A Very Catholic Punishment

Her black shoes echoed on that cold stone floor as she scurried along the stone courtyard of the church. Ostensibly the estate was a Seminary, but there were buildings across the large campus for all manner of church business. The large church was flanked by the seminary buildings and at the back, behind some of the churches finance offices were rooms used by the nuns for training, prayer and even accommodation.

She had a small 'cell', as it was necessary, for her family lived some distance away. She still felt lonely even though she'd been here almost two weeks; she'd never really intended to be a nun in the first place. She'd been sent to Catholic school by her family, and it hadn't been her choice. Still, she'd tried to learn as best she could. She was fluent in Latin, something she was proud of, and although she was lamentable at bible verse (the reason why her backside seemed to be permanently marked) she'd still done her best to live by the rules of the church. But she thought that would be the end of it, that after school she'd be allowed to go her own way.

Some of her family seemed to be pleased, her Grandmother at least had practically shoehorned her in this direction, with priests and nuns popping by now and then and almost carrying her off.

It wasn't only that it hadn't really been her choice, but that she thought that if you were going to make a commitment to it, you should make that commitment. Not only had she not made that commitment, she knew the real reason why she'd been sent her. That was because 'He' had told her that she was to become a nun; but really what he'd told her was to become his whore. Whores might dress up (and she would, in black and white) but underneath they were still whores.

Thinking of 'Him', Father Black made her stomach clench, and it clenched more when she knew that any day now he would arrive to take up his new position here. It almost made her feel faint as she skipped up the steps and into the huge church. Here, all was quiet and dim, muttered words from the bowed heads of the priests in quiet discussion and the soft patter of steps from those coming and going to confession were the only noises.

Walking slowly with her head lowered solemnly she thought of him. She'd been thinking of him ever since that night in the Old Hall and her thoughts were just as confused now as they were then. She still didn't know how she felt about that night either, because if you looked at it plainly, she'd been forced to strip then been beaten with a yardstick before having her virginity taken while bent over a desk.

Her stomach clenched again and that was the point! It was terrible and scary, but it also made her press her thighs together as she walked. And though no sound escaped her lips, inside she'd moaned.

She tried not to think of the sharp pain when he'd forced himself inside her and the feeling of his warm spill of his ejaculate when he finished, nor remembering the light slap he'd given her across the face before he made her take him in her mouth. All of it was wrong, but the thought that stuck with her most was that she hadn't done anything to stop it.

She shook her head and mentally scolded herself for thinking such thoughts in a church. But that was the primary concern she had, the real root of the problem bothering her...this was a place of learning and enlightenment, but the things she'd learn and the enlightenment Father Black wanted to give her wasn't that which a nun had any business knowing and she considered herself unworthy of this place.

She didn't really know whether there was a god, well, not necessarily a Catholic god. But she was superstitious and the fact was irrelevant, even without the fear of an almighty being peering down and judging her, this place alone added it's solemn weight of upon her, like the very stones of this old building were a burden of shame that she must carry.

She came to a stop at the confession box and waited patiently for the current occupant to finish. Then she entered and closed the dark wooden door, plunging herself in shadow. She sat and bowed her head and spoke the next words with anguish.

'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.'

There was a pause, and she heard the priest turn his head towards the patterned grate before he spoke.

'And what is the nature of your sin my child' came his muffled words.

'I..I..I'm not worthy to be here. I don't deserve this position...I just...I've done things...I mean, it's not that, it's just that I don't think that I should be here. I don't think it's right.' She said, stumbling over her words and having to backtrack before saying too much. She hung her head even lower and felt her cheeks redden.

'...I'm not sure the reasons that I'm here are the right reasons.' She finally started afresh. 'I think that this isn't the path that I should be taking. I mean, I want it . . . but I don't think for the right reasons.'

'You..' a reply started, before a throat was cleared, and the reply started again, deeper 'You contradict yourself child, we all have a reason to serve, how can our reasons be wrong if they are in service to a greater being.'

