Candlelight

The bedroom is lit by two dozen candles. Sitting on the antique furniture, they make it seem like a chapel, with the four poster bed the high altar. A stick of lavender incense adds its flavor to the atmosphere, making everything surreal.

She lies on the bed beneath red satin sheets, covered to her neck. The upper sheet is untucked. Flat on her back, her arms and legs spread, she waits for him.

He enters, in a dark shirt and slacks with a touch of white at his throat, and slowly advances to the bedside. She looks at him, her blonde hair spread on the pillow, her eyes shining in the candlelight. Floating across the room, he settles on the bed to her right, his hair a leopard's mane, his hands strong and supple, his touch a butterfly on the sheet next to her. "Are you ready, Sweetness?"

"Yes, Father."

"May I stroke the sheet, Sweetness?"

"Yes, Father. But remember, that's all you can do."

His hand wanders over to the outline of her form, running up and down her side, making her giggle. It wanders upward, tracing the mounds, sailing down the slopes to the valley and up the lower curves. She closes her eyes and she smiles, her body turning ever so slightly to accept the touch. He pushes the button on a remote, and Gregorian chant wafts through the air.

"I have a thought, Sweetness."

"Yes, Father?"

"I would like to see your leg."

"How much of it? Not all of it?"

"No, Sweetness. Just the lower part, from just above your knee. Would that be all right?"

"Yes, Father. But remember, that's all you can do."

Her right leg emerges from its silken lair. Smooth and long, lightly toasted brown by the sun, delicate feet with red toenails. He turns to trace her calf, up past her knee on the inside and up to the boundary before returning all the way to the arch of her foot. She sighs and giggles and takes deep breaths as his hand sweeps her flesh.

After a short time, he pulls a silk scarf from the dresser. "I would like to decorate your leg, Sweetness."

"Yes? Where?" "I think this would look lovely just above your knee."

She thinks for a moment. "I think so, too. But no farther."

Gently, he ties the flowery banner just above her knee letting the end spread out. "Is that too tight, Sweetness?"

"No."

"There is something more I would like to see."

"What?"

"Your arm. Would you let me expose your arm?"

"I don't know."

"I love your angelic fingers and strong muscles."

"All right. But no farther."

"Of course, Sweetness." He pulls back the cover exposing her arm: her hand is delicate and her fingernails red. Grasping her hand, he strokes her forearm while kissing the back of her hand gallantly. Then, he kisses each finger of her hand, inside and outside, and her holds out her palm for him to bury his face in. His arm ranges upward, stroking above her elbow.

After a while, he has another request. "Sweetness, I would like to decorate your wrist."

"Oh. How?"

"I would like something similar to the decoration on your leg."

"Would it be uncomfortable?"

"No, Sweetness. I would never make you uncomfortable."

"As long as I am comfortable, you may. But no farther."

"Of course, Sweetness." Kissing her hand, he brings it to her knee and gently wraps the other end of the scarf around her wrist. He puts a loose knot to hold it in place and stands up.

She gazes up at him, eyes shining. He moves around to the other side of the bed, scarf in hand. "I would like to decorate your other leg, Sweetness."

"I'm not sure your motives are trustworthy, Father."

"But it would look so nice. I have another beautiful, silk scarf. Does the scarf on your leg and wrist not feel soft."

"It feels very soft, Father."

"It would be nothing more than that."

"All right, Father. I will let you decorate my other leg and wrist similarly. But no farther."

She allows him to expose her left leg and kiss the inside of her knee, lightly exploring the curves with his tongue. She pulls it up closer and he strokes her leg down her calf to the arch of her foot, returning to the limit of her exposure. Gently, he puts the scarf around her leg above her knee. Then he exposes her left arm, kissing the palm of her hand and kissing every finger, taking the index finger into his mouth. She purrs and he brings her hand down where he wraps the other end of the scarf around her wrist.

Standing up, he walks to the bottom of the four poster bed. He looks at her arrayed before him: her arms and legs wrapped securely in silken scarves, her face looking at him with her blonde hair arrayed beneath her, the satin sheet covering her body. Her body is in perfect symmetry, and he admires the mirror image before him. They gaze into each other's eyes for a while, then he says softly: "I have a confession to make."

