Our Lady of Pain

Chapter One Corinne Anderson hated her job. It was boring. It was monotonous. It gave her no personal satisfaction of any kind. What it did do was pay her bills and would, if she could stand it that long, provide her with a damn good retirement portfolio in another thirty years. They also had a kick-ass health insurance plan though she almost never used it. At the end of the day, it all came down to money. She needed the money and chances were slim she’d find another job that paid her as well as this place did for the mind-numbing tasks she had to perform. “You get Mr. Creeley’s account done yet?” Sue poked her head over the edge of Corinne’s semi-private cubicle. Sue was The Boss. Sue was a professional at delegating all her tasks leaving Sue with far too much time on her hands; time she used to stalk and harass her employees. Either that, or she could be found in the staff lounge on break for half the day. Sometimes Sue would even be so generous as to take the receipts down to the bank instead of having someone else do it. Of course, this would take her almost two hours to accomplish when everyone else was allotted only thirty minutes for the task. “Yeah.” Corinne shuffled through her papers and handed Sue the folder. “I needed this yesterday, you know?” The brunette flipped through the pages quickly, nodding now and then. “But, I can see you did a superb job, Corinne. I’m sure Mr. Creeley will be pleased with our efforts.” “Thanks.” Pft, our efforts, indeed, Corinne thought, listening to the clack-clack-clack of Sue’s heels as she retreated back to her office to take all the credit. My efforts, you mean. One of these days Corinne would gather up the balls to tell that b***h just what she thought of the efforts around here. Certainly no one else would. They all needed the money, just like Corinne. They needed the money and everyone knew how easily they could be replaced. So, they kept quiet and slaved away in their little honey-bee like cells and prayed for something better to fall into their laps. Every Thursday night Corinne treated herself to dinner out. For a while she had rotated her dining experiences but as with so many other things, she eventually fell into the rut of stopping at the same place every week and ordering the same meal. It had gotten so predictable that Rose’s staff didn’t even hand Corinne a menu anymore and most of the time there was a table ready for her. Rose’s was a little more upscale than the rest of the college town fare. They served wine, had real table clothes and napkins and glass water goblets instead of those red plastic cups and a straw. Corinne liked the place and settled into her chair, draped her napkin on her lap and ordered her meal without even looking up at any of her fellow diners. It startled her when she finally glanced up and saw a man looking back at her. And not just any man, a very handsome and charming looking one, to boot. Corinne gave him a brief smile before looking away. He sat alone, a laptop propped open beside him that he occasionally glanced at, typed on then went back to eating. As the waitress was bringing Corinne’s salad, the man looked at her again, this time his smile blossomed, revealing a row of perfectly spaced teeth and a dimple. Corinne concentrated on her salad, not daring to look in his direction again. “Excuse me.” Corinne looked up. It was him, standing right there in front of her. “Yes?” “I hope you won’t find this to be too forward of me, but, your name wouldn’t happen to be Corinne Anderson, would it?” He looked slightly embarrassed. “Yes, yes it is.” His smile returned. “You don’t remember me, do you? We went to North Valley High School together. I’m Gregory Monroe. Father Gregory now,” he held out his hand which Corinne took and shook without a hint of recognition on her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.” “I didn’t expect you to. I was a senior when you arrived as a freshman.” “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your meal. I thought you looked familiar and…” Here he paused and something in his steel-gray eyes grew more serious and intense. “And, I always thought you were very pretty in high school, in fact, I have something of yours you might want back.” “You have something of mine? From high school?” He nodded. “Yes. A book.” “I read a lot of books in high school, Mr. Monroe. I don’t recall which…” But she did recall one, one very different book that had come up missing one day. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of it. “…which ones I may have lost,” she concluded. He couldn’t possibly mean that book, could he? He was some sort of priest. Priests didn’t read those things. Of all the books she owned, that particular one she had never written her name in. She didn’t want anyone to know who it had belonged to or that she was the one who’d scribbled notes in the margins. She’d read it a dozen times at least. Read it and m*********d to it alone in her bedroom. “Well, if you haven’t missed it then I guess it doesn’t matter, but I found it all very interesting, then and now. Especially now that I see you have become quite a beautiful woman. I can’t help but wonder if you ever did anything about, well, what you read there,” he knew he was being very forward but he wanted a reaction. He wanted to know just how she felt about that book and its contents. “As I said, Mr. Monroe, I read a lot of books in high school. To have one come up missing would not be unusual. I don’t know to which book you are referring,” her forked jabbed into her salad. “Yes, you did read a lot, as I recall,” he slid into the chair opposite her without asking. “You read all about witches and vampires and ghosts, didn’t you? We had lunch the same period, Corinne. I watched you a lot during lunch, much to the ridicule of what few friends I had.” Now he was just getting creepy. “Mr. Monroe...” “Call me Gregory,” he leaned back. An air of power and confidence radiated from him. Her eyes scanned his pristine attire. His dress slacks were perfectly creased and he wore a black dress shirt under a black jacket, both with a distinct Naru collar. His black hair was much too long for a priest, she thought and the goatee added a decidedly Satanic look to the whole thing. There was no white tab in the center of his collar to even indicate he was a priest. Corinne looked him in the eye though it made her cringe to do so. “Mr. Monroe or Gregory, it was nice to meet you and all, but I don’t remember you and I don’t remember this book you are talking about. