fifteen
The Salvation
I spend the entire hour keeping my eyes off my student—one student in particular. When I took this job, I also took a vow of celibacy, and I’ve kept it until now. It only makes sense, in a job like this, to take the vow, even though the Church no longer requires it. I require it of myself, holding myself to a higher standard than most men, devoting my life to God.
And maybe, in some way, it’s to atone for my own sins—my own form of self-flagellation for the commandments I’ve broken.
Thou shalt not kill.
Honor thy father and thy mother.
Thou shalt not covet…
I tear my eyes from her legs, primly crossed at the ankles, her skirt pulled down over her knees, which only makes me want to push it up and reveal what’s hidden—
Forgive me my sins.
I stride to the front of the room and hit the button on the controller, moving to the next slide in my lecture. I don’t look at her legs again, her delicate fingers and slender wrists, the red marks on them peeking out from under her sleaves.
This is the reason I’ve taken the vow. I’m around impressionable, attractive young men and women all day. The only women besides students are the sisters, and it’s no different with them. I wouldn’t want to be blinded by my own desires and inadvertently use my power as a priest to influence someone’s decision, whether it was a nun or a student. Any relationship inside this school, this parish, would be highly inappropriate.
I know that, and yet…
Unbidden images invade my thoughts as I pace the room, speaking to my students, my flock. One little lamb stands out.
Long, ginger-gold hair falling around her shoulders today. Eyes like the sky over the Garden of Eden, like Eve’s before the fall. The trusting eyes of my little lamb. Long, muscular thighs and calves, their alluring shape only hinted at through her opaque white socks that end just at the knee. That edge is bared when she stands, the cloaking garment begging to be slid down to her slender ankles, baring their ivory skin to be kissed, bitten, until they bloom with tender red bruises.
I’m relieved when class ends and the students file out. I need some time alone to pray.
Only when they’re gone do I remember I asked her to stay after class.
Under my breath, I curse myself for that moment of weakness. A moment when I was no doubt picturing her on her knees besides my desk, her sweet bare feet tucked under her and her little ass resting on them as she looked up at me while those big, blue eyes, as innocent as a lamb.
Not something I should be thinking about any student, let alone this one.
I clear my throat and sit down behind my heavy walnut desk, deciding it’s safer than facing her with nothing between us but a few paces, a few layers of clothing too easily shed…
My lamb sits in her own desk, fiddling with the colored pens that she always lays out in a row beside her notebook, taking notes the old-fashioned way instead of on her laptop. Just one more mystery about this student I shouldn’t want to unravel, to uncover the way I want to push her skirt up her thighs, uncovering her little white panties…
“You… Wanted to see me, Father?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, adjusting myself discretely under the desk before straightening. “I notice you’re wearing your hair down today.”
“Yes, Father,” she says, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Is—is that against dress code?”
I give her a reassuring smile. “No, Miss Soules. It’s not.”
She licks her lips nervously, and it’s all I can do not to close my eyes and picture that little pink tongue flicking over the tip of my engorged cock, those naturally red lips stretched wide as she takes my girth, her eyes bulging and tears trickling down her cheeks. I could teach my lamb a different kind of lesson, one she’d never forget. A lesson in sin and corruption, on how to take a man deep, swallow his seed like an obedient servant of God.
Except I don’t want her to serve another, not even God. I want her to serve me alone.
On her knees every night, on her back with her creamy thighs open, her slick red cunt sucking me in greedily as I own every inch of my little lamb.
I realize I’ve been staring too long, the way I’ve wanted to for weeks, drinking her in for minutes at a time instead of letting my eyes skim over her like she’s any other student. Since the first day of classes, when I recognized that sweet, soft voice from the girl in the booth, who confessed her wanton desires in the tremulous, faltering manner of a novice.
“Can I ask why?” I venture, when the tension in the air is crackling almost audibly as we stare at each other.
“I…”
Her cheeks flush darker.
“Come here, lamb,” I say, my voice dropping an octave without intent.
She swallows and slides from her desk, dread evident in every step as she approaches. She stops in front of the desk, pressing her hands to the outside of her thighs the way she did climbing the stairs before class. I think I blacked out for a moment climbing them after her, seeing the irresistible tease of her skirt rising to show a peek of her bare knees rubbing together with each step. That’s the only explanation for why I have no memory of why I asked her to stay.
“Can you put it up now?”
