Our Lady of Pain

Chapter Eight-1

Chapter Eight

“Not from family, no. Dad worked in the lumber mill. Mom cleaned houses. I was fortunate enough to get in good with a very wealthy woman while I was in college,” he chuckled. “I may have been a greasy, dirt-bag in high school but having no social life or skills lent itself well to study,” his eyes took in the familiar room. “Mother Genevive recruited me.”

“Who is Mother Genevive?”

“She and Father Andrew established this house back in the mid-1980s,” he winked at her and sipped his coffee. “She’s not dead, mind you, but I don’t expect her back any time. They tend to keep people like her away from the general population.”

“She’s in prison?”

“Better, psychiatric hospital Upstate.”

“Oh,” she didn’t know what to say so she took another sip of her own coffee.

A clock somewhere deeper in the house began to chime the hour. “A brief history of Saint Dolores is in order. Have you ever heard of Algernon Charles Swinburne?” Corinne shook her head. “He was a highly controversial poet during the Victorian era. His poetry was full of sadomasochism, wishes for death, lesbianism and it was very irreligious. His greatest work, as far as anyone here is concerned was Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs, a lengthy poetic ballad to his Mistress, Dolores, Our Lady of Pain.”

“You’ve founded a religion based on a poem?”

“No,” Gregory chuckled. “The real Dolores was, pardon my saying so, a w***e. Father Algernon was a masochist and frequented the brothels of London in search of pain and humiliation. He found it with Madam Dolores. He worshipped the ground she walked on and when she died, as whores are want to do, from something called the French Pox, Father Algernon went mad with grief. Some say that’s what started his real drinking problem. He suffered a mental and physical breakdown and thereafter was cared for by a friend who lived in Putney. He kept a private altar to his Mistress and called her Mother Superior, part of his irreverence for organized religion of any kind. He meant it as an insult to the Church of England just as much as the Catholics.” Corinne sat in rapt attention as she listened. “Father Algernon was not Dolores’ only follower. There were many, many others who grieved her death deeply. It was Swinburne’s idea to create a sect dedicated to her and the sweet pain she delivered to them. She became Saint Dolores, Our Lady of Pain. In honor of Father Algernon and his disdain for religion, the sect began to use the terms associated with the Church for its members. The dominant females grew to be known as Mother, the males Father. The submissive members, Sisters and Brothers. With that in place, the whole thing morphed into something very much resembling a religious order and is, for those here, a way to submerge themselves completely in what is known today as the b**m Lifestyle. The people who are here, want to be here. No one is forced. No one is kidnapped. But, once the Oath is made and the mantle of Sister or Brother is taken, there is no turning back.”

“How many people live here? I didn’t see anyone.”

“A couple dozen is all. There are other members, the Congregation, if you will, who come and go as they wish.”

“And you think I would fit in here as what, a Mother or Sister?”

“Oh, everyone starts out a Sister or Brother, no matter what they eventually end up becoming.”

“Even you?”

He smiled. “Even me. Only by experiencing firsthand the act of true submission, as our founding Father did so many times, can one appreciate when the tables are turned and you are the one being submitted to. Submission is not for the weak, Corinne. We have the scars on our backs to prove it. Pro peccatis suae gentis, vidit lesum in tormentis et flagellis subditum,” he recited in Latin then leaned back in the high-backed leather upholstered chair and steepled his fingers together, a gold ring glittering on the third finger of his right hand. “Bruised, derided, cursed and defiled, She beheld her tender child all in scourges rent.” As he translated, a veil of malevolence passed in front of his eyes before he smiled again. “Comments, questions, concerns?”

Corinne shuddered to look at him. “Am I permitted to talk to the others here?”

“Of course. You will meet some when we go on the tour.”

This was making her very, very uncomfortable. “Why can’t I tell anyone about this place? Why the secrecy?”

Gregory frowned. “Religious Order or not, b**m is illegal in this state, no matter how safe, sane and consensual it is.”

