Our Lady of Pain

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Sister Megan was draped over his lap, her bare ass under his hand. “Have you been a good girl or a bad girl?” Father Gregory asked. Her skin was smooth and soft.

“Oh, very bad,” the girl twittered. Except for a little chain around her ankle and a dog collar around her throat, Megan was naked. Gregory had connected a leash to the front of the collar and his foot was planted on the leather handle, keeping the chain taut and Megan’s head down.

Gregory smiled. “If that’s true then why should I spank you when I know you like being spanked? That’s hardly punishment for a girl who has sinned,” she squirmed on his lap, unsure now. She’d not played with Father Gregory in a long time and had forgotten just what he could be like. His hand patted her rump gently. “I put sinful girls in the corner and ignore them.”

Her mind was racing, trying to think of some sort of reply. “Maybe I’ve not been that bad, Father,” she finally said, biting her bottom lip.

“I see,” his hand rose and fell suddenly, stinging her ass. Megan purred. “I think a spanking should be a reward.” Gregory’s manicured fingernails fluttered over Megan’s bottom. “What do you think?”

“Whatever you like, Father.” But she really, really wanted to be spanked.

“Very well. Get off my lap and kneel at my feet.”

Megan pouted but did as he said. She’d have to earn her spanking tonight. The other Fathers, that’s what the Dominant males were called around here, would have just given it to her and she was reminded why she’d kept clear of Father Monroe for so long. He was too serious for her. But he knew his stuff and if he did decide to spank her, it would be long and hard and delightful. “Yes, Father.” Besides, submitting was part of the fun for her, too.

“Sit quietly and keep your eyes down and I’ll decide in a while if you get the spanking you want,” he loved the frown and the little scowl on her face. “Stay here while I mingle.”

Gregory left the chair and made his way toward the front of the boat. Most of the play took place below and he could hear laughter and talking as he passed the open door that led down. The only other couple on deck was Mother Connie and Brother Jerry. They seldom played in public but tonight Jerry had somehow gotten himself tied to the bow of the ship. He was on his knees, facing the water, arms spread wide and lashed with rope to the metal railing. And Connie had a row of floggers spread out on a nearby seat and one in hand. Jerry flinched and grunted as the heavy leather tails hit his back, ass and thighs. All were red and striped by this point. Connie paused when she saw Gregory approach. “Nice to see you someplace other than in the pulpit for a change.” Connie’s voice was rough and husky but still feminine. It reminded Gregory a little of Gen’s.

“Nice to be out,” he glanced back, checking to see if Megan was still in place as ordered. She was.

“What have you been doing?”

He shrugged. “Working and tracking down a few things. Seeking new converts, if you must know,” he eyed the collection of floggers. “May I?”

“Sure.” Connie stepped back while Gregory scanned the offerings. “He’s a hard nut to crack. Maybe he needs a man’s touch to get him going,” Connie said of her husband.

Gregory picked up a heavy, stiff tailed flogger and hefted it. “Nice,” he eyed Jerry’s criss-crossed back. “Ever try a single tail on him?” Connie shook her head. “I’ve got one downstairs. It always got a nice yelp out of them for me.” Gregory stepped forward and brought the sharp flogger tails down hard across the male slave’s back without warning. Jerry’s head jerked back with a sudden gasp. The Priest lowered his aim, striking hard and fast across Jerry’s naked ass, jerking the submissive male back time and time again with pain-filled grunts. It was then that Gregory saw Jerry’s n****e rings had been tethered to the front rail. When he jerked back, the rings pulled at his tender buds. “Nice touch.”

“Thank you. Where’s that single tail?” Connie asked.

“In the closet to the right at the bottom of the ladder.” Connie went off to get it. Gregory moved the flogger a dozen more times across Jerry’s back, striking random and hard and setting no rhyme or reason to his assault. When Connie returned, her husband was panting. She handed Gregory the single tailed whip and stepped back to watch before trying it herself. The whip was stiff and merciless. Line after line was drawn across Jerry’s back, his body jerking backwards and forwards while his c**k began to harden. Gregory leaned over and whispered to Connie. “I think he likes it.”

“I think you’re right.” Gregory handed Connie the whip and let her have at it.

“Have fun, kids,” he chuckled after making sure Connie had the hang of it and left the couple to return to Megan. “How is she doing? Being good now?”

It did not look as if Megan had moved even a fraction. “Yes, Father.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Go and fetch me a drink at the bar on your hands and knees. While you’re gone, I’ll give further thought to that spanking you think you want,” he sat back down, watching as she crawled to the small bar. Her ass was small and tight and swayed very nicely as she moved away from him. For these events, he never stocked alcohol. Drunks with whips, especially drunks with whips on boats, was not a good idea. Megan brought him back a cola. “Thank you. Kneel back.” Megan returned to her previous spot and position.

