's impassive face. Lust was unmistakably overpowering revulsion, a lust that he welcomed and basked in almost as much as he feared it – but it was the determination that made him hard, that made his breath ragged and made his cock leak drop after drop of slick fluid down his pulsing shaft.

  Do it, he begged, deep in the quiet places in his own mind. Break me, Father Burke. Tell me how bad I am, stretch me out on your table and make me shame myself with my lust, beat my ass blue, bend me over and take me from behind like the rutting animal I am until I'm begging for mercy.

  But he didn't say that out loud. He hissed up at the priest, swiveling his hips obscenely so and sending tiny defiant droplets of precum splattering across the desk. “Like what you see, Father?” he challenged, goading. “You like seeing your little whore laid on your table, twitching and hard? Have a lick, old man. Tell me how I taste.”

  Burke's fingers closed meditatively over Justin's throat and the words trailed off, uncertainty taking hold again. “Quiet,” Father Burke commanded. Whatever doubt or confusion had momentarily basked in the priest's head had vanished. He maneuvered the youth's head, his thumb and forefinger jabbing up into Justin's cheeks until his lips puckered, pointing him back at the video.