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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
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Chapter Fourteen
I was due back in America in two weeks. I walked along the
boulevard, feeling the sunshine on my face. I passed under a tree and
turned a corner. It was then that I saw it. A huge, stone cathedral.
Ancient slabs of rock towered over me. Set within the rock were stained
glass windows. I admired the blue and red and green panes in the
windows. I felt awe, respect, admiration. I passed under a hideous
gargoyle perched in the keystone of the churchÕs doorway. I found myself
in shadow. I looked down an aisle between long rows of pews and saw an
altar in the distance. Two tall candles flickered slowly on the altar, and,
though I was too far back to see it, I imagined long streaks of wax sliding
with eternal patience down them.
I felt a sudden need to confess. God had been good to me, and IÕd
repaid him with sin. I glanced around. I wasnÕt Catholic. Was there a
priest anywhere? How exactly did one confess, anyway? Should I just
walk up to the altar and pray? Would someone see me?
ÒYes, my child?Ó a sweet voice sang out. I turned, surprised. I had
concluded that I was alone in the church and now, suddenly, I wasnÕt. As I
gazed into the face of an elderly nun I felt my sin was written all over my
13-year-old cheeks.
ÒIs-- IÕm Protestant, IÕm sorry,Ó I apologized to the nun. ÒOr, at
least, my parents are. You know...Ó
ÒYes?Ó the nun asked. There was bemusement on her features.
ÒOh! I have sinned!Ó I blurted to her suddenly. I did not wish to lie in
the presence of a woman of God.
ÒOh dear,Ó the nun said. She seemed genuinely concerned. ÒI had
thought perhaps you had lost your mother,Ó she said.
I frowned.
ÒIÕm 13,Ó I told her. ÒIÕm from America. IÕm touring the city by
myself today.Ó
ÒAh, things have changed since I was a child,Ó the nun said. She
patted her face. There was contrition in her eyes. ÒI had a chaperone until
I was 17,Ó she told me. She turned. She began walking away.
ÒWait!Ó I called after her.
The nun turned back toward me. ÒCome, child!Ó she said in a voice
that seemed slightly scolding. ÒCome, come. You must confess to the
priest if you have sinned.Ó
ÒYes,Ó I said. ÒI know.Ó I was about to tell her that I was
Protestant again, or rather that my parents were, and I was because they
were, but she seemed slightly senile and I let it go. I followed her
obediently, clutching my purse.
ÒForgive me father I have sinned,Ó I said breathlessly in the
confessional when I was seated in it. My voice came out high, school-
girlish and uncertain. There was a shifting of robes behind the dark
screen of the confessional, where the priest sat.
ÒAnd how have you sinned, my child?Ó a male voice answered. I was
surprised by it. It was strong, bold. Deep. I had expected, I guess, a voice
as old as the nunÕs, but male.
ÒIÕve--Ó I felt myself blush from head to toe. How could I tell a man
what IÕd done? Silly me. What had I expected? A woman? An old man?
Yes, I must have expected some old, doddering fool. But this man was
young. I felt he must somehow be a priest by accident. I fought with
myself to find the words to tell him what IÕd done.
In the event, he beguiled them out of me. He was slow and patient.
He told me to start with the least sinful thing IÕd done. I did. Gradually,
we built up to my worst sins. By the end of two hours IÕd told him
everything.
ÒAnd were there any other positions that you tried?Ó the priest
asked in a patient, solicitous voice.
ÒNot-- not that I can think of, sir,Ó I answered.
ÒYou neednÕt call me sir,Ó the priest reminded me for the thousandth
time. ÒIÕm a priest.Ó
ÒYes, father,Ó I said.
ÒWould you like to be free from the sin of your sexual vices?Ó the
priest asked me.
ÒOh, yes!Ó I said, blushing in the privacy of my booth. ÒAnd, um,
could we possibly take a break too? I have to go to the bathroom.Ó
I heard the man on the opposite side of the screen clear his throat.
ÒIt is best not to speak so frankly about your natural functions,Ó the
priest told me.
ÒYes, father,Ó I answered. ÒMay I, uh, be excused, then?Ó
ÒOn one condition,Ó the priest said. His words made me feel an
unexpected thrill down my back. I had not expected any conditions, least
of all on my toiletry needs. WerenÕt priests supposed to be, like,
indulgent?
ÒWhat- what condition, father?Ó I asked.
ÒThat we may speak privately in my office after your needs have
been met,Ó the priest told me. ÒAbout your sin, of course.Ó
ÒOf course, father,Ó I replied. I wondered what he would have said if
IÕd told him no.
ÒDonÕt take any longer than necessary,Ó the priest told me.
ÒYes, father,Ó I said. I stood up. ÒWhere? Where is your office,
sir?Ó I asked him through the confessional screen.
ÒOffice number 6,Ó the priest replied.
ÒAnd the bathroom?Ó I asked.
ÒSister Jameson will assist you,Ó the priest answered.
ÒOh, yes! The nun. I forgot,Ó I told his shadowy form through the
dark, latticed wall of the booth.