Gregory took a sip then sighed, looked up at the star-filled sky over the lake and thought about Corinne. If only it were her kneeling beside him instead of Megan. His hand came to rest absently on Megan’s head, stroking her hair with his fingertips, completely unaware of the smile she gave him. He didn’t look down at her until she let out a soft moan. His hand had curled into a fist, dragging her hair with it and pulling it. Her full lips had parted and her eyes were closed. If only, he thought.

He set the drink aside. “Come on then, over my knee. You’ve waited long enough.” With the eagerness of a young puppy, Megan draped herself over Gregory’s lap a second time. He looked down at her without emotion. After being around the glass of cola for so long, Gregory’s hand was cold. It sent a shiver of goose-bumps up her back as soon as he placed it on her warm butt. First one cheek was slapped then the other, each strike a little firmer. Megan was a pain-slut and absorbed each stinging blow with deeper and deeper delight. When he finally stopped, she was already panting with need.

Ice ran over her red skin. She twitched and squirmed against him as trickles of water moved down the backs of her toned and tanned thighs. At first it did not feel cold, but was merely a different sensation than the bite of his bare hand. Gradually that changed. Her skin cooled, cold replaced the heat to the point of pain. The red of her ass took on a whole new meaning. Megan moaned and buried her face against his leg. It hurt now. It was too cold. It felt like the ice was seeping down under her skin as he replaced one piece of ice after another.

Before she could realize he’d stopped, his hand returned and the spanking with it. It was harder than before and the surface of her flesh was numb. SMACK SMACK SMACK went his palm, drawing the sting and blood and heat back up very suddenly. Her hands dug into the chair. Her toes clenched and spread as the strikes intensified. She found herself wanting to scream. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt! God it hurt so f*****g good.

“What do we say when we want more, Sister Megan?”

Why did he have to be this way even when they weren’t at the Chapel? Megan sighed. “Bless me Father, and deliver me into the hands of Our Lady of Pain,” she recited with even less emotion than he had expressed.

“I don’t think you mean that, Sister.” Gregory knew he was right. A few of them did not take this lifestyle seriously. He’d had hopes for Megan once, but she’d become lazy, unwilling to live and breathe it as the rest of them did. Despite that he drew his hand back and smacked her ass as hard as he could, sending a hot sting into her bottom as well as his hand. Megan yelped. Before she could catch her breath, Gregory delivered a series of blows to her upturned bottom so hard that she was soon squirming to get away. He held her fast. Megan was crying. “Say it like you mean it, Megan or I will hand you over to Mother Fran and you don’t want that, do you?”

Megan swallowed and shook her head. “No, Father.”

“Good girl,” he hoisted her up onto his lap further, pressing her side tight to his stomach. “This time, say it like you mean it.”

She took a deep breath. “Bless me, Father and deliver me into the hands of Our Lady of Pain.”

“Much better,” his hand came down again in rapid fire, six, seven, eight, nine, ten times until Megan screeched again, pushing her toes against the floor. Gregory’s grip was solid. “Do you want this pain or not?” Everyone knew Gregory had a bit of a short temper, one you didn’t mess with and respectfully feared. He was the Father Superior after all.

“Yes, Father.”

“Then quit trying to get away from it or do you want to be the Chosen One at this week’s service?”

“No, Father.”

“I didn’t think so.” Again he pulled her back into place, ignoring her little whines and sobs. SLAP! His hardened hand struck her reddened skin. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! As hard as he could he brought it down, ignoring the pain he felt and driving it back into the girl over his lap. Each strike pumped against his c**k, pressing it more firmly between the flesh of his leg and his neatly pressed trousers. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Megan’s toes pushed upwards and she twisted away in a graceless tumble to the deck of the ship. Before she even realized what she’d done, Megan looked up at him and growled. Gregory bent down and snatched up her hair, pulling her painfully to her knees. “You wanted a spanking, Sister Megan, and you look at me like that?” Her eyes darted away and she hung her head. “You will come to confession tomorrow,” he ordered. “And don’t make things worse for yourself by not showing up.” Gregory released her hair, rose up and walked away.

At seven, the cat walked across her chest and touched its nose to hers. Corinne blinked with her eyes shut, brushed the cat away and rolled to her side. “Twelve more hours,” she mumbled in half sleep. The cat purred and rubbed against her hand.

A day of expectations crawled by. Corinne would work in sporadic rushes. A feverish pitch of industry would suddenly fall into the motionless, trance of a daydream. She felt confused, drained, charged and sure all at the same time. “I’m going insane. I can’t do this.” Corinne hung onto the rail of the bus that would take her downtown to her car. The day done, the night begun and back to Rose’s she’d go.

It was late August and the college student population had invaded the place temporarily. Corinne’s table was not ready for her. “It shouldn’t be long, fifteen minutes maybe. You can wait in the lounge and I’ll come to get you,” the hostess offered. Mutely, Corinne nodded. The lounge was stuffy and warm. She thought twice about waiting here in a faded, stale scent of cigarette smoke. Corinne sat, submitted to the atmosphere, in the back as far away as she could get from everyone. She clutched her purse to her lap. She waited, suffered, wondered and dreamed.