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to my salad before my entrée arrives. Alone.” For a moment she was afraid he wouldn’t take the hint. “As you wish, but I think you do remember that book very, very well,” he stood up again and pushed in his chair. “And though I can venture a pretty good guess, I’d be interested to know what role you put yourself in while reading that book. Because, if you are what I think you are, I may have an offer for you,” smiling, he returned to his table, gathered up his things and left. “God, what an asshole,” Corinne muttered to herself. No wonder she didn’t remember him. He had probably been just as much of a jerk then as he was now. She didn’t like pushy, forward people; people who had so much confidence they reeked of it. She waved her hand in the air as if fanning away the stench she imagined. And as far as him still having her book, that was downright weird. Corinne vividly remembered the day she’d realized the book was missing. She’d searched her bedroom frantically then dug into her locker with equal intensity. It was nowhere to be found and there was no way in Hell she was going to ask anyone if they’d seen it. There was a reason she’d put a paper cover over it after all. She didn’t like to take it to school but that day she had and someone, apparently this Gregory Monroe guy, had found it; found it and read it and kept in for almost twenty years and knew it had been hers. She shuddered at the thought of him reading her notations. Someone else knew about her deepest desires. “Because, if you are what I think you are, I may have an offer for you.” What sort of offer, she wondered, watching her salad plate being taken away and replaced with one on which rested a roasted chicken breast, baked potato and steamed broccoli. “Anything else?” the waitress asked. “No, thank you.” The waitress almost turned away. “Wait, there is something. That man, who was sitting over there. Do you know him?” The girl nodded. “Oh, yes, that’s Father Monroe. He’s the Father Superior at Saint Dolores.” Not being anything close to Catholic, Corinne had no idea where that was. “So, he’s a real priest then?” Now the waitress was blushing. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? He’s about the hottest looking priest I’ve ever seen.” “And a flirt,” Corinne added with an air of annoyance though she agreed with the waitress. Priest or not, Father Monroe was hot. “Thanks. I was just curious. He knew me, said we went to school together but I hadn’t a clue who he was.” Corinne finished her meal in quiet contemplation and found herself so uncomfortably aroused by the time she left that her panties were damp. All the way home all she could think about was that book and Father Gregory and the idea that he knew more about her than any other man and had not been in the least bit revolted by the idea. In fact, he had expressed a great interest in it. Not very priestly of him. With a trembling hand, Corinne unlocked her apartment door and let herself in. Her groin was practically throbbing. The urge to relieve herself had not been this strong in years. She had to do it. Corinne hurried down the hallway to her bedroom, pulling off her blouse and bra before she was even in the room. Her slacks and panties quickly followed. Corinne stripped the blankets back, leaving just a bare sheet to spread herself on. She liked it like that. It felt stark and almost hospital-like that way. Her fingers probed into the wetness of her p***y. It felt good. She closed her eyes; one hand at her groin the other grasping her full breast, squeezing it slow and hard then grasping the n****e until it hurt. The hand at her cunt moved more quickly, rubbing the c**t until she felt the first wave of shuddering. Something more needed to be in there. She went to her dresser, pulled open the bottom drawer and dug to the bottom where she kept the dildo. Corinne never used lube, not even on this monster of an insert. She liked how it felt going in without it, the force and the slight ache it caused as it filled her. Lying on the bed with her head towards the footboard, Corinne rested her ankles on the headboard with her feet planted firmly against the wall. She shoved the dildo in, wishing there was someone else to do it for her; wishing there was another person to hold it inside her and pump it and rub her swelling c**t and milk her breasts while she lay there, hips thrusting upwards. The warmth of arousal rushed through her before concentrating on her s*x. Need and desire narrowed to a pin-point, took her breath away in tiny grunts and gasps as her hand worked the fake c**k in and out and the fingers of her other hand, gripped and rubbed her c**t. She came in a loud, trembling gasp of pleasure. Everything inside her twitched and pulsed for no more than ten seconds. But for those ten second, it was bliss. She forgot about The Boss and the book and the encounter with Gregory and was lost in herself. It was over too soon and although she came, want still lingered. The dildo slid from her covered with