"Craig's a game player," Fr. Christian Farnsworth said, "He'll probably want to play a game with you before he gets down to business."
"That's all right by me, Chris" Susanna Cox answered as she navigated traffic on the way to her first appointment. "The last three guys weren't your list, and I had a hard time trying to convince them to increase their subscriptions to the diocesan paper through words alone."
"Well, Craig will have something weird in store for you, Susie. I hope you're up for anything; he's popped for whatever he wants to do."
She shuddered delicately. "I'm ready. I'm ready for anything."
St. Isadore was rural parish in the beginning, but the growth of the suburbs had changed it dramatically in the '80's. Fr. Craig Biaggio was in his early 40s, around Susie's age, and he greeted her warmly after a short time in his waiting room. "Glad to see you, Ms. Cox. I'm looking forward to our time together. Can I interest you in a drink?"
"It's a little early for me."
"Oh, I have a pitcher of Bloody Mary's made up in the game room. It's mostly tomato juice."
"Well, I'll have one, maybe."
They went into the basement: a clean, well organized room dominated by a ping pong table, with a bar in the corner. He poured her a drink from a chilled pitcher and place a stalk of celery with a shot of hot sauce before fixing an eye opener for himself. "I keep the place up for my brother priests to play cards, have a drink and maybe play a little ping pong."
"Bet you had some astounding poker games down here."
"You bet. In fact, I'd like to make a little bet with you this morning."
"Yes?" She said, sipping her drink.
"We play a little game of ping pong. If you win, you can do anything you like with me, including walking away with the names in your pocket."
"And if I lose?"
"You have to do anything I want."
"Done. It's been years since I've played ping pong."
They finished their drinks in short order, and he handed her a paddle. They took their places at opposite ends of the table, and Susie noticed a huge mirror behind Fr. Craig, which was very distracting. They pinged back and forth a few times to get warmed up, but when they started keeping score, it was no contest. He skunked her without breaking a sweat.
Coming around the table facing the mirror, he bent her over the table, and lifted her floral skirt. "Now for your forfeit. My, what a nice ass you have."
"Thank you. What are you going to do with me?"
"You'll see." He started rubbing her asscheeks in large circles, tickling her crack and probing her thighs. Pulling her panties down, he brought his hand down on her white flesh with a loud smack.
"Ow!" she yelped. "Is this the penalty for losing at ping pong?"
"Yes," he said calmly. "If you dispute this, your penalty may be more severe." Another meeting of his palm with her backside brought another yelp. "This may call for more extreme measures."
Hanging on the wall nearby was a blue flyswatter. She followed him in the mirror as he fetched it; her eyes on fire in anticipation. "I'm a bad girl," she said, "I need to be punished."
Smiling at her in the mirror, he began to swat her lily white skin with the swatter, leaving a light pink pattern on her butt as he worked her over. She moaned and yelped as he worked, growing damp between her legs as the tingle spread. "I'm a baaad girl, baaad. I need to be punished."
Tiring of the plastic weapon, he took up his ping pong paddle. She saw it as he held it high over her butt, now a battlefield of light red marks. His left hand started stroking her flesh, making her moan and squirm, before bringing the dimpled rubber down. A ringing smack and light rubbing took her to a new level of sensation; over and over the paddle descended, and her eyes drank in every slap as it landed. A bulge appeared in Craig's pants, and she longed to reach back, liberate and take care of his stimulated cock.
Her butt was approaching its limit of punishment, and she saw him unzip his fly, bringing out a small penis that he started stroking. She started to rise, but he pushed her down on the table, smacking her backside in punctuation, as he stroked his growing manhood millimeters above her bright red skin. Her efforts to reach back were met with more smacks, taking her breath away.
At last, he screamed and shot a load of white spunk on her bright red cheeks; it felt hot on her tormented skin. Stream after stream of jism flew out as he moaned in satisfaction. After the well ran dry, he started massaging the moisture into her butt, sending a symphony of tingling all over her ass that ran through her body.
Sensing her frustration, he brought the paddle between her legs, and inserted the handle into the slick swamp between her legs from behind. He stroked her blood red butt while working the thick wooden handle in her snatch, surprising her with the unrelenting smooth lacquered thickness, as she felt her climax approach. It seemed a lifetime before she was ready to orgasm, but when she did, she bucked and quivered on the hard green table, shooting streams of her own vaginal liquid across the surface.
It was difficult to drive as she crossed town to the Chancery to get her messages and check in at her office. Arriving just before lunch, she sorted her mail standing before sitting gingerly to check her e-mail. Her cubicle neighbor, Stephanie Beasley, poked her head over the top of her wall. Her face was a broad grin, although she sported a black eye. "How's it goin', Susie?"
"Fine, Steffie. Gosh, how did'ya get that shiner?"
Blushing, she whispered: "An idiot went too far last night. Thought he loved me, but he finally proved otherwise, and so I dumped him."
"Good for you."