'My reasons are...' she again came to a pause, trying to find a way of explaining her anguish without telling too much. 'I'm here because I was told to be her. But I don't think the person telling me to be here has the right motivations.'

'What are you saying my child? That this person has immoral reasons for wanting you here?' The question lingered and her heart began to beat faster.

She said nothing, fearing even to open her lips until she knew what would come out of them. Still, the pause was present and obvious, so that she found herself filling it.

'No, no!' She cried. 'I don't think...' she started, but trailed off. She took a breath to began speaking again, but his voice cut her off.

'You forget, child.' Came a hard whisper. 'We all have reason to serve. Sometimes we need to simply submit to that Higher Power, and do as we're told!' Father Black said as his dark eyes suddenly stared though the grate.

Her heart, which had been beating fast anyway began to flutter like that of a small bird, so that the beats became indistinguishable from each other. Being confronted by him with no preparation was like a bolt of lightning; it froze her mind and stunned her body. By the time she started to regain control of them and began to rise, he had already stepped out of the box, opened her compartment and dragged her to his. When he'd bundled her inside, he stepped in as well with the door swinging shut behind him.

There was little enough room for one person, but with two, she was pressed to the partition with the grate pressing into her back. The closeness was intoxicating, she couldn't help but touch him, in fact, she couldn't help but be pressed up against him. She was so scared and shocked that she gave a little whimper, it was almost comical how pathetic she sounded.

He seemed to be as worked up at the close proximity as she was. She could hear his heavy breath as his hands gripped at her clothes and yanked her against him. When they wrapped around her waist she heard the gnashing of his teeth grinding together. He pushed her hair away from her face and took her cheek in his hand before pressing his face against her other. With his lips next to her ear he gruffly whispered.

'I don't want to be here anymore than you think you deserve to be here, but I have obligations. At least this position has benefits, and the primary one is...' he whispered in her ear as his hand began to draw her dress up.

'...Pleeease, please, not here, we can't. It's not right.' She blurted out, trying to back away, and meeting only the wood of the partition.

'Why?' He asked mockingly. 'Because we're in a house of god?'

And a chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat before he threw his head back and laughed. It was good that his laugh broke and was silent at its height, or people would almost certainly heard it.

'You don't believe in that rubbish any more than I do.' He continued as his laugh died away.

She bowed her heard in embarrassment, still not knowing what she believed. She didn't expect to be struck down by lightning, but she expected there would be a price to pay for her transgressions, even if she didn't know when it would be.

'We both know that you're already a fallen angel, you're no longer pure, little girl' he groaned as he pressed their faces back together.

'Do you really believe in all the fishes and loaves nonsense? Or the immaculate conception?' He asked, taking her cheeks in his hands and using those dark eyes to lock hers with their stare.

'If you do, you're silly. No, Mary, if she existed at all wasn't impregnated by god. What happened was that Joseph got tired of watching her strutting about, pretending to be all innocent and pure.' He said, his teeth gritted once more as he grabbed the hem of her dress and started to yank it up. 'So he took her as he should have, as she deserved. And just like you, she did as she was told. No doubt she had the decency to pretend to be all shocked and wronged like you're doing as well. But just like you, she enjoyed it. Yes, that's right isn't it, you enjoyed it, and that's why you're getting all fussy.'

'You shouldn't do this to me, why do you make me feel like this.' She groaned and feebly tried to push her dress down, but when his teeth bit playfully at her neck and when he proceeded to kiss her there, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wooden panel.

'That's right.' He said 'for all your good intentions, you're nothing but a little Slut'.

He finished up with a devious chuckle, which she hated him for because she suspected he was right.

She wanted to protest, but there was little point lying when he succeeded in laying a hand on her thigh. The feel of it running up her leg was so incredible that the game was up and when her body betrayed her and her legs literally fell open. Saying 'Ohh God' was the only resistance she gave.