ÒYou are excused,Ó the priest answered.
ÒThank you, father,Ó I said.
I left the confessional booth. There was a stone wall outside the
booth, so that, should the priest exit, he and the parishioner should not
meet. Only the latticed interior of the booth allowed communication
between what were, otherwise, two separate parts of the church.
I found the nun. She showed me to the toilet. Afterward, I
considered leaving. IÕd confessed. Had I received absolution? I wasnÕt
sure. But I knew the confessing was the important part. At least, in the
movies IÕd seen it was. But then, in the movies, the guy confessing often
got shot before his confessions were through.
I went searching for the priestÕs office. The nun, I think, had herself
thought IÕd leave the church after my visit to the bathroom, and I couldnÕt
find her. Perhaps if IÕd gone all the way out to the front of the church IÕd
have found her again, but I guessed that the priestÕs office might be
somewhere back where I was now, behind the altar. I didnÕt want to have
to traipse all the way out to the churchÕs front door. I might leave.
I turned down a hallway. I saw three doors. I guessed they might be
offices. Sure enough, I saw a number 4 on the first door I encountered. A
door with a 5 on it was next. Then 6. I paused. Very softly, I knocked.
ÒCome in,Ó a manly voice said. I turned the handle. I cracked the
door. Respectfully I peeked inside. I gasped. Sitting behind a big desk,
was one of the hunkiest priests IÕve ever seen. He looked up from a big
black book he was reading, bound in leather. He lifted an eyebrow.
ÒYou must be Chloe,Ó the priest told me. His voice didnÕt sound as
soft or compassionate as it had in the confessional.
ÒI-- I am, sir,Ó I answered.
ÒYes, you must be,Ó the priest said, sounding slightly annoyed.
ÒYouÕre still calling me sir.Ó
ÒIÕm sorry, father,Ó I said.
The priest rose up behind his desk. ÒPlease come in, Chloe,Ó he said.
I stepped inside, nervously. ÒWhatÕs that?Ó he asked. He looked at my
purse. It was fuzzy. It was in the shape of a bunny rabbit and you put
things into it through its mouth.
ÒItÕs my rabbit purse,Ó I said. I blushed. I liked my purse. It was
really cute. But I felt like a little girl, suddenly, holding it, and I blushed.
He was a man. Would he think me just some bothersome child, standing
there with my Ôfuzzy wuzzy wabbit purse,Õ as I liked to call it?
ÒYou are quite young, Chloe, but come in anyway,Ó the priest told me.
ÒFrom your confessions IÕd expected someone, er, slightly older.Ó
ÒIÕm sorry, father,Ó I said. I gazed up at him with wide eyes. His
own gazed down at me severely. ÒIÕve been sinful.Ó
ÒYes, you have, Chloe,Ó the priest told me. The priest reached out to
me. He took my nearest arm by the elbow. He guided me over to a chair. It
was large, well-stuffed. He sat me down in it and I felt quite small. He
sat in another chair, next to mine. He had a large body and it settled into
the chair firmly, with authority. He gazed at me. I was just admiring his
handsome build, his blonde, Nordic hair, when another young man, also in
priestÕs robes, stepped out from behind a book case. He was holding a
prayer book in his hands and he looked up from it as he stepped out from
behind the wall of books.
ÒAh, sheÕs here,Ó the other young priest said. He put down the book
heÕd been reading on the desk of the priest who now sat beside me. He
walked over to a chair opposite me and sat down. I found myself between
the two of them, one on either side of me. I felt surrounded.
ÒChloe, this is Father Brannigan, and IÕm Father Virgil,Ó the priest
whoÕd heard my confession said. He reached out and placed a large, firm
hand on my own. His fingers encompassed mine. He enclosed them. I felt
warm inside his trap-like fingers.
ÒWe have a school for certain girls,Ó Father Brannigan said. ÒGirls
who require special attention in unburdening themselves from sin.Ó I
turned from the blonde priest holding my hand to Father Brannigan.
ÒA school?Ó I asked.
ÒYou would be in attendance for several days,Ó Father Brannigan
said. He eyed me closely. He had black hair, dark eyebrows. He looked
even more formidable than the priest who was holding my hand.
ÒI-- I did not know I would have to go to school,Ó I said frankly to
Father Brannigan. ÒI have to be back in America in two weeks. To start
school there!Ó
ÒWhat year of school will you be starting?Ó Father Brannigan asked
me.
ÒEighth,Ó I said.
Father BranniganÕs eyes widened. Then he seemed almost to smile.
He caught himself. I saw a gleam in his eyes and wasnÕt sure I liked it.
ÒOur school,Ó Father Brannigan told me, ÒWill allow you to rejoin
your peers without feeling guilty at having perhaps outstripped them in
the arts of love.Ó
ÒBut you must be humbled, first,Ó Father Virgil added. ÒThat is the
purpose of our school. To provide you with order and discipline in your
life.Ó
ÒHopefully it will temper, if not erase, your memories of wildness
and indiscretion from earlier in the summer,Ó Father Brannigan told me.
