The End.
About Petra
A lover of cats and books, equally, Petra is an author of Dark Romance, including the best-selling Reverse Harem series, Saving Setora. Editor, wife, and mom, she lives in the desert of Eastern Washington, dreaming of thunderstorms and rolling, green pastures.
Also by Petra J. Knox
Sweet Caroline: A Dark Tale
Captured: The Xandari Chronicles
The Saving Setora series
Oblation
Jo-Anne Joseph
Charity
Something given to a person or persons in need.
Blurb
Born in the darkness,
bred in depravity.
Secrets and blasphemy, my undoing will be.
The taste of the forbidden,
under cover of the night,
as I drink from the cup of every sinner’s plight.
This is my prayer,
This is my please,
From evil and lust, deliver me.
Prologue
Thunder roared overhead, causing the walls in Sister Mary Concessa’s room to quake. Angry droplets of rain crashed against the windows. She laid in bed, reading the bible, when the lights started to flicker and dim. She pushed the sheets off her body, sitting upright. She hadn't experienced a storm of this magnitude in years. There was something ominous about that kind of weather.
Opening the door to her bedroom, she glanced left and right into the dimly lit hallway finding nobody in sight. A loud thumping at the door of the convent had her practically jumping out of her skin. Who would be knocking at this hour? A part of her wanted to ignore it, close her door and get back in bed, but another part of her, the more prominent side, the part that left her to devote her life to God in the first place, had her walking toward the door.
“Who is it?” she called, only to be met with silence, rain seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. She turned and started back the way she came. Maybe she’d imagined it after all. It wouldn’t be the first time. And then she heard it, the distinct sound of a baby crying. She stilled and tried to listen for it again. “A baby?”
Sister Concessa unhooked the keys, opening the door slowly. She placed a hand to her chest, letting out a breath. “What in God’s name-” on the doorstep was a box. She peered into the darkness, but the rain made it impossible to see. She bent and opened the flaps of the box, her eyes widening at the sight of a tiny baby wrapped in a white sheet. It’s little face scrunched from crying. She carried the baby inside, shutting the door behind her.
“Mary, what on earth is going on?” Mother Superior questioned as she stepped forward. Mother Superior wore a conservative robe, so Sister Concessa felt underdressed in her thin, cotton sleep shirt. She hadn’t had time to cover up.
“This baby was left on our doorstep. I heard a knock.”
Mother Superior held out her hands, and Sister Concessa handed her the bundle.
“There, there.” The older nun cooed, the baby's cries instantly stopping. “Follow me, Mary.”
The two women walked down the hallway and into the infirmary. Sister Mary flicked the switch, flooding the room with light.
Mother Superior placed the baby on the sick bed in the middle of the room, carefully unwrapping the sheets. Little legs and arms flailed about. “The umbilical cord is still attached.” She narrowed her eyes at the infant. “It’s a girl.”
“Who would do such a thing, Mother?”
“Oh, there is much you need to learn about the world, Mary.” She smiled down at the baby.
Mary’s skin prickled. “What are we going to do with this child?”
“What better place for a child to grow up in?” Mother Superior smiled. “We will keep her.”
“But shouldn’t we contact the authorities?”
“No, the Lord brought her to us for a reason.” Mother Superior smiled down at the child, her eyes gleaming. Mary pursed her lips then felt her cheeks flush at the devious thoughts that ran through her mind at that moment.
She couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. A convent was no place for a child.
“As you wish, Mother.” She said, but Mother Superior was distracted, already rocking the child, beaming down at her in fascination.
Later that night, the baby’s cries echoed through the convent, the treacherous storm continuing to brew outside. Sister Mary Concessa knew she’d opened Pandora’s box. What has been done can seldom be undone.
Chapter One
Celeste
The rain came down angrier than it ever had the night I was abandoned on the doorstep of the church. At least that’s what Sister Mary Concessa told me. It was like even God himself had been warning her against opening the door and letting in the misery I would inevitably bring to the convent. Every single day since, she’s wished she hadn’t listened to the voice that had egged her on.
