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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
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Chapter Fifteen
I was young. I was healthy. And I was about to embark on a voyage
of erotic discovery that could lead someplace dangerous. I stood in front
of the bathroom mirror, brushing my hair, as Sister Mary had told me to do.
I was completely naked. I looked at my slim, tanned body and wondered
what condition I�d be in by morning.
The priests scared me. Other men were interested in having a good
time, but their interest seemed to plumb deeper depths. They were
interested in �female endurance,� they�d told me, casually, as we walked
from the big Catholic church downtown. Later the other priest had spoken
of �the limits of female endurance.�
What did they mean by that? I told myself I was being too curious,
that I should insist on being taken home, on leaving at once. I was too
little. Such games were meant for bigger girls, like my aunt.
Suddenly, I felt a thrill race up my spine. She wasn�t here! She
didn�t even know where I was. Anything might happen to me here, with my
two strange, hunky priests, and I�d have absolutely no way to call on her
for help.
�Is-- is there a phone here?� I asked the large, fat woman, well-
wrapped in clothes, who sat on the toilet watching me as I brushed my
hair.
�A phone? What do you need a phone for?� the fat woman asked.
�So I can call my aunt,� I answered. I glanced at my nails. The
finish on them was coming off in a few places.
�Don�t just look at them. There�s a nail file and nail polish in the
drawer,� Sister Mary, still gazing at me from the toilet, said.
�Where?� I asked. I looked down at the bathroom counter. It was
old, but highly polished and immaculately clean.
Sister Mary sighed. �To the drawer on your right,� she said. �Open
it. I�m too weary from working all day to get up and help you find
everything. And put your hair into pigtails. Do you see the black ribbons
laid out for you on the counter? Don�t make me do it for you, child, or I�ll
have a mind to put you over my knee. You�ll be sore enough from the
priests without having me at your fanny too.�
�What-- what will they do to me?� I stammered. I opened the
drawer under the counter, on my right, but my mind was once again fixated
on the two new men in my life.
�They will teach you a healthy respect for morals,� the woman said.
�All girls should learn from them.�
�What-- what if I want to be immoral?� I asked. With a hand I
noticed was trembling, and quite unable to stop it, I reached into the
drawer and took out a bottle of nail polish. It contained clear polish. It
would make my nails shiny without excessively coloring them. When I was
younger I�d preferred bright red. But now I liked clear. How did the
priests know which nail polish I preferred?
�You still haven�t told me if there�s a phone,� I said to Sister Mary.
With shaky fingers I began trying to repair the polish on my nails.
�Of course not!� Sister Mary huffed. She stood up. �Give me the
polish, child. Can�t you do anything for yourself? Look how your hands are
shaking! Sit down on the toilet seat. I�ll have to do your nails for you, as
well as your mascara, your lipstick. This will take forever, and you�ll
mess yourself up, if you try doing it with those hands of yours shaking
like that!�
Meekly I went to the toilet. I sat down on the furry seat. It tickled
my bare bottom. Sister Mary took my wrist and made me hold out my hand.
�There�s nothing to be frightened of. You�re in the presence of men
of God,� Sister Mary said matter-of-factly to me.
�But what if they decide I�m a sinner?� I asked her.
�They�ve already decided that. That�s why you�re here,� she said.
She began applying the polish to my little finger.
�I- I don�t want to be spanked,� I said.
�You should have thought of that before you sinned,� Sister Mary
said. �No talking. If I had to listen to the whining of every young lady who
visits, I�d ask God to strike me deaf. You�ll say no more, girl, or I�ll have
you over my knee-- pronto!�
�Y- Ooop!� I said, swallowing the words �Yes, ma�am,� as Sister Mary
lifted her eyes and gave me a cross look. Fortunately she forgave that
indiscretion, and I said no more. She quietly painted my nails and prepared
me for the priests.
�Ah, here she is,� Father Virgil announced when I was brought by
Sister Mary into the living room. Father Brannigan came from the kitchen.
He read a book as he walked. I saw a glimpse of its cover. It was a book
on female anatomy.
