Purity

Disclaimer:

Please read and take note. This work explores themes of power imbalance, older man/younger woman, corporal discipline, and the corruption of Christian traditions in a historical context. Please do not read this story if you find such themes offensive, distasteful, or upsetting. Also, understand this is a work of fiction directly from the creative mind of a fellow human being and is freely offered up for the enjoyment of those who would like it. Troll comments will be deleted with extreme prejudice.

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In his study the following morning, Father Edmund Hardwick looked over his young ward with an appraising eye. It was clear from her appearance that she had not spent a restful night, which was unsurprising as she had been bound lying on her well-whipped behind. Judging by what he could tell when he burst in on her wicked activities, she had been interrupted just a few strokes short of an impressively powerful climax.

However, her wrists did not look too raw, indicating that she hadn't fought her bindings and had obediently submitted to her torment. Good girl. A filthy, lust-driven girl undoubtably, but one with a good heart that just needed a firm hand to guide her. Luckily for her, he had such a hand.

'Look at me, Alice.' He rarely called her by her given name, and this, coupled with his stern tone, drew her eyes fly to his for the first time that morning.

'I'm so sorry, Father. Please, please forgive me,' she begged, her voice a mixture of panic and contrition.

She looked so small and repentant that he nearly changed his mind about the punishment he had planned, almost believing that she had learned her lesson. However, after she promised better behaviour yesterday and then followed her punishment with a wanton show of self-pleasure, he knew he could not go easy on her. The devil had his wicked claws into the very soul of this young woman, and it was his job to rip her from his grip and bring her back into the light, kicking and screaming if need be.

'I can assure you, girl, that you will indeed be very sorry by the end of the day.' Her face blanched. 'However, I have a task for you to complete before I begin your punishment.'

Some of the tenseness in her small frame eased when she realised that she would not be made to strip and bend for him immediately.

'Of course, Father. Anything you wish,' she said eagerly.

'I need you to pay a visit to the big house and ask at the kitchens to borrow some chili from their glasshouse. Say that Father Edmund has need of some liniment and that you will be making it for him.'

'Chili, Father? What is it for?'

'It's a medicinal and culinary plant. Cook will know what it is and can get you what I require. You might also ask her if she has a finger of ginger, while you're about it. In fact, make it a thumb.' He smiled, enjoying her confusion.

Although she looked puzzled, a young girl from her standing never having been exposed to such exotic seasonings, she seemed excited to be sent on an errand to the big house. She was never customarily allowed to go out unaccompanied and was keen to please him. He knew that she would get him what he required and return home quickly.

A short while later, her cheeks flushed from hurrying, she returned to the rectory with the spices wrapped in a piece of muslin.

He instructed her in how to finely dice the chillies, seeds, and all, and stir them into a little melted beeswax mixed with oil. The resulting liquid, which already made her eyes water, was poured into a glass jar, and left in the pantry to cool and harden. The thumb of ginger, he slipped into the pocket of his robes, along with a small paring knife.

'Now, tidy the kitchen, wash your hands well, and then meet me in my study.' She swallowed and paled visibly, knowing her punishment was about to begin.

When five minutes had passed, and he was about to come and fetch her himself, she appeared at his study, standing nervously at the threshold as though waiting for a formal invitation to enter.

'Come in, girl; there is no more delaying your reckoning. Remove your clothes and let me see if you still bear any marks from last night.'

Sitting in his leather wingback chair by the fire, he relaxed and enjoyed the view of her trembling form, disrobing reluctantly before him. Quite a change from last night, he thought, when she seemed prepared, almost eager, to bend for the kiss of his lash. Perhaps today was different because she had disappointed him so badly last night. Maybe it was the fear of the unknown? He had yet to share his plans for her punishment with her. Perhaps her bottom and womanly folds were just too sore to contemplate another dose of corporal correction?

Whatever it was, it would not deflect him from his course of action, for if he were weak in his resolve, who would save her immortal soul?

When she was completely bare, he beckoned her closer to stand between his spread thighs, her small, rounded breasts at eye level, her bold, berry tips making his mouth water. With his big hands on her hips, he turned her away from him, enjoying the way the flickering firelight highlighted her curves. Once her well-rounded bottom came into view, he drew in a breath, impressed at the way his lash marks still painted her backside and thighs. However, he knew that much of his handiwork was still hidden, so with a firm but gentle hand between her shoulder blades, he eased her forward until she was touching her toes.

Better, but not quite good enough.

'Spread, Alice,' he commanded, and she shuffled her legs apart, wider, and wider until they were well spaced, and her hands were flat on the faded hearthrug.

'Ah, yes. I see that you are still benefitting from the lessons I taught you last night.' He smiled, proudly as he ran his fingertips along the still-raised welts and purpling bruises from the lash. 'Does it still hurt?' he asked, pressing his fingers into some of the more tender spots.

She hissed. 'Yes, Father.'

'That is good. A lesson remembered is a lesson well learned. And what of my other marks?' He moved his probing fingers under the swell of her cheeks to the dewy cleft between her thighs. She stiffened and tried to pull away as his fingers cruelly pinched her still-swollen clit and plucked at her well-beaten folds.

Holding her in place, he continued his harsh exploration, surprised, and pleased to find her wet despite her obvious trepidation. 'Apparently, you are not sore enough if you couldn't keep your naughty little fingers away!' He punctuated his words with a sharp slap to her well-spread petals, enjoying the pained squeal as his fingertips caught her abused clit.

