fifteen
The Salvation
When it’s clear that Mercy has seen me, I step forward from where I was waiting. I didn’t want to interrupt her amorous reconciliation with her childhood friend, but they seem to have finally reached the conclusion to their reunion as well as their animosity.
“I’d like to speak with you,” I tell my new student, approaching the end of the pew where they sit.
“Now?” she asks, glancing back at Heath, whose body she still sits astride.
I bend to pick up her panties, unable to resist rubbing the damp cotton between my thumb and finger once before I hold them out to her. “Ideally.”
Heath swats her ass. “Go on. Hop away, bunny rabbit. I’ll catch you later.” He gives her a wicked smile. “If you want to make it fun for me, make me chase you before I do.”
Her expression conveys her feeling of betrayal at his words, but she accepts the panties from me.
Then she looks conflicted, like she’s unsure how to dismount.
At last, she slides off Heath’s lap, letting his wet dick fall against his leg with a soft smack.
He pulls on his pants and tucks himself away with a satisfied smile, entirely unself-conscious as only a boy of his ilk can be.
Meanwhile, Mercy drags her panties up her flushed thighs and snatches up the clothes she discarded on the hardwood floor, dragging them on in such haste she pulls her skirt on backwards and loses a button from her shirt in the process.
“What do you need to talk to me for?” she asks, not looking at me as she shoves her feet into her shoes.
“The other day,” I say. “Among other things. Let’s walk.”
I’d like to scoop her into my arms, to carry her the way I have before, but this time of day, someone is sure to see us.
So I clasp my hands behind my back to resist the temptation to touch her, and we leave the sanctuary together.
Outside, the evening sky is still spitting occasional, fat raindrops.
I open my umbrella, and we make our way along the path through the graveyard toward the rectory.
Skeletal trees shiver in the wind behind the old building, their branches black against the grey backdrop, glistening from the rain.
A low fog lingers in the woods, creeping toward the headstones.
I open the low, iron gate with its ornate posts and usher her through, then lead her into the warmth of my home.
She glances around at the sparse, dimly lit room while I go to the stove and stir the pot of soup I left bubbling on the stove.
“This is cozy,” she says after a minute. “Not what I expected.”
I take another look, trying to see it through her eyes, to imagine what she sees. A threadbare, overstuffed sofa, mismatched armchairs, a fireplace, a few plants.
“What did you expect?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess… The way you dress… I thought it would be…”
I raise a brow, waiting expectantly for what she’ll say, the verdict.
“Fancier,” she finishes weakly.
“I inherited everything from the last occupant,” I tell her, ladling soup into two bowls. “And we’re hardly a megachurch. As you can imagine, it’s a struggle to fill one Catholic church in this area.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. You just dress so nice.”
“Thank you.” I deliver our bowls to the table, then gesture for her to sit. She hesitates, but she obeys me still, despite the betrayal she feels at the secrecy of our first few encounters.
“My father was a priest in New York,” I tell her, spreading my napkin in my lap. “As you can imagine, the Catholic population is much larger there. He did quite well for himself. I accepted a few of the perks when he passed.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her blue eyes luminous with sympathy.
“You wouldn’t be if you had known him.”
“Oh,” she says, and then again, “I’m sorry.”
“I wanted to clear the air,” I say, watching her fidget at her side of the small, round table. “You haven’t come to confession since our last encounter.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, like it’s the only thing she can say now.
“Did you really find it so shocking that I was behind the mask?” I ask. “Even if you couldn’t see my face, my demeanor, my commands, have always been consistent, have they not?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I think mostly I felt stupid for not realizing it sooner.”
“That is understandable.”
She picks up her spoon, moving it slowly around her bowl before taking a bite. We eat in silence for a few minutes, the warm broth and hearty meat and vegetables settling into us, soothing the tension in the air. At last, Mercy sets down her spoon. “I just have one question,” she says.
“Of course, lamb.”
“Why do you do that?” she asks. “I mean, you’re a priest. You could tell me to do anything, and I’d do it. You don’t need to hide behind a mask.”
“Sometimes it is easier to let go when someone can’t see the person they are with,” I say. “You saw that with your brother. When I wear a mask, people can be truly themselves, without the mask we all wear when we face each other daily. And so can I.”