ÒBy humbling you,Ó Father Virgil said. He squeezed my hand.
ÒThrough humility you can be restored to innocence.Ó
ÒWhat-- what would I have to do?Ó I asked. I pulled on my hand,
enclasped and enclosed in Father VirgilÕs big fingers, and found I couldnÕt
extricate it from his grip.
ÒYou would have to obey,Ó Father Brannigan told me. He smiled. I
shivered.
ÒObey?Ó I gulped.
ÒYes,Ó Father Brannigan said. ÒObey myself and Father Virgil, that
is. We would attend to your lessons. An old woman would be the only
other person present. She will,Ó Father Brannigan said, switching tenses,
Òattend to you between lessons. But you will not be able to look to her for
solace and forgiveness. Only Father Virgil and myself can forgive you, if
you perform your lessons accurately and well.Ó
ÒWith humility,Ó Father Virgil added, still holding my hand. I tried
to pull it out of his grip again, and found I still could not.
ÒSister Mary will know you are a sinner, seeking absolution,Ó Father
Brannigan told me. ÒShe is old and cross. Do not look to her for
consolation. She serves myself and Father Virgil by serving you, and only
at our direction.Ó
ÒYou would,Ó Father Virgil said, giving my hand a tight squeeze, Òbe
entirely under our control. That is the point Father Brannigan is trying to
make.Ó
ÒIs making,Ó Father Brannigan corrected.
ÒIs making,Ó Father Virgil agreed. ÒOur school is in an old
farmhouse, on the outskirts of town. It is on a plot of land owned by
myself and Father Brannigan. We are not the first to own it. A Father
Slade owned it before us. But he has passed on, and left it to us in his
will, knowing we would know how to make proper use of it.Ó
ÒAs a school,Ó Father Brannigan said. ÒFor young ladies like
yourself, who require special care and attention.Ó
ÒHave- have other girls gone to your school?Ó I asked. Father
Brannigan looked at Father Virgil.
ÒYes,Ó Father Virgil said. ÒBut ask no more of that. Each girl is
special. You will be the only girl there, during your visit. Like I said, it
will just be Father Brannigan and myself, plus Sister Mary. She is not
officially a nun, just a cleaning woman. But we call her Sister Mary, and
will expect you to as well.Ó
ÒIf she were a nun, we could not be as free with your instruction as
events will no doubt require,Ó Father Brannigan said.
ÒI donÕt know,Ó I said. ÒI would have to ask my aunt...Ó
Father Brannigan reached over to a table next to his chair. He handed
me a brochure. It was titled, ÒGirlsÕ Self-Esteem Workshop.Ó Underneath
the title, it read: ÒBuilding TomorrowÕs Women!Ó There were several
girls, notably unattractive, staring out from the cover of the brochure at
me.
ÒWe will drive you home and let you give this to your aunt,Ó Father
Brannigan told me. ÒItÕs entirely fake. There is no such workshop. But
itÕs highly effective in securing parental permission for our school.Ó
ÒYou will, of course, say nothing to her about our school,Ó Father
Virgil told me, still holding my hand. He squeezed it. ÒYouÕre a big girl.
Otherwise we would not be inviting you. You understand, IÕm sure, that
most parents would not want their daughter spending several days alone
with two men.Ó
ÒYes,Ó I said, in a hushed voice, gazing down at the brochure. The
girls stared dumbly back at me; one too fat, by a mile, another too thin,
another downright ugly, with freckles all over her face, and braces, and
red hair that looked as if it had never encountered a brush. ÒYes. It will
just be us?Ó I asked, looking up.
ÒYes, just us,Ó Father Brannigan assured me. ÒAnd Sister Mary, of
course.Ó
ÒI-- I donÕt know,Ó I said. My voice quavered. ÒWhat-- what sort of
lessons would I be learning?Ó
ÒThe lessons are designed to cleanse your soul,Ó Father Brannigan
told me. ÒThey will be difficult. They will require your utmost attention.
You will need skill to complete them. But most of all, you will simply
require a desire to obey.Ó
ÒTo obey?Ó I said. I heard a gasp in my voice.
ÒWith humility,Ó Father Virgil said.
Father Brannigan rose. He stood over me. He reached down and
clasped my head with both his strong hands. I found myself face to face
with the zipper in his pants. His robes, open in front, hung off his broad
shoulders. ÒWe will go meet your aunt now, Chloe,Ó Father Brannigan told
me. ÒYou will give her the brochure. You will promise to call her
whenever you get the chance. But make no specific promises. Tell her
youÕll be very busy. Ask her not to annoy you during your Self-Esteem
Workshop, because you and the other girls will be doing various projects.Ó
ÒIÕm not sure,Ó I said, squeamishly.
Father Virgil tightened his grip on my hand.
ÒChloe, this is where Father Brannigan and I take over,Ó he said.