�Yes,� Father Brannigan said, looking me over as I stood before
Father Virgil. He circled around behind me. I wore my hair in pigtails,
bound with black ribbons. I had a black, long-sleeved shirt on. It had
white cuffs and a matching white collar. It looked like a shirt girls wear
to private school, but Sister Mary had only buttoned one button of it
across my breasts. She slapped my hands away, in the bathroom, when I
tried to button the rest of the buttons. I wore black panties. They were
French-cut, high in back, baring both my cheeks. The edges of the panties
were frilled. There was a row of tiny black bows at the front of my
panties, where my pubic hair grew. They ran in a line down the front of
my panties. They looked merely decorative, but in fact each one could be
untied. They held my panties closed. They were rather like a zipper on the
front of a man�s pants that holds closed the fly of his trousers. Except, in
my case, I didn�t have any need for an opening in my panties, unless it was
to let something in, rather than out. It would be far too cumbersome to
untie all those little bows just to pee. I blushed as Father Virgil�s eyes
fixed on the tiny black bows running down the front of my black panties.
�Sister Mary didn�t give me a skirt,� I told Father Virgil. I felt I
could speak now. After all, even though Sister Mary was present, I was
being turned over to the priests. They hadn�t told me I couldn�t talk.
Father Virgil lifted his eyes. Father Brannigan, still behind me,
gazed with satisfaction at the round nudity of my bottom. My panties,
French-style, only managed to cover the crease of my ass. I saw Father
Brannigan�s eyes in the glass of a hutch behind Father Virgil. I felt like I
was being studied, as if I were some butterfly they�d caught, and were
examining before pinning it to a board.
�Ah yes,� Father Virgil said. He dropped his eyes back to my crotch.
Then his eyes dipped lower and lingered over my tight-pressed legs, both
of them clad in long, black thigh-high stockings. I wore black shoes on my
feet, both of them brightly polished. Somehow, they�d known my foot size
in advance. Or did they keep various pairs of shoes, because they had so
many girls visit them over the course of a year? �You are wearing the
uniform of our school,� Father Virgil said. �As a courtesy to the girls we
permit them to go without dresses in the summer time. Our school isn�t
air conditioned, you know. Many of our pupils are young, and some are
unaccustomed to wearing a bra. So that is why we�ve also omitted that
garment. I think you�ll find your shirt, your panties, and your stockings to
be quite satisfactory.�
�And your shoes,� Father Brannigan said. �Sister Mary did such a
fine job of polishing them.�
�They�re new,� Sister Mary said, somewhere behind me. �I waxed
them well, though, to make it harder for her to scuff them. You know how
little girls are.�
�Thank you, Sister Mary,� Father Brannigan said, still eyeing my
bottom. �You may go now. See to your chores. We�ll return her to you
when we�re through with her.�
�Yes, Father Brannigan,� Sister Mary said. �Let me know if she
proves especially difficult.�
�Did you have her swallow a pill?� Father Brannigan asked.
�Of course, father,� Sister Mary answered.
�Why do I need a pill if I�m only going to school?� I asked.
�We are ourselves not without sin, sometimes,� Father Virgil said to
me. He grinned. He stood up. �Let us go downstairs to the school room,
Chloe. We must begin your lessons.� He took my arm. �Do you feel you are
ready?� he asked me quietly. I shivered.
�I guess so, sir,� I answered.
�Ah, you must call me �father,�� Father Virgil said. �That will be a
demerit for you, Chloe. We must start paying attention to such things
now.�
�Oh! I�m frightened!� I said, quite truthfully, as we went round a
corner and approached a big wooden door.
�It is good to be frightened in the presence of the Lord,� Father
Virgil said.
Father Brannigan came forward. He unlocked the wooden door. We
stepped into a kind of alcove, beyond the opened door, and I saw a flight of
steps leading down into darkness. Father Virgil flicked a light switch at
the top of the stairs.
�Our school room is in the basement,� Father Virgil told me. �It�s
cooler down there, in the summertime. It also has the advantage of being
sound proof.�
�Mmmm, I mustn�t!� I blurted. I gazed at the long flight of stairs
leading down under the earth.
