"It'll be a short wait. Make yourself comfortable." The receptionist flashed a placid smile before returning to her screen, leaving Sister Mary standing uncomfortably in the lobby. Nuns rarely found themselves in Canary Wharf foyers. They were even more rarely personally invited to meet the CEO of a business they were actively pursuing through the courts. Mary had hotly debated coming at every stage of dressing that morning: she knew every cent in the building was deeply contaminated, and as likely to corrode the mission as it was to help anyone.
As she squeezed into the habit the morning of, the realisation that she'd be attending to receive the check had finally struck. She tied long blonde tresses into a tight ponytail and wistfully wished for the days when wimples could have been considered the norm. The shapeless habit helped, but she'd seen enough to know that London's financiers required no assistance when it came to mentally undress any woman in line of sight. Still. Knowing she was diluting their bonuses as they lost their wits to the thought of her made the repulsion die down a little.
They hadn't disappointed so far. She'd caught more than one creep in a too-tight suit averting his glance a little too quickly, and some who hadn't even had the decency to pretend they weren't leering. She scuffed her Converse against the marble floor aimlessly. The receptionist scratched a final note and smiled the same docile smile at Mary. "Go in now. They'll be with you shortly."
Mary found herself entering a long, dark room, and was immediately struck by the curiously settled atmosphere. It felt heavy and muffled, and she realised that the entirety of the world outside had dimmed, as though a heavy curtain had fallen over it. The room was thick with the low scent of jasmine and empty, save for an empty table and a single large leather armchair in the centre of the room. The door closed behind her with a solemn click in a way that hinted that it wouldn't open again, and Mary wasn't surprised when some insistent tugging on the cool metal handle yielded nothing. They were hazing the nun. Bemused at this new stage of corporate malfeasance, she meandered towards the centre of the room, trailing her fingertips along the stiff leather headrest as she came to it.
The green, smooth leather was warm to the touch, and a light of unknown origin illuminated it. She sat down into it and almost fell flat when she stretched backward. The chair was tilted at an angle that made it deceptively steep to lean into. Mary sat down on the edge of the seat cautiously, leaning forward, and felt apprehension in the pit of her stomach. She didn't enjoy the thought that they could keep her waiting as long as they wanted. The Reverend Mother had been wrong to send her here.
She moved to rise from the chair. Immediately, a speaker in the corner clicked into life. "We'll be with you in a few minutes Sister. Could we make you more comfortable?"
"Just by getting this over and done with." she murmured, and then covered her mouth, realising she'd spoken aloud.
"Of course." came the ambivalent and equal reply.
A distinct whirring started somewhere. It wasn't just jasmine in the air now. There was something under the florals that she could almost taste, but lingered slightly outside her frame of reference. As moments passed, and nothing appeared to occupy her focus, a wave of tiredness hit. She found her eyes closing as her head filled with the heady scent, rolling around inside her. It felt like she was buried in fresh laundry, and tentatively, she decided she liked it. The tube here had been crammed with people, and sensory relief from unwashed bodies was all the respite she could hope for. She'd ask where they got it when they came in.
Settling back in the plush armchair, she found her hands slowly running down the arms of the chair, before resetting. Nerves. Being asked to attend, specifically her. Being convinced someone else should go in her place. Being slowly talked out of it by people who knew better. Vanity was a venial sin, forgivable, but one that would bring the sisterhood into disrepute if she allowed herself to be drawn in by it. Others had before she knew- brought their cause low with frivolous comments and self-indulgent flattery. All they had in this case was message discipline. All she could do was nod politely, accept the money, and tell them that it would feed the poor, would clean the water, but wouldn't change a thing in upcoming lawsuits. The thought crossed her mind that she'd almost backed out of coming, and she offered up a silent invocation of gratitude for the Reverend Mother who'd taken all her fears in and offered her kind compassion and encouragement in return. We should always be willing to meet sinners, she'd been told. Otherwise, how could they ever begin to repent?
She was sprawled in the chair now, head lolling on her shoulders when a ringing sound permeated the air around her. It'd been quite some time waiting, but she couldn't find the deep core of frustration within herself to mind. Everything felt so light and liquid. There were so few spaces to herself in the convent. Getting to linger in this pleasant scented room, with a warm, soft leather chair was indulgence but it wasn't as though she had much other choice.
A slow, high-pitched note rang across the room and she felt her body shiver in response. She tingled at the pitch of it. Glissandro? The term wasn't uncommon in church music, but she couldn't quite place it as the walls seemed to ring in response. The single note turned into a winding series of chimes. The warm, heady scent continued to fill her thoughts with every breath she took, and she found that she was getting lost counting the moments between the wind chimes sounding.
She could have sworn that, while it seemed regular, it would deviate by half a second sometimes, as though it were a note being played at intervals instead of a looping track. Every time she thought she'd found a repeating pattern, it changed again- she could have sworn that sometimes, the pitch inflected half an octave, or that it waited half a moment past the point she would have sworn it was due. Every time it rang, she felt her body thrill in response- a tingling that had started deep in her chest and spread to her rapidly stiffening nipples, erect under her habit and threatening to become visible if she unfolded her arms. She was becoming keenly aware of a pulse across her entire body, slow and undulating, spreading and waning. Every time it threatened to get away from her and drive her excitement beyond the point of comfort, it eased itself into a low, throbbing presence in her body that was deceptively hard to grip.
Lust had been a constant companion during her studies but had long since been tamed and rendered mild. The memory of university came to her, desperately clinging to a pillow to avoid the sinful urge to slip her hand between her legs and... She shook her head awake. She found herself lying back in the chair, slumped down, her legs spreading apart, and gathered her sense of self. Mary crossed her legs. Focus and devotion had been her constant companion for a decade now. She tried not to think about how crossing her legs had given the slow, rhythmic pulse drumming to life inside her a new focal point as the fabric between her legs clung to her body.
Time passed. She wasn't sure how much anymore. She had long ago closed her eyes, and pulled her legs up onto the chair, thighs open and apart. She buried her face in her habit, hoping the rough material would keep the thickening, cloying scent out long enough that she could focus on her surroundings and find a way back to herself, but every time she moved, it found a new way in, creeping in through shifts in the fabric to fill her nose, to the point she had to wipe some drool from her mouth, becoming keenly aware that hunger was getting the better of her. She didn't want it to stop. Not really. Not if it meant her thoughts came back and she had to lower her legs and sit politely again. Click. The same intercom as before. "Are you feeling alright Sister? Won't be much longer now."
"Feel...feeling a little... A little woozy," she murmured, half to herself. "Could you turn the aircon on in here?" She was certain she could hear a faint buzzing pitch up, as though the machinery was turning on, but the scent hadn't dissipated. If anything, she could have sworn it was more overwhelming than ever. Her eyes lolled in her head as she gave up trying to hold her head up and let it fall into her hands, blissfully transfixed by the scent, the sounds, and the undercurrent of warmth now running through the chair. She could feel the warmth running through the leather, and it seemed to penetrate deep into her, as she sank further back into the chair, arching her back into the seat, letting it recline further back.
Wisps of hair had come out of her ponytail, a bead of sweat slowly rolling down her cheek, as she screwed up her face with the concentration it took to avoid checking how her body was responding to these new sensations. Maintaining a semblance of togetherness was about all she could handle; Grabbing the cheque and getting out was the last remnant of normalcy left in her head, and it was getting harder to grip.