ÒYou have confessed your sin. Now it is time for us, as men of God,
knowing of the weakness of the flesh, to expunge you of your sin. You will
obey. You will not refuse this cleansing of your soul.Ó
ÒIt is for your own good, Chloe,Ó Father Brannigan told me. To test
him I suddenly reached out with my lips and brushed them across the tab
of his zipper, which was slightly extended off the front of his pants.
ÒYes,Ó Father Brannigan told me. ÒYou see? Even now you try to sin.
Woman is sinful from the time of Eve, and will be so forevermore, I
suppose, which is why our little school will always be needed.Ó He
tightened his grip on my head. He drew on my hair, carefully, but firmly. I
was forced to stand up. He did not want what I had just offered him. Or
perhaps, a thought which scared me, he did want it, but possessed the
patience to wait.
ÒAre you really a man of God?Ó I asked, looking up at the big priest
standing over me. His hands still gripped me by my hair. He gazed down
into my eyes.
ÒA man of God... and a man,Ó Father Brannigan said. Then he broke our
gaze and turned to Father Virgil. ÒLetÕs go,Ó he said.
We went out. I walked between them. They held me by both my
hands. Father Virgil carried my purse.
Imagine my auntieÕs surprise when I showed up at the door with two
priests! She was watering flowers in her house, dressed in a long, flowing
skirt and a modest blouse, with a scarf tied around her head. She had on
no makeup, though that hardly left her looking plain.
ÒOh! Hello,Ó my aunt said. She surveyed me and the two hunky guys
standing on either side of me. They both held my hands. The dark-haired
one, Father Brannigan, had rung our doorbell.
ÒGood day, madam,Ó the two young priests said in unison.
ÒA fine day our Lord Jesus Christ has provided us with, is it not?Ó
Father Brannigan asked my aunt.
ÒYes! Indeed!Ó my aunt said, her eyes wide with disbelief. She
looked at me. I gazed up at her and almost blushed, but didnÕt. Father
Virgil held my Ôwabbit purseÕ in his hand.
ÒHas... has she been bad?Ó my aunt asked worriedly.
ÒYour daughter has been to confession,Ó Father Brannigan said. His
voice was loud and strong in the warm summer air. The sun shone brightly
down upon both men, standing there on my auntÕs doorstep in their black
clerical robes. Older priests might have seemed compromised by the sun,
its rays illuminating their drooping faces, their grey, bushy eyebrows. But
these two young men, both of them rugged and tanned, were enhanced by
the sun. They stood proud and erect in their black uniforms of God. They
peered intently at my aunt, perhaps with concern for her soul, perhaps
with an unpriestly interest in her figure.
ÒAre you the woman of the house?Ó Father Brannigan asked.
ÒYes-- Yes I am,Ó my aunt replied.
ÒYou must have had her when you were very young,Ó Father Virgil
said, holding my hand, in a sympathetic voice.
ÒOh! I am only her aunt,Ó my auntie answered. ÒSheÕs from America.
SheÕll be going back soon. She only stayed with me for the summer.Ó
ÒI hope it was not a sinful summer,Ó Father Brannigan said. My aunt
blushed.
ÒNo. Not at all,Ó my aunt replied. ÒWe, uh, went to church every day.
But weÕre Protestant, not Catholic.Ó
Father Virgil looked at Father Brannigan. ÒI wasnÕt aware the
Protestant parish was open every day,Ó Father Virgil said.
ÒPerhaps they have grown closer to God,Ó Father Brannigan
answered. He looked at my aunt. ÒMadam, may we come in? Your
daughter... your, uh, niece... sorry. She has requested our assistance in
procuring your permission to attend our churchÕs Self-Esteem Workshop.Ó
ÒSo I can be a woman of tomorrow,Ó I offered.
ÒOh. Yes. Please do come in,Ó my aunt said. The priests moved
forward, myself between them. Father Brannigan slipped through the front
door first, still holding my hand. I followed. Father Virgil came behind.
Rebecca led us into her living room. She put down her sprinkler can, that
sheÕd been using to water the plants, on the floor.
ÒMay I get you something to drink? Wine?Ó Rebecca asked Father
Brannigan and Father Virgil.
ÒWater, please,Ó Father Brannigan answered.
ÒBut if you can turn water into wine...Ó Father Virgil began.
ÒWater,Ó Father Brannigan interrupted. ÒWater for both of us.Ó We
sat down on the couch.
ÒIÕll have Kool-Aid,Ó I told my aunt, sitting primly between Father
Brannigan and Father Virgil. She looked at me.
ÒYes,Ó Rebecca said. ÒOrange or Tootie-Fruitie, dear?Ó she asked.
ÒTootie-Fruitie,Ó I said, gazing up at her. I held tightly onto Father
Brannigan and Father VirgilÕs hands, as if she might take them away from
me. I was enjoying having two hunky guys hanging around with me. My
aunt gave me a strange look, like a mother does when she thinks
somethingÕs afoot, but she went to fetch our drinks anyway.