His fingers were at her underwear when without warning, the confessors door open and someone stepped in.

She froze and her stomach hit her floor. The shame of being someone's plaything was one thing, but she couldn't imagine what her family would say when they found out she'd been caught doing it in a confession box. She made to open the door and tear away from the place quick enough for people to not be able to get a glimpse of who it was, but as calmly as anything he held her and took control of her. Before he released her, he leant to her ear and whispered with a threatening tone:

'There will be a punishment for your confession, and it won't be a dozen hail Mary's.' And the soft kiss he placed on her lips afterwards did nothing to quell the mixture of excitement and dread that flooded her stomach.

*

The creaking floor was intolerable, as was the repetitive series of creaks that she'd had to listen to since she got here. It was the routine of Sister Margarita, the bitter faced crone that looked after the sleeping quarters. She seemed to sleep through the day and patrol the corridors at night, the sole protector, it seemed, of the virtue of the ladies under her charge. It was almost as if she thought the building would turn into a den of vice and iniquity if she didn't make the rounds every ten minutes. You could practically time the routine of the creaks: creak, creak creak, creak, creak, pause. And then the series would start up again.

The creaks were the sound of the old nun zigzagging the corridor, and the pauses from when she listened in on each room to make sure nobody was doing anything that could be considered fun, for fun was Sister Margarita's real enemy.

The only relief came when her footsteps faded as she moved to the other side of the building, although you could consider not having to see her beady eyes buried maliciously in her wrinkled face a relief as well.

She always rolled her eyes when the pause came outside her own door, as if anyone could have fun while stuck in here. She casually thumbed through the book she was reading and sighed. Even though it wasn't the bible (Sister Margarita disapproved of what she called 'heretical literature', which was anything other than the Good Book.), she was still bored. However, her interest was peaked when a muffled voice spoke down the hall and Sister Margarita's voice answered in return.

'What is it Father?' to which another mumble replied.

'They're doing what?!' Came the zealous cry of the venomous old lady and she grinned bitterly at the thought of the nun bursting in on some poor souls with her cane gripped in her gnarled hands. At least she wouldn't be pacing outside her door for a little while. She was surprised therefore when she heard creaks approaching, but knew instantly that they weren't the dreadful methodical pacing of her 'jailer'. She was further surprised when a pause came outside of her door before it swung open and He filled the frame.

Her mouth dropped as she rose from her bed and a dozen questions filled it. She settled on asking how he'd managed to get in, but stopped when she realised that the people now 'enjoying' a chastising from Sister Margarita had Father Black to blame. The next question that came out was what he was doing there.

'I told you there would be a price to pay, had you forgotten already?' was his reply, and he indicated the type of punishment by laying a hand on his belt.

'I didn't really do anything, I don't think I deserve a punishment.' She said with a bit of sass in her voice, that only a woman of colour could achieve.

'Bold words' he chuckled 'Call it education, call it a past time, call it whatever you like. Or simply accept it as what it is, that I feel you need to be instructed, and this is the way I choose to do it. Or even that it'll give me pleasure, and that's rather enough wouldn't you say?'

She realised she was standing with her mouth open again, it seemed to be all she could do when around him. The thought came to mind that earlier today she'd been full of doubt, but just being around him had made her forget her misgivings and had replaced them with the very type of thoughts that had made her be in doubt in the first place. And thinking about how easily her guilt had evaporated made her consider what the bible had to say about how easily it was to fall into sin and how those that would tempt you into sin made it all so simple. If any man was an Incubus, it was him. He may stand here in a priests collar, but he was blasphemy incarnate, but even so, her fear for her soul seemed to melt from her mind.

'Let me get a look at you.' He said, and she straightened up and smoothed her simple dress with her shaking hands. She chastised herself almost immediately for doing as he said so quickly, she could at least put up some resistance to give herself some ammunition when arguing her case at the pearly gates. Still, when he told her to turn on the spot, she did so. But there was a pause when he told her to kneel on her bed; though she hurried along when he started to undo his belt.