�Move along, child,� Father Brannigan said. I felt a sharp tap on my
bottom. I turned. I looked over my shoulder. Father Brannigan was holding
a riding crop!
There was a desk for me, downstairs. It sat all by itself in the
middle of the room. It consisted of a wooden table, with a separate chair.
I saw the desk was well-used. It had initials carved into it near its front
edge, plus other, aimless marks. Its legs were chipped and worn, as if
something had struck them repeatedly. I gazed around me as Father Virgil
led me over to the desk. The room was strange, a one-room schoolhouse
for one girl. At the front of the room were two big desks, one for each of
the priests. There was a space between them, so that a pupil, called
forward, might pass between them to write on the portable black board at
the front of the room. Incongruously, along one side of the room was a
bed. It was a narrow, single bed. It had a coverlet upon it that had letters
of the alphabet sewn into it.
I sat down at my desk. The seat was hard, wooden, no-nonsense. I
realized with a start, sitting upon it, that if I suffered some penalty, the
hard seat would be doubly difficult to sit on. A spanked bottom needed a
soft seat, not a hard one like this.
I glanced up at the two men, my instructors. They loomed over me.
They gazed down at my small body sitting with contrite composure. My
eyes ran over their hard, muscled figures, cloaked in black robes. I
lingered at the places below both their belts. Their trousers bulged. I
licked my lips.
�Is there something that arouses you, Chloe?� Father Brannigan
asked me. His voice was direct, the words spoken loudly. I quavered in my
seat.
�Yes,� I confessed.
�And what is that?� Father Virgil asked.
�Your... pants. They are big in front,� I stammered.
�Yes, Chloe,� Father Brannigan said. �We are men. Would you like to
see what it is that is making us so uncomfortable?�
�If you wish me to, father,� I answered. I glanced away from their
crotches and down at my desk. There were three books piled on it. There
was a box of crayons lying beside the books. I felt a strange sensation of
power within me as I carefully opened one of the books, ignoring the
priests, and popped open my box of crayons. The book was a coloring book.
I took a crayon and began coloring the first picture in the book. I noticed,
as I colored, that the figure was of a nude human being. Adam in the
Garden of Eden. I saw he wore no clothes. The book was explicit. I
doodled with an orange crayon down the length of his chest and on, along
the shaft of a cock that dangled between his legs.
�Color within the lines, Chloe,� Father Virgil said to me in a
constricted voice.
�Oh! I made a mistake!� I cried. I�d moved the crayon line out beyond
the end of his penis, making his thing longer.
�She will need to be punished for that,� Father Brannigan said.
�Most certainly,� Father Virgil agreed.
I gazed up at my two teachers with wide eyes. I felt small,
vulnerable. But then a shiver of pleasure centered itself somewhere
between my legs, deep in my womb. I put down my crayon. I reached up
with both my hands. My teachers, I think, supposed I intended to ward off
their blows, fearing they were determined to punish me. With trembling
fingers (though not, perhaps, entirely from fear) I reached towards them.
�It�s not my fault that I made a mistake, gentlemen,� I said in a
voice that was surprisingly firm.
�Huh?� my teachers answered.
�How can I possibly color a man�s thing properly if I don�t have an
example?� I said. I touched my fingertips to the front of their trousers. I
felt them bulging, there below their black polished belts. I found the tab
of each man�s fly and pulled on it.
In a moment, using my curious fingers, I�d forced both men to
produce their erections. I gaped at them, obviously impressed. I ran my
fingers along the length of each man�s penis, sizing it up, like a minnow,
perhaps, might size up two big water eels. They quavered fleshily at my
touch, both hard, both taut like lightning rods, thick as butcher�s sausages.
I smiled and licked my lips.
�There, that�s better,� I told my teachers. I let go of them. With
reluctant fingers I picked up my crayon again and began once more to color
in the man in my coloring book. I looked up at their cocks, then back down
at my book. I could feel their tension like an electric current running
through the room. They were hard, desperately hard, but I was just an
obedient little girl doing my lessons.
