Dream a Little Dream of Me.

The Itch, Part The Second

Dark Angel(To read this from Kate’s Point of View, click here.)

He was a bit overdressed, this man. Even for North Carolina, it’s been pretty warm these last few January days. Very highly polished black shoes, black wool suit, and it took me a moment to really understand.

A square of white at the front of his black shirt collar meant something I couldn’t quite grasp for several seconds.

Father Jake.

What in God’s name… an ironic choice of thoughts, to be sure.

Kate was staring up at me, eyes drilling right into mine. Again with that smile.

“What the Hell?” Probably not the best alternative choice of words, given the circumstances.

“Oh you’re gonna like this, Kitten,” Kate came back, sex dripping from every syllable. And her voice wasn’t the only thing dripping with it as she extended her hand for me to help her up.

“Nice costume,” I quipped at Jake as I pulled my Lover to her feet and began to wipe at her smeared makeup with my finger. I licked my thumb to moisten it, and stopped dead with my tongue still on my thumb when Kate said, “Not a costume, Kitten. Work clothes.”

Kate leaned in and kissed me softly, dancing her tongue between my lips, then sucked the salty taste from my lower lip that I hadn’t noticed was there.

“Let’s visit the lady’s room,” she whispered, and took my hand and led me toward the back of the house, leaving Jake standing there in the entryway, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall and grinning silently.

Kate was obviously no stranger to this home, and knew her way through several turns that took us to a massive and gorgeously tiled full bathroom. The thing was probably as big as our whole house.

“A priest?” I asked her once we were standing by one of the twin facing vanities. “A real priest?”

“Jake’s a chaplain on base, but in civilian life he’s a real Catholic priest.”

“What, am I going to confession all of a sudden?” I was really confused.

Kate put one finger on my lips, silently shushing me, and took my lip between her teeth. Then she released it, sucked it back in a moment, and then kissed the place that had begun to sting a little. I must have bitten my lip rather hard.

Taking a tissue from the gilded box on the vanity, she began to dab away the blood, all the while keeping her eyes within inches of my own. I closed my eyes and let her work for a few minutes, and then felt her begin to brush my hair. I was lost in the sweet smell of her breath faintly flavoring that familiar scent of my own.

Such a quiet and serene moment so close behind such a massive burst of passion was at once all encompassing in its calm silence and wrenching in its shift of gears. The hum began to build again.

I heard the water run a few seconds, and then something warm and wet and slightly rough was gently rubbing the inside of my thighs. Kate was kneeling behind me, and working to remove her makeup from me.

“I made a mess,” she whispered.

“I think it was me.”

My eyes closed again and my feet inched apart a little, hiking my skirt up as Kate worked her way higher. The click of my heels on the tiles was loud and hard, and somehow still sensuous. She was very thorough, and without looking I knew there was no trace anywhere of her makeup on me. She didn’t need to re-soak the washcloth.

She finished much too soon, and I wanted to scream. I missed her hand when I reached down and tried to snatch it back, and she was on her feet and back around in front of me before I could quite get a grip on her.

Bitch. “Don’t tease me, Kate.”

She just smiled and turned to the mirror, where she saw for the first time the minor catastrophe I had made of her. “Holy shit!” she giggled.

I wasn’t sure if I should blush or giggle with her, and wound up doing both.

“So what’s with the priest?” I asked as she was fixing her eye liner.

“There’s a confessional in the den,” she answered. “Go get in it.”

“Why? I’m not Catholic.” I was really confused now, and somewhat disconcerted. Kate knows I’m not Catholic, and barely consider myself Christian. I don’t know why I announced that, it just seemed like she might need a reminder. “Besides, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Just go.”