The stuck-up bitch hates me more than she hates the devil, and that is saying something. Her eyes never roam far enough away for me to do any of the trivial shit she accuses me of, yet once again, I am bare-assed and about to get a lashing. She pulls out a long, brown leather strap which she hides in her office for just this purpose. I bet she enjoys seeing me bent over her desk like this, panties around my thighs, my habit gathered around my waist. I see the way she looks at me. She only hates me because she’s terrified of what my presence brings out in her. I make her desire dark and perverse things. It festers in her mind, warps her thoughts. Spend your life in a convent and the beast is bound to rear its ugly head eventually. Mary Concessa has a monster lurking inside her, and it comes out to play whenever I am near.
“Celeste, do you understand why you’re here?” Her voice is icy, but the swoosh of her garment and the tap of her shoes on the tiles as she paces behind me are what I focus on.
“No.” I say, and I feel the harsh sting of the strap on my ass. I dig my nails into the wood.
“I will ask you again. Do you know why you’re here?”
“No.” I repeat, earning me another hit.
“You know the punishment for disobedience. I will not tolerate that here. You are supposed to show others the way, Celeste. Teach them what is good and right in God's eyes.”
Is this her idea of what is good? Or right?
I don’t answer her, and she brings the strap down once again. I barely catch my breath before the whip strikes my flesh another time. I bite down on my lip so hard I taste iron, but I will not cry out, show weakness. I refuse to give her the pleasure that hurting me brings. “Father Thomas will hear about this.”
Oh, I am counting on it. I want her to tell on me, like she always does.
This time, she thinks I’ve been sticking my hands in the tithe jar. That is the stupidest thing I have ever been accused of. Still, I take my ten strikes then straighten myself up.
“I trust you’ll think twice about stealing from the church.” I turn and stare into her cold, obsidian eyes. She’s aged considerably, premature lines etched into her pale skin. Hate does that to people. Makes them uglier than they are.
Sister Concessa is a scrawny woman in her mid-forties, her habit hanging from her frame. Her skin is pale from lack of vitamin D.
I could snap her wrist in one go, and I've often imagined doing it, twisting it until she’s on her knees in front of me, begging to be spared. I push past her instead, slamming the door behind me.
Once I’m in my room, I shut my door and lean back against it. I will not let Concessa deter me from my purpose.
My room houses an uncomfortable single bed covered in white linen and a gray blanket for colder nights. The mattress is so worn the springs dig into my back. I have a small, dark wood wardrobe as well as a side table. The single, small window looks out at the bricks on the side of the school building.
This convent has been my home for eighteen years, this room my refuge. Convent life is communal in nature so this is the only place I am afforded some semblance of privacy. This is
where I prepare my mind for the greater tasks ahead of me. I open my wardrobe, a relic, and gently pull off the poster of the Holy Mother to reveal my only valuable possession which hides behind it. I pull my tunic over my head and drag down my cotton panties. I frown at the angry red marks that run across my ass cheeks. We aren’t allowed mirrors, but nobody knows about this one. It is my little secret.
Vanity is a sin. To love God completely, one must not be self-absorbed.
I turn toward the mirror, running my hands down from my slim neck, over my collar bones and down to my full, taut breasts. My skin is white, so translucent I can see my veins. I palm my breasts and pinch my hardened nipples the way Father Thomas likes me to, and I immediately feel heat spread across my cheeks, gathering between my legs. I should take no pleasure in this body, it belongs to God. I should be ashamed of desiring a man of God, for tempting him. But I don’t.
My dark and devious nature brought a good man to his knees. And so, I am on a journey of repentance. I must love God and do what is required of me, use my body honor His glory, the way it was intended.
I dress then lay on my bed, waiting. In a few hours I will be called on to do the Lord’s work. It is what I was chosen for. I place my bible on my chest, close my eyes, and I recite the repentance prayer over and over again until my mouth dries,
“Precious Father in Heaven, please help me to crucify the flesh with its passions and desires and live my life no longer for my lusts but for Your will.”