“But, I’ve seen… you know, whips and stuff for sale…”

Here he chuckled. “All of which have a disclaimer on them, for novelty use only,” he pushed himself away from the desk and rose. “By the way, don’t buy any of that crap. Go to a tack shop for your crops and whips, much better made and immensely cheaper. Or, Mother Allison can make you something.”

“Mother Allison?”

He came around the desk and held out his hand to Corinne. “Our resident leather worker. Quality stuff. Ready for a tour?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The fact that she hadn’t run screaming from the place yet pleased him. Gregory led her back into the front room of the Rectory. “If you decide to pursue a Sisterhood, you will live with the rest of the novices in the Convent, so, best we go there first.” They went out the front door and headed for a stone structure on the opposite side of the driveway. There were no windows and only one door that looked every bit the part of a Medieval door to a convent, wooden planks bound together with iron strappings on the facade. Father Monroe opened it. “After you.”

It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was some sort of foyer with a desk and a severe looking woman sitting behind it. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head and wore a shapeless, black gown cinched at the waist with two cords, one of blue and one of red. She looked up, rising as soon as she saw who it was. “Father Superior, to what do we owe the pleasure?” She bowed her head and taking his offered right hand, kissed the ring on it.

“A prospective novice, Mother Fran. This is Corinne. Corinne, Mother Fran. She runs the convent here at Saint Dolores.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Corinne held out her hand and felt it gripped firmly by this woman.

“We’ve not had a novice in over six months,” Mother Fran said hopefully.

“I’m just looking around. I’ve not decided,” Corinne said.

The older woman smirked. “If you’ve gotten this far, you’ve decided.” Mother Fran sat back down with a nod to Father Monroe. “I’ve no doubt we’ll be seeing much more of you, Corinne. Welcome to Saint Dolores.”

Gregory was taking hold of Corinne’s bicep, drawing her away from the woman and towards another door, smaller than the first one they had passed through, but of the same design. It was a little brighter here. Wall sconces lit the narrow hallway, illuminating a series of closed doors. “We have twelve Sister cells,” Gregory was explaining even as he reached over and pulled one of the doors open. “Each one is ten feet square and furnished as you would expect, a single, narrow bed, a chair and a table, as you can see.” Corinne saw other things, too, like the chains and metal rings connected to the bed. Gregory kept talking as he closed the door again. “Each morning, anyone in residence goes to the common bathing facilities after which, breakfast is served in the dining hall through here,” he opened another door, leading them into a large, but low-roofed room with several rows of picnic-like tables. Every single person who sat at the tables was naked. Corinne froze in her tracks. “Silence is the rule for all meals, so please, if you have any questions, keep your voice as low as possible or wait until we leave the room.” Corinne nodded, eyes wide with wonder and fear. As they moved further into the room, Corinne noticed the collars that circled the necks of the diners. A chain ran through a ring at the front of each collar, connecting each person to the person beside them. Their ankles were dressed in much the same way, cuffs and chains, each linked one to the other. The women sat around one table, the men another. This was the only gap in the chain. Belts of some sort were around the waist of everyone seated, but Corinne could not get a good look at these.

A man, clad exactly like Gregory had always been before in public, black slacks, black dress shirt and jackets with the ever present Naru-style collar, approached them from across the room. He had a riding crop in his hand. “Father Superior.” It could not go unnoticed that as soon as this man said these words, all activity at the table ceased, utensils and glasses were set down and hands were put obediently into naked laps. Despite the fact that the man who had spoken was clearly a Dominant, he gently kissed the Gregory’s ring and gave a slight, reverent bow.

“Father Mark. What’s for breakfast, today?” Holding Corinne gently by the arm, Gregory moved in closer to the tables where no one spoke or looked up.

“Scrambled eggs, sausage, hash brown, toast, coffee and juice, Father,” Mark replied.

“Are you hungry, Corinne?” She shook her head, unwilling to admit it even if she had been. “As you can see, we feed our Brothers and Sisters well. They will need the energy and strength,” he chuckled and Corinne could not help but see that look of sadism in his eyes. “Corinne, meet Father Mark. He’s in charge of the monastery. I’m afraid women are not permitted there, but it looks very much like the women’s side. I can show you the kitchen and showers and training rooms though, if you have no questions for Father Mark.”