I went. It was now apparently Kate’s turn to be on top. Besides, what the hell, right? I slunk out the door and turned away from where we had come. The den was largish, and must have been decorated by the Pope or something. It was really more of a small chapel than a den. A long wooden bench with a padded seat lined two walls, like a big V shaped pew. There was an altar in the opposite corner, to the left of which was a rack of candles beneath a portrait of Mary the Madonna. The candles provided the flickering light for the room. To the right of the altar was a large wooden box with two doors in the front. It was stained in a nearly black color to match all the other wood in the room. All in all it was beautiful, but dark and windowless, and just a bit scary. I got the impression that this was exactly the tone the Pope was going for when he decorated the place, and it was having its desired effect on me.

I looked over my shoulder for Kate, but saw only a glimpse of her heading around a corner back the way we had come.

“I might as well Christen the Confessional,” I thought, smiling to myself and heading for the box. The doors were conveniently marked “Supplicant” and “Priest”, which was a good thing since I’d never been in one of these things and had no idea which door was supposed to be mine.

The hinges creaked a bit as I pulled the door open. The box was dark inside, without a light. “Crap. A freakin’ coffin.” I mused to the empty room.

Well, I had my instructions and there was nothing to it but to do it, so with that morbid but somehow erotic thought, I stepped up and in. I only heard the solid clack of metal as the latch caught. I felt around for the mechanism, but couldn’t find it in the blackness. A moment of panic set in as I realized I was trapped in this coffin. I thought of Kate, and reflected on our conversation. She knew exactly where I was, and I trusted her without question. This calmed me down enough to realize how warm and wet my prison was making me. For a moment my heart had raced with fear, but now it took up its rapid rythym for an only slightly different yet related emotion.

I found the small, padded kneeler that I was pretty sure should be there, and kneeled down on it in the blackness. I had instinctively intwined my fingers and folded my hands in front of me in a gesture of prayer. I can never remember which part of the Catholic church touches the left shoulder first, and which the right when genuflecting, so I decided to do them both. First the left way, then the right. Out of some ridiculous sense of fairness, I repeated the gesture in the reverse order.

Feeling a little scared, a little silly, more than a little nervous, and extremely conscious of the growing hum, I waited for what seemed like an eternity. As I waited in the blackest depths of this coffin-like box, my thoughts couldn’t help but stray to the priest I had just entertained so flagrantly.

I thought of his dark brown hair, ever so slightly disheveled, thick dark brows contrasting perfectly with his pale blue eyes, his left eye slightly squinting, as though he were trying to get a clearer view of my soul. His jaw was strong, and masculine, with the slight bluish tint of a man with a heavy beard. An expert plastic surgeon had nearly succeeded in making the repair of his cleft lip blend right in with the leftmost of those little lines below his nose. In fact, were it not for the absense of the blue tinge of his smoothly shaven face along there, the slightly curving scar would have been nearly invisible.

But those eyes. Those eyes and that little scar. Something about them just wouldn’t leave my mind, and my mental picture just flicked between those eyes, that scar, and that little patch of white on the front of his collar.

I don’t remember it happening. Somewhere along the line my hands had unfolded, and left their position of piety. My skirt was up around my waist, and both hands were working furiously to relieve the hum that had built to a screaming, burning vibration, shaking my whole inside.

This time, I felt my teeth digging into the flesh of my lip, but instead of releasing it, I bit down harder. The salty taste of my bleeding lip just merged into the swimming shades of black that swirled around my head in the perfect blackness.

“Shall I leave the light off, Janie?”

Read Part The Third ——>

Filed under: About, Corporal Kate, Erotica, Literature, Literature and Literotica, Romance, Sex, The Itch

3 Responses

  1. […] Quiet The Hum — Corporal Kate @ 3:33 am (To read this from Janie’s point of view click here.)Captain Jake Lacoste is a chaplain from base. He’s a Catholic priest in the real world, and […]

  2. Kevin Scott says:

    JanieBelle – your writing is impeccable and appealing. As a professional writer it puts me to shame. You need to get paid for this.

  3. JanieBelle says:


    Thank you, Kevin. I think getting paid for what I do is illegal in 49 states though, isn’t it?


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Order of the Science Scouts

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