I rise at five minutes to midnight, opening my door slowly. The hallway is dark, but I know the route by memory. Each step fills me with anticipation as I make my way to the main church hall.
Moonlight streams in through the stained glass windows of the church. It provides a sufficient amount of light for me to make out the long pews that dominate most of the hall. A long aisle runs down the middle of the pews and ends at the stone altar at the front of the church. My skin breaks out in goosebumps from the chill in the air. I inhale the scent of incense.
“Celeste.” His voice sends tremors through my body.
“Father.” I say breathlessly.
I can’t see him, but I know he sees me. Sister Mary Concessa doesn’t know about this. It’s another secret I’ve kept from her. She will not understand. I doubt anyone would. Father Thomas steps out of the shadows, and walks toward the altar below the statue of the divine Holy Mother. His steps are slow and calculated.
The man tied to the altar is lean, his pale skin glistening under the skylight above the altar. My feet ache from the cold, but it won’t be for long. His lips quiver from the cold. He’s naked, and I clench my thighs at the sight of him. He paid Father Thomas a lot of money for this privilege.
“Come,” Father Thomas commands, his voice is husky. I remove my headpiece and strip out of my habit. My long raven hair falls free and kisses my ass. My rosary rests between my breasts. My eyes meet the priest's across the altar. He’s watching, his own atonement for touching me was to vow never to again. He hasn’t, and I’ve suffered in silence at his rejection.
I walk over to the man. I recognize him, his name is Phillip. He’s in his thirties, married with kids. He’s a teacher in a local school. I trace my hands over his skin while Father Thomas says a prayer then pours holy oil on his body. The man gasps when the chilly liquid touches his skin. I climb onto the altar and straddle his thighs.
Phillip's eyes are wide with lust and anticipation. Pretty blue eyes that look ghostly in the moonlight shining down on us. I run my hands down my body, pausing over my breasts, kneading them slowly, throwing my head back as I rock against him. He squirms under me. It’s sinful how alluring the forbidden is. Here, men come to confess their sins, act out their filthiest fantasies, or seek redemption in other ways. There is only one true penance for sin, though, and this man realizes that. I run a hand down his chest and abs, licking my lips when I reach the base of his cock. I wrap my fingers around it and start my slow torture. He closes his eyes, a moan falling from his lips, and when my movements pick up pace, he cries out, straining against his restraints.
“Shh.” I tell him.
“You’re a bad man, aren’t you, Phillip?” I ask. “You’re here to repent. Are you ready for me to help you?” His head bobs up and down.
Father Thomas nods, encouraging me to proceed. I hover over Phillip, the tip of his dick pressing into my opening. He gasps as I lower myself onto him, taking him farther into my body inch by inch. Father Thomas looks at me hungrily. My eyes roll back at the feel of Phillip inside me and in response to the desire in the eyes of the man who denies me his passion. I wrap a leather belt around the neck of the man beneath me, tightening it.
“Phillip Slater, it has been four weeks since your last confession.” I rock against him, tugging on the belt. Phillip’s face reddens, and he struggles to catch his breath. Each of my movements are slow, calculated, meant to please. He must feel all the pleasure before the pain.
“I firmly resolve, with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life…” He growls, lifting his hips.
“Are you willing to atone for your sins with your blood?” I rock faster against him, biting down on my lip to stop the surge of pleasure coursing through me.
Father Thomas watches us, his hand working his cock, growls leave his lips, and that spurs me on.
“Yes, yes. I am wiling.” Phillip’s voice is strained.