�You are... a most enterprising child,� Father Brannigan said. His
voice was tight. I�d won the first round in our little erotic war. How
could they punish me if I was doing my best? I was a good girl. With
cautious eyes I looked up again, and stared with frank innocence at the big
penis Father Brannigan was presenting to me. Then I examined Father
Virgil. �How nice of you gentlemen to show me your things,� I said. I
sucked on my crayon a moment. Then I went back to my book.
I began humming a tune. Happily I colored the first page in my
coloring book. I used different crayons: green for the leaves on the trees
in Eden, brown for their trunks. Bright red for the snake slithering up the
tree trunk. The apple that hung so conspicuously on the page, dangling
from a branch, I colored gold.
�An apple isn�t supposed to be gold,� Father Brannigan, clearly
hoping to regain the upper hand in our relationship, told me. I looked up at
him.
�All the apples are gold in Eden,� I said. �Except for the silver
ones.�
I finished my picture. I drew a sun up in the corner of the picture to
shine golden rays down on my golden apple that hung from the tree where
Adam stood strong and tall. I let the two priests admire it. They both
examined it for flaws, but except for making Adam�s thing longer, I hadn�t
made any.
�It�s too bad, it�s such a pretty picture,� I said to my two priests.
�What is too bad?� Father Brannigan asked.
�It�s too bad that God is dead,� I said.
�What?� Father Virgil gasped.
I felt both priests grab my arms. They lifted me up. My box of
crayons, standing up on my desk, fell over. One of my crayons rolled off
the surface of my desk and fell to the floor and broke into two. With
pent-up fury both men grabbed at my blouse and yanked on it. The single
button holding it closed popped open. My bosoms sprang out. They
shivered starkly under me, their nipples suddenly pebble-hard. The white
flesh of each cone was pert and inviting against the deeper tan of my ribs,
shoulders and belly.
�My child,� Father Brannigan said. He traced a finger softly around
one of my nipples. �Do you think such lovely treasures as these bosoms of
yours could be created by a God who is dead?�
Recovering myself, still trying to keep the upper hand with my two
teachers, I answered, �I think so. Yes. And I have a whole book to color,
sir.�
�Don�t call us sir. We�re priests, not police,� Father Virgil said.
�Oh.� I answered. I looked down at Father Virgil�s thing. �Is that
why you have a nightstick?� I asked. I felt Father Virgil�s hand grope
toward my panties. He seized them. Though his hand was big and strong,
it trembled as it tugged at the fabric of my undies. �You won�t be needing
these,� Father Virgil husked. He yanked my panties down my thighs.
�Oh! What are you doing?� I cried.
�We must test the weakness of your flesh,� Father Brannigan said.
�And train you,� Father Virgil said. �Both your mind and your body.
I�m afraid the clothing must be removed if this is to be done with the
greatest efficiency.�
�It is why we conduct our lessons downstairs,� Father Brannigan
said. �You will be permitted to dress when it�s time to go upstairs again.�
My panties were removed. I kicked my feet as Father Virgil pulled
them off. He handed them to Father Brannigan, who put them into a pocket
in his shirt, over his chest. Over his heart. My blouse was taken off and
hung on the back of my chair.
�This way,� Father Virgil said, helpfully. He drew me from behind
my desk. Father Brannigan flourished a riding crop. (It had been shoved
through his belt while they watched me color.)
�Oh, please don�t hurt me!� I shouted. My cry was heart-felt. Father
Brannigan, despite being a priest, was a big man. I knew even one whack
from that riding crop would sting like the dickens.
�You have nothing to fear, my child. It is all to the greater glory of
God,� Father Virgil murmured.
�Consider this the hand of God,� Father Brannigan said with a most
unsaintly grin, flourishing the hand that held his crop.
Father Virgil pulled back the coverlet on the single-sized bed. The
bed had long legs. It was high off the floor. There were steps to allow
one to climb up onto the bed but Father Virgil lifted me up and plopped me
down on it so I wouldn�t have to step up.