'Now, you have earned yourself a severe whipping for your wanton behaviour of yesternight,' she groaned lowly as he harshly squeezed her cheeks, 'however, I am not a merciless man, and your bottom is in no fit state to receive such a harsh punishment so soon.'

She relaxed under his hand, and he smiled cruelly. He had nothing against her suffering. In fact, he highly recommended it as a way of reaching enlightenment as his bouts of self-flagellation attested. His only reservation was about leaving lasting marks on her perfect, alabaster skin.

'Instead, I shall punish your bottom inside and out with a good, hard spanking and a little something to remind you of what is waiting for you if you do not repent your sins.'

Now she looked really worried, as well she might, as he manoeuvred her to lay over his lap. However, the design of the wingback chair, with its tall, padded arms, did not readily accommodate this position, and he did not feel like moving away from the warm fire to sit on the wooden stool in the corner of the room.

Resolved, he turned her away from him, straightened both of his legs to push between hers, and tugged back on her hips, effectively making her straddle his lap backwards, before pushing the front of her body along his legs, head down, arse up. Yes, this would do nicely.

As he began to rhythmically beat a tattoo on her upturned cheeks, he was reminded of one Christmas when, as a young boy, he had been given a tin drum. How he drove his Mama to distraction by beating it for hours on end around the house. Indeed, the female in this scenario was similarly distraught by the rhythm he created. However, unlike his childish pursuits, this time his purpose was righteous. He was driving out wickedness and bringing a young woman back into the light, and in the fight of Good over Evil, no quarter could be given.

When her swollen nates were aglow, he spread his thighs wider, forcing her legs apart to allow him unfettered access to her core, which was, as he'd suspected, awash with the evidence of her arousal. What a dirty girl to get so excited by a punishment. He'd soon nip that in the bud.

'I'm now going to spank your wanton folds, Alice, in the hope that you will come to learn that fingers between your legs will ultimately lead to the burning fires of Hell.' And with that, he proceeded to cruelly slap the soft, wet petals of her sex, paying particular attention that each stoke should impact her painful, red clit. He was rewarded with a symphony of gasps, cries, and squeals that suggested he was effectively getting his point across.

When he was finished, he leaned back and surveyed his work. The girl was sniffling and shuddering over his lap, her long hair covering her wet, red face and trailing to the ground. Her bottom and the tops of her spread thighs were bright red, with mottled handprints overlapping the crosshatching of welts from his previous lesson.

He was rather pleased with the way the deep red was an even colour over both rounds and thighs, apart from a slightly deeper hue where arse met thigh, ensuring she would not be sitting comfortably tomorrow. Her pouting womanhood was equally flushed and swollen, with her inner petals opened like a hothouse flower, revealing her free-flowing nectar.

Stroking one blazing cheek absentmindedly, he reached into his pocket and started to peel the tough outer skin from the thumb of ginger he'd had her procure. She had no idea what it was and what it was capable of, but that would soon change. Once he had peeled it, he added deep grooves to release more of its stinging juice and carved a thinner neck and a wider flange to sit outside her body. It wouldn't do to lose it inside her if she wriggled, and he felt sure that she would find it challenging to stay still once it was at work inside her.

Wrapping his free hand about her hair, he angled her head up to look at him and commanded, 'Open.' She blinked warily, then opened her mouth, and he popped the ginger thumb between her lips, looking for all the world like a sleepy baby sucking its pacifier. However, once she sucked on the burning juices, her eyes sprung open, and she let out a surprised bleat, pushing it out with her tongue.

'Now, now, it's not polite to spit, girl,' he scolded, 'and besides, I believe that you will appreciate the opportunity to moisten this up in just a few moments.' Looking more confused and anxious, her cheeks reddening and tiny beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead, she began to suck noisily, making him chuckle.

'You always were a natural, eh girl?' With that, he slipped the thumb out of her mouth and used the fingers of one hand to spread her bottom cheeks widely. When she realised where he intended to lodge the ginger, she began to thrash, desperate to get off his lap and away from such depravity. However, he had her legs locked down tight between his body and the arms of the chair, and she was going nowhere. Without any further ado, he set the root at the tight bud of her arse and began to push.

Alice squealed and wriggled, pleading for him to stop, but the slippery root continued unabated until it was nestled deeply inside her untouched hole, with the peeking flange the only evidence that it was there. He watched as she eventually quieted and knew that now was the time for him to move her before the fire took hold.

'It's time for you to reflect, my girl. Over to the corner. Nipples and nose to the wall, legs spread. Can you keep your hands at the small of your back, or do I need to tie them?'

Already, the ginger was starting to work, and Alice's newfound calm was beginning to crumble. Whilst positioning her to his liking, she was already shifting uneasily, and he realised that there was no way the girl would hold herself still without his help. Taking the cord from his robe, he bound her wrists behind her back, pushed her ankles wide with his feet, and leaned her forward so that her upper body rested on the wall. Unbalanced, she could not move away without falling and was forced to stand, with her arse pushing out as it waved from side to side, up and down, desperately seeking some relief from the increasing burn.

Turning his chair to face the unfortunate girl, he poured himself a small glass of communion wine, a pleasure he very rarely afforded himself, and sat back to watch the show.