ÒSo tell me, gentlemen,Ó my aunt asked, when sheÕd served us our
drinks and settled onto the sofa opposite the one we were all sitting on.
SheÕd served my drink with a childish curly straw and I sucked on it
merrily. ÒIsnÕt Chloe, my niece, a little young to attend a Self-Esteem
Workshop for women?Ó
ÒOh-- not for women. ItÕs for girls,Ó Father Brannigan said.
ÒIÕd love to attend,Ó Rebecca told the priests.
ÒAh... you cannot. It would disrupt her educational progress,Ó Father
Virgil said.
ÒOh.Ó My aunt drank from her glass of juice.
ÒYes, the girls will have no certain schedule,Ó Father Brannigan said.
ÒNights, days, they will be doing things all the time. So donÕt expect Chloe
here to call you. In several days, when the workshop is complete, we shall
bring her home ourselves. I think youÕll find sheÕs a new woman.Ó
ÒPurged of all sin,Ó Father Virgil said.
ÒHer body is, after all, a temple of the Lord, as the holy book tells
us,Ó Father Brannigan said.
ÒItÕs important for a girl like Chloe to attend a workshop like this as
she approaches womanhood,Ó Father Virgil said.
ÒYes. The Pope himself attended a workshop like this, when he was
a young man,Ó Father Brannigan said. ÒNow, as a modern Catholic church,
weÕre pleased to offer a similar workshop for young girls.Ó
ÒMy, thatÕs quite progressive of you,Ó my aunt said. But there was a
hint of suspicion in her voice. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the
priestsÕ eyes kept flitting down to her bosoms.
ÒIt is a pity we didnÕt make your acquaintance when you were
younger,Ó Father Brannigan said to my aunt. ÒYou would have been an
excellent, uh, candidate for our workshop.Ó
ÒYes,Ó Father Virgil agreed.
ÒOh, is that so?Ó my aunt said. ÒWell, itÕs such a pity that I missed
out on that opportunity, gentlemen. But I must tell you about my niece,
Chloe.Ó I squirmed in my seat. What was she up to? ÒShe has been very
naughty,Ó my aunt said.
ÒReally?Ó Father Brannigan asked.
ÒYes, do you know how she likes to go swimming?Ó my aunt asked.
Father Brannigan looked out the window of our living room at the still
waters of our pool, shimmering in the hot mid-day sun.
ÒNo. How?Ó Father Brannigan asked.
ÒTopless!Ó my aunt said. ÒI have to force her to put her top on. To
keep her bosoms white,Ó my aunt said. ÒI tell her that her breasts look
much prettier with the skin white, so there is a contrast between them
and her arms and tummy, when she finds herself entertaining a young
gentleman with them.Ó
ÒAuntie!Ó I blurted.
ÒShe has... uh... entertained young men with her... naked breasts?Ó
Father Brannigan asked.
ÒWhy, she had a boyfriend, didnÕt she? What was his name, Chloe?Ó
my aunt asked.
ÒBrad the Rad,Ó I said. ÒBut--Ó
ÒI also tell her that her nipples, which are quite pink, look prettiest
that way, and if she exposes them to the sun they will darken
prematurely,Ó my aunt said. ÒBut time and again I find her swimming
topless anyway. Even bottomless! One time the workmen came over to do
our lawn, and there was Chloe, like a little water sprite, dancing around
the pool and diving into it, in her bare skin!Ó
ÒReally!Ó both priests said, in unison. They both made restless
movements of their hips on the couch, as if their clothes were suddenly
binding them.
ÒI had to take her upstairs and spank her,Ó my aunt said. ÒHer
bottom was very red, after that. But do you know what she did?Ó My aunt
paused. She looked at me. She sipped her drink. I glowered at her. The
entire story, the whole thing, was made up. What was she doing? Trying
to kill me with embarrassment? (ItÕs not always good to have an aunt
whoÕs only 19.)
ÒNo... what did she do?Ó Father Brannigan asked. His hips squirmed
as he spoke, as if heÕd sat on a nail. His throat sounded constricted.
ÒShe yelled, ÔOoooh! My bottom hoits!Õ Just like that,Ó my aunt said.
She suppressed a smirk. ÒThen little Chloe, all bare and naked, her bottom
red from my hand, went running downstairs. She dashed out back to the
pool and plunged into it. To cool her bottom. Of course, all four immigrant
workmen were there, trying to do our lawn. You can imagine the look on
their faces. They wondered, too, if perhaps they werenÕt being invited to
assist her in some way.Ó
ÒYes,Ó Father Brannigan said.
ÒWhich is why I think you should stay and have a swim,Ó my aunt
said.
ÒA swim?Ó Father Virgil asked.
ÒYou could help her understand that she mustnÕt swim topless,Ó my
aunt said. ÒIt would help discipline her, having two priests swimming
with her.Ó
ÒWe-- we havenÕt any swimsuits,Ó Father Brannigan said.
ÒSwim in your underpants,Ó my aunt offered.