�Open your legs,� Father Virgil said. He pushed my stockinged knees
apart. He made me show my dell to him. It was the priests� first long
look at my sex and they gazed at it lasciviously, like two monks examining
something they�d only ever seen before from drawings. I wondered if,
indeed, their �schoolroom� had entertained other girls, or if I was the
first. The fact that both men might not, in fact, be the experts in female
training they claimed to be sent a thrill of erotic fear through me. What
if, in fact, they knew nothing about handling a girl, but only knew their
own malevolent male fantasies? They gazed at me like boys drooling over
Penthouse. Except I was real. I wasn�t a magazine. If they dropped me, or
threw me across the room, I�d break.
�Yes,� Father Virgil husked. He nodded to Father Brannigan.
�Let�s test her,� Father Brannigan said.
�Lie back, my child,� Father Virgil told me. �Lie back and make
yourself comfortable.�
I lay back on the bed. I looked over at the two priests. Father Virgil
took my wrists and lofted them up over my head. I rolled my eyes toward
the ceiling and gasped. Hanging above the bed, up under a rafter in the
ceiling, was a pair of handcuffs! Father Virgil reached up and drew the
cuffs down. He snapped them to my wrists. I struggled against my bonds
and made the chain from which the cuffs hung rattle. But it didn�t give
way. My wrists were lifted high, drawn back, locked. There was no
escape. All I could do was look up at my bound hands and wonder.
That�s when they opened my legs as completely as they could. I felt
my thighs stretched hard apart and gasped. The priests chuckled. My
small feet were placed into shackles at the foot of the bed. I cried out.
The priests told me to scream all I liked, the room was soundproofed, no
one could hear me. They buckled my ankles into steel manacles. The metal
felt cold through my stockings. I lifted my head. I gaped down at my
pussy, white and bare and neatly furred, my tan line making me look sexy
where I usually wore my swimsuit. Beyond, my legs opened wide, long and
brown from lying in the sun by my aunt�s pool. Black stockings rose up my
legs to mid-thigh, making my legs very pretty.
�Apply the honey,� Father Brannigan said to Father Virgil.
�What?� I asked.
Father Virgil loomed over me with a pot of honey in his hand. He
drew from it a tiny brush. It was an artist�s paint brush.
�This brush is made of the finest bristles,� Father Virgil told me,
gazing into my frightened eyes. �It won�t hurt you. But we are testing the
weakness of your flesh. Don�t cry out. It�s a test. If you do, you will feel
Father Brannigan�s riding crop slash across your lovely flat belly. One
stroke for each time you cry.� He smiled. �Your belly could be just as
unmarked as it is now when we�re finished, or it could be all red and
wealed. It�s up to you, little Chloe.�
�Oh! But I can�t!� I gasped. I wriggled hard in my bonds. I made the
chains over my head jangle their iron links. The two priests laughed.
�Yes, my little slut,� Father Brannigan said. �You�ve had your
breasts sucked, I�m sure. Did you enjoy it? You will find this a bit
different. Here the object is not to simply find pleasure, but to somehow
refrain from it. Try to think of other things as Father Virgil applies the
honey to your nipples. Remember, one slash on your belly for every time
you fail to control yourself.� He laughed, long and deep, and then added:
�Be glad you�re young. With older girls, we apply the crop to their
bosoms.�
Father Virgil dandled a brush over my right nipple. A drop of honey
drooled off its tip and landed squarely on the point of my tit.
�No!� I gasped.
�It must be done. We must test your flesh,� Father Virgil said.
Slowly he lowered the brush. It touched me. I shivered, almost cried out,
bit my lip. With careful, slow strokes, Father Virgil began to trace the
upstanding nubbin of my tit. I watched, quavering in my bonds, as the tiny
brush did its work. My bosoms trembled like twin mounds of jello, one
shiny at its tip with honey, the other still untouched.
�Moan,� Father Brannigan taunted me. He held the stiff crop over my
belly. He watched with eager eyes as the flat tautness of my stomach
rose and fell with my shivering breaths.
�Oh, I can�t help it!� I shouted, suddenly. �Yeeeeoooch!� I cried
almost instantly afterward. There was a loud crack, the sound of hard
leather striking flesh, as Father Brannigan brought down his crop.
�One,� Father Brannigan said.
�Ohhh, my belly hoits!� I blurted. My cry sounded like that of a small
girl�s.