Corinne was watching the people frozen in complete silence. These were the ones she wanted to talk to. She shook her head again. “No, Father Monroe. I’ve no questions for Father Mark.”

“Then we move on.”

As soon as they left the dining hall through the arched doorway, opposite the way they’d come in, Corinne took in a deep breath. “This is for real, isn’t it?” She said, still keeping her voice below its normal volume.

“Very real.” They paused in the hallway. “We are very serious about this, Corinne, just as serious as any religious Order. You must understand that. When I say you will be taken care of, I mean it.”

It was finally beginning to sink in. This wasn’t just some private club for the sexually adventurous, this was a life and a lifestyle, all consuming. Her lips pressed more tightly together as the realization struck her. “I thought you wanted a personal assistant, not another Sister.”

“You see, you do pay attention, don’t you? Yes, but in order to become my assistant, you must complete the most basic training. A short, seven-week course in submission. Everyone in the congregation has at least that much. Some make the decision to continue their training, others don’t. In your case, you’d only remain in the convent during your initial training, after that, you might be allowed to stay with me in the Rectory.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you, Father Monroe?”

“Only if you decide to complete the training and become my personal assistant, Ms. Anderson,” he was all business.

“Will I have to kiss that ring of yours?” Corinne smiled.

Gregory lifted his hand and looked at the ring. It was gold with a gleaming, black stone. Etched into the stone were what looked like the letters T X T. He held it out to Corinne, looking at her intensely. “You may kiss it now.”

She looked up into his hard, cold eyes and meant to say, “No, thank you.” But instead found herself taking his hand as he’d seen the others do and pressing her lips to the stone. A shudder ran through her body and her crotch tingled.

“What a good girl, you are, Corinne,” his hand lowered. “I think you are ready to see the training room and bathing facilities.”

They passed through another arched doorway, down a short hall and into a room about half the size of Corinne’s high school gymnasium. The place was empty now. It was like a cross between a fitness club and a torture chamber, though some would say those two things were one in the same anyway. At the far end Corinne could see a series of stationary bicycles and treadmills. Three weight benches were set up beyond those and a little closer, between the treadmills and a half wall painted black, was an open space covered with mats, neatly spread on the floor. “Personal fitness is very important here. Everyone works out in this room, Dominants and submissive alike. There is a swimming pool out back, as well as a sauna and hot tub through that side door. Yoga is paramount to our training,” he didn’t explain why but turned his back on the normal and faced her towards the bizarre. “And here,” he spread out his arms majestically, “here is where Our Lady thrives, the training Dungeon, where all is pain and those first lessons are learned.”

He chuckled, walking further into the space amongst the devices Corinne could not even begin to figure out a use for. His slender fingers ran over something that looked like a miniature picnic table but with padding, not only on the seats, but the tabletop as well. “Spanking bench,” he said, “we have four.” Gregory went to the next item, “Inversion table, whipping post, and the Rack,” he turned and looked at her. “I love to see my girls on the Rack, by the way.” A square, wooden frame only slightly larger than a door was next. It was circled by metal eyehooks. “Lacing station,” Gregory told her then pointed up at the ceiling where iron beams had been mounted and where Corinne now saw more hardware. “Over head suspension. A plethora of uses,” he turned around slowly, a look of madness and bliss on his face until he was facing Corinne again.

Despite the terror that made her hands shake and her palms sweat, something else in her raged, desire. The urge to go to him and kneel at his feet and kiss his ring again was almost over whelming. This was real, she realized. This was not a book she’d read seventeen years ago anymore. This was something solid. His gray eyes were smiling at her over his sensual mouth. And if he walked any closer she really would fall to her knees. Charisma, that’s what they called it. It exuded from him and he knew it. “Come here, Corinne,” he seemed to say without even speaking. “Submit and confess.”