“You, too, eh?”

“What?!” Corinne startled and found herself looking up at Father Monroe.

“No tables out there,” he indicated the dining room beyond with a nod of his head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Yes. No. I mean yes. That would be nice.”

His eyes shined. “You look like you need a drink. Allow me,” he left to return with two glasses of wine and sat down with them.

He’s too close, thought Corinne. He’s too close and not close enough. “Thank you,” she smiled. “But what if I don’t like wine?” She was finding herself slowly, letting the nerves fade a fraction.

His laugh brought the tingle to her again. “You’d drink it anyway and not say anything for fear of making me feel bad, for displeasing me,” his eyes studied her intimately. He wasn’t undressing her with his eyes. He was raping her with them. “Isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” she whispered, knowing he spoke exactly what was in her heart. “I thought priests didn’t drink alcohol.”

He chuckled. “They aren’t supposed to like s*x either,” silence curled between them. “You still have the most lovely eyes, Corinne,” he said with sincerity. “I’m afraid I came on a bit too strong the other night, but I am not in the habit of holding back the things I feel. High school was a long time ago, before either of us had a clue what it was all about. I don’t think you do even now. I’ve changed a lot and maybe you have as well. I should not have assumed what I have,” his lips, so sensual, barely touched the rim of his wine glass as he drank. She looked bewildered. “Do you remember the name of that book yet, Corinne?”

Corinne’s heart was in her throat. Her palms itched. “Yes.”

“Not something a fourteen year old girl should have been reading, was it?”

The honey between her legs trickled. “What exactly do you want, Mr. Monroe?”

His expression darkened but he still smiled and the eyes still shined. The shine was sadistic now and the smile equally as cruel. “I’m the prince, Corinne. Remember what the prince did to Beauty? You underlined and commented on it all throughout the book. I read it, all that you wrote, all that you underlined. It drove me insane, your yearnings. But you were only fourteen. Only fourteen.”

“I was fifteen for your information and I am tired of this game of yours. I thought you were a man of God. Tell me what you want or leave me alone?” She gathered up her purse and herself and stood, wanting to get away from him.

“Sit down, Corinne,” his tone was dry and commanding but not loud.

She sat, shaken and aroused. “What do you want from me?” She searched his face for an answer she already knew.

“It was a long time ago, little one. I was eighteen. While you kept to your secret world and ways, I made a few vows of my own,” she was leaning forward, drinking in his voice. “I wanted then the same thing I want now.”

“And what’s that?”

“You.”

Corinne did not move. “Me?”

“Yes,” he smiled.

“That’s ludicrous,” heat radiated from her face even as she said it.

“Is it?”

“Excuse me, Sir. Your table is ready.” The hostess stepped up to them.

“Join me, Corinne?” He extended his smooth, manicured hand to her.

Her cheeks bloomed. “Alright.” Why she accepted his offer, she couldn’t be sure but suddenly she was following along behind him and the hostess.

Once seated, Corinne found herself unable to speak with what little voice she did have. This man, who knew so much about her, rested casually back in his chair, scanning the menu. She sat on the edge of her seat. “We’ll both be having the pork tenderloin tonight,” he told the waitress when she arrived. Corinne’s lips tightened, menu trembling in her hands faintly. “Baked potato and side salads as well with French dressing on both,” he paused to look at Corinne then said, without pulling his eyes from her, “And an extra glass of water for the lady, please.” Their menus were slid away.

“What was that?” Corinne found her voice. “Why did you order for me?”

“Because that’s what I do. Why didn’t you speak up and stop me?”

She fumbled with her napkin, spreading it out onto her lap. “It would have been rude, that’s why.”

His dark eyebrows arched up as he smiled. “It would be equally as rude for you to finish your meal before I am done with mine. But then, no one is holding you in that chair, Corinne. You are free to get up and walk out any time you like,” she scowled and said nothing. She did not leave. He chuckled.

Eating dinner was frustrating. She felt he was deliberately taking more time than usual to eat. Why was she doing this? Because of some book he’d stolen from her in high school? Conversation was non-existent, yet she remained, obedient. On a whim she reached over and emptied her wine glass. His was still half full. Corinne gave him a smug smile and set her glass down. “I’m finished. It’s late and I’m going home,” she pulled her napkin from her lap. “You’ve made me late. That, Sir, is rude as well.”

He didn’t move. His expression remained fixed. “Late for what?”

“Late getting home.”

“Is someone there waiting for you?”

Her eyes sparked and she rose abruptly. “That is none of your business.” Corinne gathered up her purse and pulled out her wallet.

He held up his hand. “My treat, if you promise to come back next week.”

Corinne fumed, tossing what she owed for her portion of the meal on the table. “I don’t think so. You’re a f*****g priest, remember?” In a flurry, she stormed from the restaurant.

He chuckled to himself, watching her go. “Yes, I am a f*****g priest, little one and you’ll be back to find out just how wonderful that can be,” he ordered another glass of wine and a piece of cheesecake.