She swallows hard, still gazing into her bowl. “So, you wear it for them,” she says. “The Hellhounds.”
“Yes,” I say. “And for me.”
“What do you get?”
“Submission,” I say honestly. “They are obedient to my commands, not as their teacher or priest or council, where they might rebel, but as their Master. Their God.”
Her eyes widen at my confession, as if she didn’t expect such a thing from a man of God. But I want her to know me, to know what I will ask of her as my subject.
“Isn’t that… Blasphemy?” she asks, peeking up at me from under her lashes.
“Yes,” I say. “Would you do that for me?”
She’s quiet a long minute. At last, she raises her gaze to mine. “Yes, Father.”
Now it’s my turn to swallow hard. What other sins would she commit for me?
“You’d still do anything for me, lamb?” I ask, my voice husky. “Anything I asked?”
“Yes, Father,” she says again. “I told you I was yours, and I meant it. Knowing you’re also the Master of the boys doesn’t change that.”
My heart swells, and I close my eyes and take a breath. It seems too good to be true, this perfect specimen saying the words to me that I’ve wanted to hear for so long. She is the one I have been waiting for my whole life, beautiful and innocent and good, pure and holy, desperate and depraved.
“What sin would you like me to commit tonight, Father?”
I open my eyes and study her from behind my spectacles, her enchanting perfection, the blend of vulnerability and fierceness, softness and strength.
I have not only made her an object for the boys under my command, but I’ve made her a temptress of her own accord.
I watched one of the strongest boys at this school melt like putty in her hands only an hour ago.
She stands and comes around the table, and I’m not sure I’ll fair much better than a common heathen. After all, that’s what I am, despite the trappings that convince the world otherwise.
She stops beside me, biting her lip. “Father?”
I realize I haven’t answered her, that I was so captivated I forgot myself. I’m sitting there clutching my spoon and gaping at her like one of the goofy freshman boys in my class who’ve never touched a woman before.
“Yes,” I say, dropping my spoon and standing. The utensil clatters across the wooden surface and tumbles to the floor.
Mercy crouches to pick it up, as if artifice has never occurred to her, as if she’d never consider bending in a more sexual manner.
It gives me a moment to collect myself and stride into the sitting area.
She joins me, hurrying to catch up, as if she still doesn’t understand that she truly has the power, if she only chooses to claim it.
When she doesn’t move to sit, I pat the cushion beside me, and Mercy tucks her skirt under her and slides onto it. I think about Heath’s cum leaking out of her, how it might wet her skirt, seep through onto my couch. There are worse things that could be on the old furniture.
“I wanted you to know,” I say at last, not trusting myself to speak the truth of my desires to her. “Your friend’s shooter was arrested.”
“Really?” Mercy asks, looking startled.
I nod. “Knowing the life he chose, that may come as a surprise, but he came onto campus with a firearm,” I explain. “He was apprehended last night at a bar outside town.”
“What about the Sinners?”
I shake my head. “No other charges were filed by the university. Though the location of the shooting, the place the students call Sinners Tower, has been closed since the incident.”
“Right,” she says, nodding. “I guess it’s a crime scene. Where are the Sin—the Sinceros?”
“They’ve been reassigned to temporary housing,” I tell her.
She stares at her lap for a second, then looks up at me. “I think they might be responsible for Eternity’s disappearance,” she admits. “Their family, anyway. Do you know them?”
I nod. “Of course. They’re members of the congregation.”
“Their dad, Julian,” she says slowly. “You couldn’t tell me, if he confessed something like that, could you?”
“No, lamb,” I say, then set a reassuring hand on her knee. “But he hasn’t.”
“Really?” she asks, looking up at me with so much hope it makes even a cold heart like mine soften.
The next second, she leans in, and before I know what she’s going to do, her lips skim the side of my neck.
Her breath feathers over my skin, hot with yearning.
I drag my hand away from her leg, balling it into a fist while I squeeze my eyes closed and wrestle to keep myself in check.
Before I have the chance, her lips brush my earlobe, and suddenly it’s all I can do to control myself, to keep from ordering her to kneel and hold up her little plaid skirt and beg for the most unholy pleasures I can give her.
“Whatever you want, I’ll do it,” she whispers, as if she can read my mind. “Just tell me when and where you want me. For you, Father, the answer is always yes.”