c*m, leaving her empty physically and emotionally. There was no one to hold after all that and the ache would not quite go away completely. It really never did for Corinne. It had been three years since she’d had a real lover, three years of m**********g; more than that if you counted the last two years of her marriage. It just wasn’t all that she knew it could be. The image of Gregory sitting at the table drifted back to her lying there, spread eagle on the bed, fingers still toying with the soft folds of her s*x. Those gray eyes were stunning. The dark suit he’d been wearing was clearly tailored and expensive, too expensive for a man of the cloth. He’d worn some sort of ring with what looked like Greek letters on it. College boy, it screamed. But it was the suit that got her, priestly attire or not. Corinne had always had a thing for men in suits. Every girl really is crazy for a sharp-dressed man. She had even noticed his black shoes that were so polished they had reflected the overhead lights of the restaurant. If she didn’t know better, she’d have guessed him to be some sort of wealthy businessman, not a priest. “…if you are what I think you are, I may have an offer for you.” What, exactly, did he think she was? Corinne pulled herself up to sitting and took the dildo to the bathroom to wash it off. Her reflection gazed back at her. She felt so ordinary looking. A bit on the plump side, size sixteen, with rounded hips and full breasts. Her belly could have been a little flatter and firmer, but it wasn’t bad. Some men, she’d heard, liked that sort of thing though she had yet to meet one. Her last boyfriend had nagged at her to lose weight though he was hardly buff himself. Corinne ran her hand through her light brown hair and studied her blue eyes. She had a pretty face, thin nose, nice lips and smooth skin. Her hair fell in a gentle wave just to her shoulders and was parted in the middle. It wasn’t the most creative, or flattering, of hairstyles but it was easy to care for. Corinne tipped her head to one side as she looked at herself, “And what is it you are offering me, Father Monroe?” She said to the reflection with a seductive smirk. “Some private time in your confessional?” She giggled at the idea. Her, Corinne Anderson, that witchy-chic with her nose stuck in a book as she sat at the most remote table in the high school cafeteria, having a tumble with a priest, Father Rich-n-Suave. Talk about playing out of her league. Gregory Monroe sat on the side of his bed, thumbing through a book he’d just pulled from his bedside table. It was small; short by novel standards, dog-eared, torn and very well read; not just by him but by its original owner, Corinne Anderson. He stopped at a page and read in the margin something she had written when she could not have been any more than fifteen years old. “Oh, to be Beauty and have this done to me.” A line of text was underlined in red pen beside the notation. The main character, named Beauty, was described as being stripped naked and bound into an almost impossible position. He turned a few more pages, reading the familiar notes and lines to which they corresponded. The book was full of them. There was no doubt in his mind just what side of the story Corrine related to. The trick was to get her to admit it. He’d been with others like her, submissive. They all came to him eventually, willingly on their hands and knees. Some of them were afraid to be blindfolded and gagged and bound helplessly before him. Others were eager for it. A lot of them even had their own bondage equipment and toys, floggers, paddles, whips and the like. Corinne was different. That’s why he wanted her so much. Her submission would not come so easily. He’d have to work for it. His c**k was twitching at the thought of her kneeling before him in front of the altar when that time finally arrived. And it would arrive. He was that sure of himself. It would just take a little longer to convince her of her needs. He had no doubt he’d see her again at Rose’s. He’d seen her there before many times and had waited for just the right moment to step forward and introduce himself again. Tonight she had looked more frazzled than ever, vulnerable. She’d probably had a shitty day at work. Gregory liked when they were vulnerable. It made it so much easier for him. But, Corinne was no doormat. He’d seen that when she’d insisted she didn’t remember this sweet, little book of hers and had told him as politely as possible to f**k off and leave her alone. The bait had been lowered into the water and all he could do now was hope his little fish would give it some serious thought. He’d let it float there for a while, stay away from Rose’s and then appear again, book tucked into his briefcase and ready to deliver it to her and help jog her memory. Not that he believed for a moment that her memory needed any jogging. The blush to her cheeks had spoken volumes. Father Gregory placed the book back into the drawer, turned off the lamp and slid naked under the covers of his king-sized, four-poster bed. Mother Gen may have been a crazy b***h, but she had great taste in furniture. This bed was a fine example. Posts as thick around as his leg and cross-beams that could hold at least two-hundred pounds of dead weight. As fine a piece of bondage furniture as one would ever find. In fact, the whole house was full of such pieces. To the unknowing eye, it all looked very heavy and masculine, not in the least bit s****l. But almost every piece was dual purpose around here. Even an innocent looking easy chair in the library had a more sinister use if you knew to remove the cushions, move down the arm rests and spread out the base. “Very soon, lovely Corinne. You will admit what you are and submit to me and Our Lady of Pain in every way imaginable.”