"Yes, Father?"

"You let me touch the red satin sheets you lie under."

"Yes, Father."

"You let me expose your legs and arms."

"Yes, Father."

"You let me decorate them with lovely silken scarves."

"Yes, Father."

"Have you done anything wrong in that?"

"No, Father. I have let you do these things freely, knowing they are innocent. I have not let you go any farther than innocence allows."

"Then if I did something you did not permit, you would be blameless?"

"Yes, Father."

"But what if. . ."

"What if?"

"What if I pulled the sheet away?"

" I would not permit that."

"Would you be responsible for anything that happened from then on?"

"No, Father. I am helpless here."

With a flick of his wrist, he tears away the satin sheet. Her body is now exposed, her nipples perking in the change of temperature. He sits between her legs and touches her stomach. Making soft circles, he moves around and around, growing broader and broader. She sighs and moans, and he ascends one of her breasts, circling her nipple. A lifetime of pleasure and his hand trails across her chest and ascends the other, trailing around and around.

Then, he strokes down the length of her torso, from her sternum down to the valley below. The slopes of the valley are smooth and clean, and very soft. He finds her flower, looking up at him, and traces his finger around the petals. "Father, should you be doing this?"

"I don't know. It seems innocent to me."

"I'm not sure it's innocent."

"Do you have any choice?"

"No, Father."

"Then do not worry."

The flower grows moist under his touch, and he probes to find the soft little cavern within. She sighs as the tip of his finger finds it. Sitting closer, right next to her thighs, he takes advantage of his position to thrust deep while he leans over her torso. Her breathing grows heavy, and quickens as he kisses her stomach. His tongue moves upward, slowly, so slowly. It ascends her breast and encircles the nub, standing erect and calling him. He sucks it into his mouth, his tongue moving around and around, his teeth gently touching. She thrashes and shudders, but cannot escape.

After an eternity, his tongue moves across the valley of her sternum and ascends the other peak. It perks up to welcome him, and he treats it the same way as his deft fingers are moving in her cleft below. Her breathing gets heavier and heavier, her writhing more intense. He is relentless and does not let her go. Soon she is close, and his head drops to the cleft of her valley, where his tongue invades where his fingers have been. It is not long now, and she puts her legs over his shoulders, parting her knees. With a shaking of her head, she reaches her paradise of pleasure.

"No more, no more," she cries. He stands up as she releases him, and smiles down on her. "Oh my God! Sweet Jesus!"

He smiles down on her. "Are you ready for your penance?"

"Penance, Father?"

"Penance. You have allowed this to happen."

"But I had no choice."

"Nevertheless, you must do your penance. I will release you, and you will kneel before me."

"Yes, Father."

He unties the scarves, and she kneels on the floor. Going over to the closet, he pulls out a yardstick. "You will have to submit to my penance."

"Yes, Father."

"Unzip my fly."

"Yes, Father." She unzips his fly and his manhood surges outward, dripping in anticipation.

"If you do not do your penance well, I will have to discipline you."

"Yes, Father. Do what you need to do."

Her mouth and tongue are all over his manhood, licking and sucking, grazing his pubic hair with her nose, taking one sweet oyster into her mouth, then the other, while stroking him with her hand. A sting lands on her buttock, and then another. She licks her way upward, around and around, before inhaling his manhood.

Lavender cologne penetrated her nostrils, and her hand came up to stroke his scrotum and she sucks. A sting lands on her buttock and she moans; another and another follows turning her white flesh light red.

Onward and onward she sucks and the flurry of red grows on her bottom. He gasps and moans, his manhood quivering in his mouth before suddenly growing. It is not long before he sends his seed down her throat, burst after burst, overwhelming her hunger, leaking out the corners of her mouth, dripping down on her chest. Spent, he lays on the deep carpeting and she lays down beside him. He notices the egg white on her chest and rubs it into her skin, moving upward to cover her nubs. She strokes his oyster sack, and smiles. The Chant continues flowing through the room, and the lavender flavors the air as time stands still.

"Tomorrow," she says in the midst of the lavender dream, "I will be a nun, guest mistress of the convent, and you will be a wanderer looking for shelter in the night."

"Yes."

"And I will make you very welcome."

"Yes."