(To read this from Kate’s point of view, click here.)
“Not yet, Father.” I thought for a second, then added “Want a taste?”
I was aware of just a hint of red light beginning to glow from over my head. It started out as more of an impression than actual light, but began to grow slowly until I could see around me a little bit.
The little sliding door between sections of the confessional left an opening that was blocked only by a black metal grate. There was a design of grape vines worked into the wrought iron, with large spaces between the vines. Large enough for my hand to fit through.
I hadn’t heard any response from Father Jake, and the light on my side of the confessional wasn’t strong enough to pierce the blackness on the other side, so I decided to just slip my hand through the grate.
My hand hung there in the blackness for a moment that felt like hours, and I wasn’t sure if Father Jake had heard me, or even if I had actually spoken aloud. I turned my hand over and curled my fingers, and used two to invite him with a slow, sexy come hither.
After a few seconds I could feel his warm breath close on the palm of my hand. His breath alternated with cool air from the other direction, and I knew he was inhaling my scent deep into his nostrils.
He gently took my first two fingers into his wet mouth, closed his lips tightly on them and began to suck my wetness into his own. My ring finger brushed against his cheek, smooth and freshly shaven.
He let go of the first two fingers, leaving them just as wet as he found them, and went to work on the last two. I couldn’t stand the thought of his finishing, so I re-wet the fingers of my right hand, to give him something more when he’d be finished with my left.
The hum inside me had been quieter, but now it was building quickly in pitch and intensity. I slipped my right hand through the wrought iron grate, and Father Jake took to my soaking right fingers immediately.
I don’t know what came over me in that instant, but I shoved all four of my fingers as deeply into his throat as I could. When I triggered his gag reflex and he instinctively began to pull away, I found my left hand full of his tossled hair, forcing his head to remain where it was.
It was overwhelming, this feeling of complete control. I couldn’t make it stop, and I had no desire to. I was all-powerful with this priest gagging on my fingers, choking on what he had so shortly before been more than willing to taste, eagerly accepting into himself.
I released my grip on his hair when it suited me, but still his head moved not an inch, and still he gagged on my fingers. I withdrew them ever so slightly to allow him a moment of air, and I could feel him swallow and relax before he resumed his sucking like nothing had happened.
On a whim, I snatched my hands back through the grate. Father Jake’s mouth inched forward, but stopped before impacting the iron. I could just see the red light reflecting in his eyes, and the scar above his thin lips.
Father Jake hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told. I heard the rustling of his suit as his face disappeared, and was replaced by the dark shape of his hips.
I had played with boys a bit before I took the pledge, the symbol of which now hangs forever on a chain around my Lover’s neck, a trophy to her conquest of me.
But never quite like this, and never with a grown man. Certainly never with a priest. The feeling of power over this priest, this man, was intoxicating as it coursed through my body. The demand in my tone as I gave him command after command was utterly unlike me. I was speaking like the queens of egypt, fully expecting abject obedience, never even considering the idea of being refused or ignored. I was totally drunk on the sound of my own voice, and making love to each syllable as it escaped my lips.
“Closer.” Something on the inside of his upper thigh had caught my attention. When he moved so that I could see it better, I was hard pressed to make heads or tails of it. A large, perfectly circular scar with a hollow inverted cross stood out from his skin. There were words I could almost read in the dim light tattooed inside the long axis of the cross.
“What does it say?”
“Propriété de Kathryn le Libertin” he pronounced in perfect Parisian French.
He didn’t need to translate. Though I wouldn’t call myself fluent, three years of classes told me what he said. During those years I read quite a few classics in the original French, and the concept of Libertinism was no stranger to me.
“Property of Kathryn the Libertine.”
I knew what it said, and I knew what it meant.
So he belonged to my Lover like a pet belongs to a master, and this was her brand. It was a mark of ownership not unlike the one on cattle. Always full of surprises, that one. No wonder Father Jake was so compliant.
How in the world did she end up with a priest as a sex slave? I’d have to ask her to tell me that story some time. It had to be one of her best ones, I was sure.
But that was a story for another time. I had my hands full at this particular moment, so to speak.
I brought Father Jake right to the edge, then abruptly stopped and stood up myself.
“How do I unlatch the door?”
He told me where to find the release, and I was embarrassed for a second that I hadn’t found it before.
I swung the door open and stepped out into the chapel. Kate had been standing by the bench with her back to me, but she turned and came rushing for me as soon as I came out. I had only strode a step or two when she reached me. Her heels were on the floor by the bench, and I had to lean down to receive her kiss.
The salty sting of my lip came back as it began to bleed profusely. I had a need to mark her with my blood like she had marked Father Jake with her brand. I brushed my lip on her nose, on her cheeks, claiming her for my own.
She sucked on my lip like Father Jake had sucked on my fingers, and I knew I had the same power over her that I had over the priest. I pulled away enough to release my lip from hers, then spun her around so she could see the lust in my eyes. It was as mesmorizing for her as it was for me, and she leaned her head back as far as she could and closed her eyes.
I kissed her throat. I kissed and kissed and kissed all the way up to her mouth. I possessed her. I owned her. But that wasn’t enough. I gripped her from below and yanked her upwards and closer as hard as I could without losing my balance, and then pinned her against the confessional.
I needed to taste her in the most inimate of ways. I needed to taste that which I had never tasted of hers. I needed to take into my body the only fluid of hers I never had, the only part of her that was yet reserved from me. I bit down as hard as I could on her bottom lip, and she groaned through her teeth, but couldn’t pull away. There was blood running down her chin, both hers and mine, and it was running like water.
In that moment she became my slave as surely as I had become hers. We were one creature, one body, one soul in a way no marriage ceremony with magic words could ever replicate. I was her possession, and she was mine.
I suddenly knew exactly what I needed from Father Jake, and I was determined to take it.