ÒPerhaps another time,Ó Father Brannigan answered. ÒWe are not
averse to activities that promote good health. Perhaps another time we
shall pay a visit on you, madam, and remember to bring our swimsuits.Ó
I sensed our meeting was drawing to a close. I squirmed impatiently
between my two priests. Father Virgil held my hand, and my purse.
ÒI hope my niece profits from your instruction,Ó my aunt told the
priests.
ÒIÕm sure sheÕll give it her utmost attention,Ó Father Brannigan said.
His water glass was empty.
ÒMore water?Ó my aunt asked.
ÒNo. We must go now. The workshop will be starting soon and your
niece can profit most if sheÕs on time,Ó Father Brannigan said.
ÒShe does not need to change?Ó my aunt asked. She looked at me. I
rolled my eyes, growing bored with the whole idea of asking her
permission. I was, after all, 13. I should be able to spend time with two
hunky priests if I wished, without her interfering.
ÒThe clothes she gave confession in will be fine,Ó Father Brannigan
told my aunt. There was reassurance in his voice. He smiled at her.
ÒHow convenient that she went to confession on the very day your
workshop is starting,Ó my aunt said.
ÒThe Lord works in mysterious ways,Ó Father Brannigan said. He
looked at his watch. ÒOh! Good Lord! We shall miss the first Bible reading
if we linger.Ó
ÒThen you must go,Ó my aunt said. ÒIt was nice of you both to stop
by and chat.Ó She rose. She looked at them, at me. We stood and I gave
her an impatient stare. She walked over to me and took my glass with the
childish, curled-up straw sticking out of it. ÒAre you sure you donÕt want
any more Kool-Aid, Chloe?Ó she asked me.
ÒNo, auntie,Ó I replied.
ÒBe good,Ó my aunt said. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
I sensed the priests looking into her blouse as it billowed forth, exposing
her breasts. She wore no bra underneath.
At the front door, as the two priests led me away, my aunt called
after them, ÒLet me know if thereÕs ever a workshop at the church for
grown women.Ó Father Brannigan turned.
ÒMost assuredly, madam, we will,Ó he said. He gave my aunt a broad
grin. His eyes lowered to her bosoms and lingered over them until Father
Virgil cleared his throat and caused him to turn. One of my hands was free
and I waved to my aunt. She waved back.
ÒCome along, child,Ó Father Virgil told me. He and I got into the back
of their car. It was black. There was a bright coat of polish on it.
Otherwise it was nondescript, looking like any other car you might see
travelling along a French lane. Father Brannigan got in front. He started
the car. We drove away.
Sitting in the back with me, Father Virgil produced a blindfold. It
was made of black silk.
ÒI must put this over your eyes,Ó Father Virgil told me. ÒThe
location of our place of instruction is a secret.Ó
ÒI... like secrets,Ó I said. I gazed at the blindfold. He lifted it to my
face. ÒCanÕt I see? Please?Ó I asked. My voice was high-pitched,
uncertain.
ÒNo, IÕm afraid not,Ó Father Virgil told me. He tied on the blindfold.
He made it tight. He checked its tightness, after it was on me, and then
loosened it just a bit. I heard a jingling sound. ÒI must also cuff your
hands,Ó Father Virgil said.
ÒOh, but why?Ó I asked, my eyes covered by the blindfold.
ÒShhhh, you must not ask any more questions,Ó Father Virgil told me.
ÒOtherwise I shall have to put a gag over your mouth. Your lips are so
pretty. I would not want to have to do that.Ó Father Virgil took hold of my
wrists. They felt small and frail in his big hands, like wrists made of
wishbone-thin bones that you find in a turkey being eaten at Thanksgiving.
Gently but firmly Father Virgil drew my wrists behind me. I heard a click
of metal. I tried to pull my hands apart and found they were locked
securely to each other, behind my back. My breasts pressed hard into my
blouse. My stomach tautened in fear, making my ribs stick out under my
blouse. I felt hands on my thighs. They were calloused, rough, hard. They
sleeked up my bare legs. ÒYou wear no stockings,Ó Father Virgil said to
me.
ÒNo,Ó I said, my voice trembling.
ÒYour skirt is quite short,Ó Father Virgil told me.
ÒYes,Ó I agreed.
ÒYour panties. Did you know that sometimes your skirt flips up, in
the breeze, and shows them?Ó he asked.
I gulped. ÒYes,Ó I answered.
ÒDo you know what that does to a man, even to a priest?Ó Father
Virgil asked me.
ÒNo...Ó I offered.
ÒIt makes him want to take them off,Ó Father Virgil said.
ÒOh, you mustnÕt!Ó I cried.
ÒIÕm afraid I must,Ó Father Virgil said. ÒYou will be given new ones
at our school. Plus stockings, to impart a certain modesty to your legs.
They are very long and pretty. But, for now, I want you to sit bare-
bottomed on the seat of the car. ItÕs quite clean, I can assure you. We
keep it smooth and polished just for girls like yourself. I want you to feel
the warmth of the seat, heated from being in the sun, directly on your ass.