I raise the dagger from beside him and bring it down to his chest, letting the blade pierce the flesh there. I continue to rock my hips against him as I dig deeper into his flesh. Fresh droplets of blood push out of the wound and trickle down his chest. I feel an orgasm building, so I remove the dagger, still tugging on the leather belt. I press the blade down again, harder this time, struggling through skin and muscles. He must hurt for his sins. I climb off him before he has a chance to come and he howls in agony. This is his wish, to be released from what he’s done. For all the sinful, depraved acts of violence he’s inflicted against his students. Phillip Slater tries to struggle when he realizes the mistake he’s made. I tug at the belt one last time and close my eyes, listening to the sinner gasping, his eyes begging for me to stop, to release my hold on him. But I cannot. He came to cleanse his soul, and it has been done.
For the wages of sin is death, sayeth the Lord.
Father Thomas is glaring at me when I open my eyes. I wrap my arms around his neck and force my lips to his. I push my tongue into his mouth, and he finally gives in, pushing me onto the man whose lifeless eyes stare at us. Father Thomas spreads my legs and plunges a finger into me with such rage, I cry out. His palm rubs against my clit as a finger curls inside me.
“Oh, Father…forgive me,” I cry out an orgasm, writhing against the hard body of Phillip beneath me. I reach for Father Thomas's zipper, releasing the hard cock that had been straining against his pants.
“Celeste, no!” he growls, looking down at me in horror then pushing me away. Tears spring to my eyes, and I jump off the altar, gather my clothing, and walk briskly through the pews. Nothing I do gets through to him. Aren’t we sinning already? I swipe angrily at my tears. I’m startled at the sight of a man standing in the shadows. I can feel his gaze sweeping over my naked form. His eyes are everywhere all at once, making me feel even more exposed. I don’t bother to stop to find out who he is. Instead, I turn on my heel and disappear into the bowels of the convent.
When I reach my room, I shut the door and drop to my knees in a sorry mess of tears and heartache. The cold from the tiles seeps into my knees, yet I stay there. I hear the door open and shut behind me, his presence in the room sucking the very air from my lungs.
“You were weak tonight, Celeste.” Father Thomas's voice is hard and cold. “You know the price of imperfection.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, I crawl to my bed and feel underneath it. I pull out the leather whip Father Thomas gave me, my hands trembling. The solid handle feels like lead as I balance it on my palm.
“How many?” I ask, just above a whisper. I hear his footsteps as he walks closer to me. He smells of incense, and sweat. It’s a heady combination.
“As many as it takes.” He answers.
Lifting the whip above my head, I bend my arm and slap it across my back. I wince at the pain.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I hiss as I deliver yet another blow to my skin which now burns and aches. This is penance for my indiscretions. For the filth that resides in my mind, polluting my soul.
“Cleanse me of my iniquities.” The words leave my lips, but the pain makes me wonder if I even spoke aloud.
I hear the unmistaken sound of his zipper being pulled down as I continue the torture against my flesh, flinching but never crying out, knowing that I deserve this pain. Father Thomas’s breathing is ragged.
“Crouch, Celeste.” He growls, and I obey, my breasts pressing against the cold tiles, my nipples hardening. His agonizing grunts fill the air as warm liquid coats my skin. I can’t breathe, I want to touch myself so bad, but I don’t dare. I close my eyes and shiver at his feet.
“You are forgiven, child.” He tells me, out of breath.
A few moments later, my door opens and clicks shut, but I don’t move for what seems like forever. I slip on my dress, traces of him still on me, as I climb into bed. The material clings to me, the cotton rubbing against the irritated skin on my back. I close my eyes, clenching my thighs together in agony.
This is my punishment.
Chapter Two
Priest
What the fuck did I just witness? Sleep has been evading me since I arrived here, so I decided to take a walk around the convent instead of tossing and turning in bed until the sun appears on the horizon. Something I find myself doing since I took up a position as a groundskeeper, a week ago. This place is suffocating. The options were this or doing time behind bars. I would have chosen the latter, but my father would not hear of it. He is not having a criminal for a son. It wouldn’t do his precious political reputation any good. Kenneth Michaels is running for senate and the opposition would have a field day with that little bit of news. So, I was forced to leave my life of wealth and sin behind and devote it to God instead. At least, that’s what I thought I was doing.
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