She watched him over her shoulder as he slipped the belt off, and then watched his eyes watching her when he told her to pull her dress up, and only broke contact with them when the hem of her skirts came up over her white cotton panties; at which point she lowered them demurely. They shot back over her shoulder when she heard the main door close, and the familiar creaking begin again as Sister Margarita continued her ceaseless pacing.

'How will you get out?' She asked in a fearful voice, to which he replied:

'You want me to leave so soon?'

And then, with the ends of the belt clasped in his hand, he straightened the leather by placing his finger in the loop before bringing the belt down across her ass cheeks.

She cried out with shock, then clasped her hands to her mouth and looked back at him with her eyes full of alarm. He seemed unperturbed, and brought the leather down again with two measured strokes. The sound echoed about the small cell, and she heard the steady pacing of Sister Margarita speed up as she approached the room.

'What're you doing girl?!' She hissed through the door.

'I'm...uh...flagellating myself.' She said, then cursed herself for such a silly lie.

The act of self-flagellation, or whipping oneself had been used for centuries by many schools of Christianity as an act of self mortification. It was like whipping oneself as Jesus was whipped, and unsurprisingly Sister Margarita gave a sound of approval at her self-punishment.

'Very good, girl. Do not spare the whip, I shall make sure nobody bothers you.' She said, for the first time ever, sounding happy. You could practically hear the spring in her step as she continued her pacing.

'We'd best do as the good sister says.' He said, and brought down the belt in another two strikes. From there on his blows came as predictably as the nun's steps, each overhand strike landing squarely across both cheeks. She listened for each whistling sound but nevertheless cried out as each swat found its mark.

She was reduced to grunting as she gripped onto the starched sheets of her bed and as each punishing blow fell, she shunted forward and felt her heavy thighs shake at the impact.

Between sets of five he would make a noncommittal sound, or else reach out to caress the skin of her backside, warm against his cool hands. And when Sister Margarita arrived back at he door after one of her rounds and insisted that she strike harder, he had her roll down her underwear so that the pain increased.

She felt then as she had in the old hall, exposed, on display and fully vulnerable to anything he wanted to do to her.

He was silent for a moment, but she didn't look back. She knew that he was enjoying the sight, probably as the soft brown of her skin turned to red. With his hand he gave one last stroke of her skin and this time his hand brushed across her tender labia, causing her to shudder and gasp out loud.

Then he drew in a breath as he raised the belt and she readied herself for the next round. This time he took the sister at her word and his whipping was all the more fierce. She could feel her eyes prick with tears as she waited for the footsteps to come back again, the first time that she had ever wished them to come round again quicker. She could have blessed the old lady when the pause outside her door finally came.

It's amazing how quickly feelings can change when instead of bringing her relief, the word 'Harder!' came through the wood, and he obliged her and then obliged her again.

And when the final 'HARDER!' came and he forced her headfirst into the sheets so that her ass was thrust high, the final blow fell not just on her sore cheeks but also on the soft mound of her pussy as it protruded from her thighs.

With that last blow she flew forward and collapsed on the sheets with a scream. The pain was intense and she started to shake violently, and it was only when the old crone cooed a satisfied 'Good' did she realise that her spasms were not just of pain, but those of an orgasm that tore through her shattered body.

He let her lay there, immobilised by her shuddering as he tossed his belt over the chair at her desk and then began to strip. She did nothing but just watched him as he took his clothes off, and gaped like a fish out of water; her mouth opening and closing uselessly.

She hadn't nearly recovered when he got on his knees behind her and bodily picked her up and set her back on her hands and knees. He didn't seem to take it into consideration, and proved it by slapping the thick length of his cock against her pussy. It was nothing compared to the blow she'd just been dealt, but she winced regardless and gasped loudly when he began to press his shaft inside her. She was surprised by how wet she was, but he still had trouble forcing himself inside her.