�Hush, my child. We have a long way to go,� Father Virgil said. He
dipped his brush in the honey pot and returned to my right nipple. I
shouted again as it touched me. It was so small, so maddeningly small! It
would take forever for him to decorate both my nipples with honey, even
though I was only 13 and my tits were not as large as a woman�s.
�Two,� Father Brannigan said. He brought down the crop again. Not
as hard, this time, but it still burned my skin. It left a red mark. I
shouted and twisted in my steel bonds. �You will learn the virtue of
silence in due time,� Father Brannigan said. �We�ll make sure of it.�
�Silence is golden, my child,� Father Virgil said. He redipped his
brush. He put another drop of honey on my right tit. I surrendered a
throaty moan to the agonized pleasure of its tight little bristles tickling
my tit. A slash burned sharply across my indrawn tummy in answer to my
cry. I screamed.
�How fortunate it is that she isn�t with child, eh?� Father Brannigan
commented to Father Virgil. His comment sounded like that of a doctor,
working in an operating room theatre: cold, detached, remote.
�Has the patient enough anesthesia, doctor?� I heard somewhere, in
my head.
�Why no, doctor, she�s new. We never waste anesthesia on the new
ones.�
�Ah, yes. She probably won�t survive the operation, anyway.�
�Probably not.�
YEEEEEEEK! My voice sounded loudly in the room. I struggled in my
bonds. Another slash hit my tummy.
�You are awfully close to one of her previous marks,� Doctor (or was
it Father?) Virgil said to the man with the riding crop. (It all was
becoming a hopeless whirl of confusion for me now.) �I don�t wish to see
her wealed, do you? Such a pretty little tummy she has. How small and
smooth. See how the navel dimples it... I must decorate that too, when I
finish with her nipples.�
�I�ll get the ham,� Father Brannigan said. He put down his riding
crop on the bed, beside me. I couldn�t reach it. I was shackled to the
mattress. I couldn�t move, save to writhe in my iron bonds.
Father Virgil applied the honey meticulously to my nipples. Never
did a drop touch any other area of my breasts, except once, which he
quickly bent and licked off. I swooned under the touch of his bristly brush,
each drop of honey applied with exquisite care, as if I were a painting in
progress. Would they sell me when I was finished?
�Here is a young girl, gentlemen? What am I bid for her?�
�Two hundred.�
�Two hundred and fifty.�
�When you tire of looking at her you can of course fuck her...�
Father Virgil finished tormenting my nipples with his brush. He left
both of them gleaming, their upstanding nipple-tips carefully delineated
with loving strokes of honey. He moved to my navel. He redipped his brush
and applied a dollop of honey within my small hole.
Then he moved down to the fur of my pubis.
�Ah, the grand prize,� I heard Father Brannigan say. He had returned.
I gazed at the ceiling, shivering, as I felt him take up his crop again.
�The thighs,� Father Virgil said, intently bending over my mound. He
applied a thin coat of honey to one tiny patch of my pubic hair. �I�ve
prepared her navel now. Don�t splatter the honey by striking her there
with your crop.�
�Yes,� Father Brannigan agreed. �My, how long her thighs are! Such a
small midriff, and such long thighs. And such pretty knees. Not a
strawberry on them, that I can see. Did you never fall down, my child?�
�Ooooh!� I gasped as Father Virgil moved his stroking brush closer to
the space between my legs where the heart of my pleasure lay.
�Silence!� Father Brannigan thundered. He slammed his riding crop
down upon my legs. I screamed. He struck me again. I twisted in my
bonds, screamed again, but he did not hit me a third time. He indulged me,
waiting for me to quiet down before beginning to count my mistakes again.
I bit my lower lip hard. I felt a hand come to my face. It eased my teeth
off my lip. The fingers were Father Virgil�s.
�You are being too hard on her,� Father Virgil said. �Please, give her
less forceful strokes. It is pretty to hear her moan. I don�t wish to have
her gagged, do you?�
�No, I suppose not,� Father Brannigan said. �She is only a child.� He
bent low. I felt his manly priest�s face kiss my legs where he�d marked
me. �Such a sweet child,� Father Brannigan said. �Quite a trooper,
really.� I felt a long, cold tongue touch the red burny mark Father
Brannigan had made on me. Had he hurt me to heal me? I trembled as his
priest�s tongue ran along the weal forming on my legs. He kissed me
again, on my other leg.