Do you know why I want you to feel it?Ó Father Virgil asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed.
ÒTo aid in your contrition,Ó Father Virgil said. ÒYou see, at our
school, your bottom will be heated with a strap. I want you to feel the
hotness of the sun-heated seat on your bottom, and to think of the strap.Ó
ÒOh! You mean I am to be spanked?Ó I gasped. Father Virgil tugged
on my panties. He forced me to lift my bottom, slightly, and eased them
off the back of my fanny. He pulled them down my legs. The center
portion of my undies was caught in my snatch and he kept pulling, slowly,
until my panties freed themselves from my slit. He drew them down my
legs. I settled on the seat and gasped as I felt its sun-warmed surface
directly on my bare cheeks.
ÒYou will be disciplined, to make you a good wife,Ó Father Virgil told
me. ÒBut do not think of the strap itself. Think of the sin it will remove
from your soul as it licks across your bottom.Ó
ÒOh, I donÕt want to be spanked,Ó I said truthfully. Father Virgil
made me lift my feet. He drew my panties down my calves. Carefully he
pulled them over my spiked heels.
ÒYou do not have to worry, no one will hear,Ó Father Virgil told me.
ÒOur place of instruction is quite secluded.Ó
ÒItÕs not--Ó I began, meaning to say that, while I certainly didnÕt
want anyone hearing me screaming, I also didnÕt want my bottom smacked.
But I never got to finish, because Father Virgil put my panties to my lips.
I drew my head back, alarmed.
ÒOpen your mouth,Ó Father Virgil said.
ÒBut theyÕre my panties!Ó I cried. Father Virgil put his big hand to
my face. He pressed on my cheeks, forcing my mouth into an O. I sniffed
my panties and then felt them intruding between my lips. A large finger
stuffed them between my teeth.
ÒThere. You may close now,Ó Father Virgil said. He compressed my
small mouth, closing my jaw. I tasted my panties on my tongue. They
made my cheeks bulge. ÒSuch a convenient place for a girl to put her
panties,Ó Father Virgil said. ÒItÕs too bad theyÕll get wet. But then, they
were rather wet already, werenÕt they?Ó he asked me. I felt a need to be
truthful. I nodded, blushing.
I felt Father Virgil open a small box next to my feet. It was sitting
on the floor of the car. He took something from it. ÒAlthough I want your
bottom to be warm,Ó Father Virgil told me. ÒThere is another part of you
that must not be allowed to be warm. For if your, shall we call it your
fruit, for the sake of modesty? If the fruit of your womb, between your
legs, is warm, we know that is sinful, donÕt we?Ó I felt myself nod.
ÒVery well,Ó Father Virgil said. ÒFortunately, I have something here to
keep your fruit cool.Ó I heard him pop a cap off of something. ÒSpread,Ó
Father Virgil told me, for while my legs werenÕt crossed, they were fairly
close together. I opened them. His hand went up under my skirt. I
wondered what he was holding. I felt something cool and round, like a
cylinder, brush my thighs. Something sharp bumped my cunt and I gasped.
My panties lay in my mouth, wet cloth on my tongue.
SPLURRRT! I heard. At the same moment I let out a cry, through the
suffocating cloth of my panties, for something cold and wet spurted all
over my cunny.
ÒOooooh!Ó I shouted.
ÒRelax. ItÕs only whipped cream,Ó Father Virgil told me. ÒIt will
keep you cool as we travel along. So your pussy doesnÕt become warm and
sinful.Ó
ÒMmmmmf,Ó I said through my panties. The cream was quite chilly
against my cunt. It intruded into my slit, making the inner walls of my fig
feel all wet and slimy and cold.
A sharp nozzle pushed up between the lips of my cunt. It lay snug
and poised there, pushing into my sex, all rude and hard.
Splurrrt! I heard again. It was a small, tentative squirt this time.
A dollop of cream jetted into my figÕs inner recesses.
ÒYes, just like sperm. Except this will keep you nice and cool and
chaste,Ó Father Virgil assured me. He drew back a little, then let loose
another squirt from his can. ÒThere,Ó he said. ÒI want you to think of the
forgiveness of our Lord as we travel,Ó he said. ÒDonÕt worry. If you need
more cream, IÕll introduce it into your sex. Do you have to pee?Ó he asked
me. I nodded that I did not. ÒGood,Ó Father Virgil said. ÒWhat a pity it
would be if we had to stop the car and you had to squat by the side of the
road and try to pee through all this cream covering your pussy. IÕm sure
youÕd like some on your bottom too but, as I said, the warm seat is
intended to make you speculate on what the strap will feel like when
Father Brannigan applies it to your ass. How it will sting, eh? Think of
all the bad things youÕve done, so that you can more readily offer them up
to God and beg his forgiveness when youÕre tied bottom-up in your bed at
our school.Ó Father Virgil put a hand up under my blouse and patted my
flat belly. ÒYes,Ó he said. ÒFlat on your tummy youÕll be, with pillows
under your hips, lifting up your bare naked ass to Father BranniganÕs strap.