She gulps, panic in her crystal blue gaze as it bounces away, lighting on anything but me. “I—I don’t have a hair tie.”
“Use your hands,” I say, my voice coming out low, in a seductive command that makes my words sound obscenely sexual.
Her lips drop open, her pupils dilating and her cheeks staying rosebud pink. It’s not embarrassment making her flush, I realize. She feels this too, the sizzling connection between us.
Slowly, she lifts her hands and gathers the sleek rose gold strands, straightened to form a curtain today instead of bound as tightly as a nun’s behind her head or tumbling in waves around her shoulders…
At last, she pulls it back, holding it behind her head with both hands in a ponytail.
“Put your elbows on the desk,” I tell her.
She hesitates, then leans forward without a word, obedient as the sweetest lamb. She rests her elbows on the surface of my desk, her hands still behind her head. The position makes it impossible not to envision her mouth on my cock, which is straining painfully under the desk. To imagine circling the desk, flipping up her tartan skirt, drawing down her drawers, spreading her cheeks wide, and tasting her from front to back.
“Chin up, little lamb,” I say in a husky murmur.
She lifts her face as far as she can in the position, baring enough of her slender neck for me to see the angry bruises lining both sides of her throat, the bite prints and teeth marks clear. I reach out, running my thumb over the red skin where teeth raked over it until it’s raw.
“That’s a good girl,” I growl.
Her eyes flutter closed, and her throat works as she swallows, leaning into my touch. A swell of power rises in me, and I wonder how far I could push this, if she’d obey my every command, lay herself at my feet and sacrifice her innocence, her dignity, her soul, just for me.
“Does anyone else know about this?” I ask, marveling at the heat of the marks compared to the cool, smooth, unmarked skin of her cheek.
“No, Father,” she whispers, the breathiness in her voice as it feathers hot against my skin making an ache start at the base of my cock. My thumb slides along her jaw, and her plump lips part, and I know I’m treading dangerous ground, unholy ground where footprints cannot be erased.
I’m about to draw away and tell her she may rise, when her little pink tongue darts out, wetting the corner of her mouth.
I jerk my hand away, my heart drumming in the hollow of my chest. I give back to my flock. That is how I atone for the sins that can never be absolved, the blood on my hands that can never be washed away. I live to serve, not to take. My eyes fall on her throat again, and I take her arm gently, pulling one of them down flat on the desk. She grips her hair with the other, her luminous eyes meeting mine with some mixture of arousal and fear that only increases my own sense of power.
I push up the cuff of her sleeve a few inches, skimming my thumb across the angry red lines on her wrists. “Do you want to tell me where you got these?”
She nods mutely, as if waiting permission to speak.
“Confess.”
The word rolls off my tongue like a prayer, a plea to God to relieve me of this burden.
“Can we do it in the booth?”
My thumb presses on the raw skin of her wrist, and she winces, but she makes no move to pull away. My little lamb might like pain as much as I do. I want to know what she’s punishing herself for, if there’s more to the story than a little girl discovering her sexuality in an unwelcome way. Unfortunately, that’s not a rare experience. What’s rare is her continued need for redemption. Something tells me there’s more to the story—something that makes me want to unravel it one thread at a time, learning her every secret, until she’s as bare and pure as the day she was born.
“We can go to the confessional or my office,” I tell her. “But I have one question first, little lamb.”
She licks her lips and nods, an awkward movement in her current position. “Yes, Father.”
I can’t stop myself, and the question falls from my lips before I can pray for strength to resist this lamb with eyes of liquid temptation and a body built for sin.
“If I asked you to look in my eyes while you confess every carnal sin that’s ever crossed your mind, would you trust me that much?”
Her cerulean eyes widen, her moist lips parting in a small “o” of shock. Scarlet flushes up her neck, darkening the raw skin and purple bruises before blooming in her cheeks like the first blossom of spring. But she doesn’t drop my gaze, and her own eyes go heavy with lust as the seconds pass, each one carrying more heat, until sweat breaks out along my brow. I can feel her pulse thrumming in the delicate skin of her wrist, like a scared lamb who’s been led to the slaughter and waits for the blade to fall.
Still, her seductive gaze holds mine, her eyelids heavy. Her voice is throaty when she speaks at last, managing to utter only two words, the only ones I ever want to hear fall from her dewy, sensual lips.
“Yes, Father.”