�I think I have found her spot,� Father Virgil said. I wrenched
suddenly in my bonds. A tickly brush inquired deeply between my legs. It
diddled upon my clit. I shouted anew, but Father Brannigan was still
kissing my legs, and didn�t strike me. �Do you have the ham?,� Father
Virgil asked.
�Yes, right here,� Father Brannigan answered.
�Good,� Father Virgil said. �She will be done soon.�
I lay trembling in my bonds, several minutes later, watching as
Father Brannigan hovered over me. He placed small bits of ham on me. He
put them wherever the honey had been deposited: on both my nipples, in
my navel. He sprinkled the ham upon the hair of my pubis and in the small
cleft between my legs where my spot of pleasure lay.
Father Virgil went upstairs. He left me alone with Father Brannigan.
I gasped, tried hard not to say anything. Both priests scared me, but
Father Brannigan seemed especially harsh. He enjoyed, I think, being
harsh. I shut my eyes. I prayed to God to keep him from hurting me.
Father Brannigan covered my privates with ham, a very weird thing, I
thought, but at least there was no way bits of ham could be harmful to
me? Was there? I thanked God for not letting Father Brannigan hurt me.
Father Virgil came back downstairs. I kept my eyes shut. I didn�t
want to look at him anymore. How dare he leave me alone with such a
wicked priest as Father Brannigan! Then, oddly, I wondered this: if I could
have sex with either man, and both were gentle, which would I prefer?
Something inside me told me that, despite his cruel nature, Father
Brannigan was more handsome than Father Virgil.
�No!� I said.
�Hmmm?� Father Brannigan asked.
�Nothing!� I breathed. I had spoken! My eyes flew open, then shut
tightly again, and I waited for the inevitable stroke of the crop upon my
helpless body. But it didn�t come. Could it be, that Father Brannigan, in
addition to being the most handsome, was also becoming nicer? I hoped
so. But he gave a low chuckle, and I felt a deep, menacing fear suddenly
flash through me. He was up to something! He couldn�t be as gentle as he
seemed suddenly to be. He was intending to do something very wicked
with that ham. But what?!
I heard a mewling sound. My eyes popped open. I heard Father Virgil
approaching. I struggled to see what Father Virgil was carrying with
careful hands from across the room. Some creature had been let loose. It
came into my view and I gasped. It was a kitten!
�Was she upstairs?� Father Brannigan asked Father Virgil.
�Yes, out back studying the birds in the bird feeder,� Father Virgil
said. �She just used the kitty litter box, so hopefully there won�t be any
accidents,� Father Virgil said.
�Fine,� Father Brannigan said. He rose up from my legs. He admired
his handiwork. He bent and planted a final kiss on one of my knees. �It�s
time to feed the kitty, Chloe,� Father Brannigan grinned at me. �Too bad
she�s so spoiled, and requires special feeding.�
�Oook!� I gasped, as Father Virgil plopped a small kitten down on my
tummy. The feel of her soft paws against my marked skin made me wince
with pain. I shouted when the kitten moved. It halted. It stared at me
wide-eyed. As I breathed in and out it rode up and down on the flatness of
my belly.
It moved again. It came forward and sniffed my nipples. It licked
the right one. I felt the scrape of its tiny teeth upon my tit as it nibbled
at the ham.
�Oooooh! No, please!� I cried with shocked despair.
�Hopefully kitty can tell your nipple from the ham,� Father
Brannigan chortled.
�Ooch!� I yelled as the kitten made a mistake. I gaped with
frightened eyes down at my breasts. Was I hurt? The priests laughed.
Slowly the cosseted kitten ate its dinner off my nipples. Each
stroke of its tiny tongue across my teats made my whole body shiver with
a mixture of fear and pleasure. The kitten finished one of my bosoms,
moved to the other. It licked there and then moved down to my navel. Its
paws scraped my injured tummy. I shouted. The priests warned me not to
twist and throw the kitten off me. I would be �truly punished,� they told
me, if I did that.