But donÕt worry. Like I said, the beating will take place in your bed. ItÕs a
big, soft, comfortable bed. Every effort will be made to keep you in the
utmost luxury, at our school. You will be attended to every moment,
pampered even, spoilt, perhaps, if itÕs possible to spoil a young girl like
yourself whoÕs already seen every advantage in life. But you must not
confuse the comfort you are provided with as a lessening of our will to
discipline you.Ó Father Virgil pressed a big finger into my navel. ÒOne day
you will be with child,Ó he said to me. He kissed my cheek. ÒYou are lucky
youÕre not already with child, given what youÕve been up to. DonÕt worry.
Father Brannigan and I will see to your moral education. You will be a
fine, chaste young woman when weÕre through with you. Ready to return to
America and take your place in the eighth grade with other girls, girls
perhaps who havenÕt been as sinful as you have. What a benefit that will
be, eh?Ó He patted my tummy. ÒDonÕt expect to sit down your first week
of school, though,Ó he added. He laughed. I wasnÕt sure if he was telling
the truth or just pulling my chain. He was certainly squirting my pussy! I
cringed, wished my cunt wasnÕt all covered with chilly whipped cream.
Our car turned off a paved road and onto one lined with gravel.
After more than a few turns, and a good half hour of driving, our car
stopped. Father Virgil helped me get out. I felt the sun on my face. I
smelled farm animals. I heard a dog barking. Father Virgil untied my
blindfold. I blinked my eyes. He did not remove my handcuffs. I gazed at
my surroundings. We were parked in front of a ramshackle farm. I
wondered at the luxury Father Virgil had spoken of. This looked like an old
house, with a barn beside it, nothing more. He pushed me forward. I
stumbled in my high heels in the grass. A dollop of cream detached itself
from my pussy and plopped into the weeds at my feet. Father Virgil
caught my arm and guided my steps. Father Brannigan, getting out of the
car, followed us.
We stepped up onto a porch. Father Virgil knocked on the front door.
We waited patiently. I listened to the dog, still barking, somewhere.
Father Brannigan came up beside us. He stood on one side of me. Father
Virgil stood on the other side of me. I gazed at the front door. It was
made of wood. Finally I heard a bolt being drawn back on the other side of
the door. It swung open. A woman, middle-aged, fat, her hair drawn up in
a tight bun, gazed out at us. At that very moment, more whipped cream
fell from between my legs. It hit the door mat we were standing on. The
woman ran her eyes down my bare legs and looked at the cream.
ÒSheÕs dripping,Ó the woman said. ÒSheÕs making a mess on my door
mat.Ó I looked down and saw ÔHome Sweet HomeÕ woven into the door mat.
ÒShe is sinful and requires correction, Sister Mary,Ó Father
Brannigan said.
ÒI should say so!Ó Sister Mary bellowed. ÒPlease, bring her inside.
IÕll see to it that sheÕs prepared for your strap.Ó
ÒThank you,Ó Father Virgil said. He pushed me through the door.
ÒWait!Ó I cried, over the panties stuffed in my mouth.
ÒDonÕt drip all over my rug,Ó Sister Mary warned me. I clipped my
legs together. The cream between my thighs squished and I felt more of it
run down between my legs. Father Brannigan and Father Virgil stepped
inside, but they no longer had possession of me, though Father Virgil still
held my purse.
ÒWhere are your panties, girl? In your mouth?Ó Sister Mary scolded.
ÒThatÕs a strange place for them.Ó She opened my lips. She drew out my
underpants. ÒTheyÕre all wet!Ó she said. She turned me. ÒMy heavens,Ó she
said. ÒThe priests even found it necessary to put cuffs on your wrists.
You must be a bad one.Ó She lifted my skirt. She gazed at my naked
bottom. ÒWhat? Not a mark upon it? No wonder youÕre so naughty. We
can fix that, though. Upstairs, girl! IÕll have to put you straightaway in
the bath. Get all this cream out from between your legs. Then weÕll see
what the Fathers intend to do about your education. You need plenty of it,
in my opinion!Ó
ÒPlease,Ó I said.
ÒDonÕt speak,Ó the woman told me. ÒLook how short your skirt is. Is
that what you girls run around in these days? Without even stockings on?
Well, here you will wear a proper school uniform. A summer uniform,
admittedly. We have no air conditioning in the house.Ó She tsked, turned
me, gazed at my hips, my skirt uplifted by her hands. ÒLook at this skimpy
tan line on you, girl,Ó Sister Mary said. ÒWhat do you wear to the beach?
A string bikini? Good Lord!Ó
Sister Mary filled a tub for me upstairs and I bathed myself. She
watched me the entire time. I felt embarrassed. She sat on the toilet to
watch me. Her heavy rump rested on its fur-covered seat. She used the
toilet merely to sit down, not to relieve herself, its lid closed. Her eyes
ran over my slim-limbed body as I washed myself. She seemed jealous of
me, my youth, my figure.
30
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