The kitten moved from my belly-button down to my mound of Venus.
It feasted on the honey-laden bits of ham sprinkled in the hair of my pubis.
It licked lower still, finding my spot. I screamed a blood-curdling scream
as the spoiled kitten ate within my pussy. It almost fell off me; Father
Virgil caught it, restored it to me, to its meal.
�Suffer in silence, child, or I will resume your cropping,� Father
Brannigan said to me roughly. I wept as the curious kitten dug deeper and
deeper into my honey-lined slit with its tongue.
When it was finished, the kitten turned, looked toward my face, and
then, standing over the soft mound of my pubis, it peed. Its hind end was
over my belly and its water sprinkled down onto my well-licked navel.
�Ah, your meal was satisfactory, kitty?� Father Brannigan asked. He
picked it up off me when it had finished relieving itself.
�Careful. It sometimes needs to do number two after it eats,�
Father Virgil warned.
�Yes, I see,� Father Brannigan said. He held the kitten away from
him as it let loose with a quick succession of kitty-sized turds. They
barely missed my bed, falling instead on the floor. Father Brannigan
hurried the kitten over to a kitty litter box set in a corner of the school
room. But by the time he put the kitten down in the box, it was already
finished with its B/M. It glanced down at the sand in the box. It walked
out of it, and gazed with snub-nosed insouciance up at Father Brannigan,
as if to say, �Silly man, I�m already done pooping. Why have you put me in
this box?� It stalked across the room. Father Brannigan bent and picked
it up again. �I shall take it back upstairs,� Father Brannigan said.
Father Virgil turned away from me. �I shall accompany you,� Father
Virgil said. �Her first lesson is finished, anyway. I�ll have Sister Mary
come down and undo her.�
�No! Don�t leave me!� I shouted. There was true panic in my voice.
My fear was deeper and more profound, I think, than even the extraordinary
fright I�d just felt, experiencing my �lessons.� I couldn�t let that fat,
jealous old woman see me like this! The two priests ignored my screams.
Father Brannigan ascended the basement steps. Father Virgil followed.
Strangely, they walked with their penises displayed. They were both
rock-hard; I doubt they could have restored themselves to the interior of
their trousers even if they�d wished it.
�Oh! Is it time for a bathroom break?� I heard an old woman say
when Father Brannigan opened the door at the top of the basement stairs.
�Fetch the girl at your leisure. She is finished for now,� Father
Virgil announced.
There was a tromping on the stairs. With heavy feet Sister Mary
came down. I was still screaming for the men not to leave me when Sister
Mary�s face loomed over mine. It was fat and ruddy. It viewed me with
contempt.
�I must undo you,� Sister Mary said gruffly. �Then we will upstairs
and bathe again.� Without touching me, she moved down to my bound legs.
�You have runs in your stockings,� Sister Mary said. She sounded angry. I
had not put the runs in them, Father Brannigan had, whipping me on my
legs with his crop. No matter. The sister scolded me for ruining my
stockings. Then she moved back up to my head and reached up over me and,
standing on tip toes, managed to catch hold of the iron shackles that held
my arms suspended over my head.
My hands were released. I let them fall, relieved, to my chest.
Weeping, I found my wrists with my fingers. They were tender from being
hung up above me. Red marks showed on my wrists where I�d struggled and
twisted against my bonds to try to break free.
Sister Mary moved down to my ankles. She loosed the shackles
around them. The cold iron left my feet and I was able to move my legs
again. I closed them, contritely. I swore to myself I�d never open my legs
for a man again.
A calloused hand patted my tummy.
�Yooooch!� I shouted.
�Get up, child. Come upstairs with me. I must bathe you again, and
prepare you for dinner.�
�No!� I screeched. I tried to curl up in a fetal position. Sister Mary
laughed. �We are having sausage and sauerkraut for dinner,� she told me.
�Not you.�
I stumbled up the stairs, Sister Mary holding my hand. Somewhere, I
heard the priests laughing. At me? At something else? I didn�t know.
Perhaps the kitten had caught a bird out by the bird feeder and was
consuming it.
30
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