Peccatum In Carne:
Sins of the Flesh
Coco Mingolelli
For Florence, ti amo. Thank you for always believing in me.
For all the Mallories out there, you are not alone.
For all the Dawns, stand firm in your resolve to always
celebrate your way of loving.
Navigation
Chapter 1: Advenæ (Arrival)
Chapter 2: Pedicabo (Fuck Me)
Chapter 3: Dimitte (Let Go)
Chapter 4: Innocentiae Furatus (Stolen Innocence)
Chapter 5: Promissis (Promises)
Chapter 6: Vena Amoris (The Vein of Love)
Chapter 7: Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
(If You Want Peace, Prepare for War)
Chapter 8: Amare (Love)
Chapter 9: Et Introibunt in Arenae (Enter the Arena)
Chapter 10: Desipientia (Desperation)
Chapter 11: Amor Vincit; Cedamus Amori
(Love Conquers; Surrender to Love)
Chapter 12: Utrimque (Both Sides, Now)
Chapter 13: Ad Partes Dolontes (To the Pain)
Chapter 14: Prima Facie (At First Sight)
Chapter 15: Miror in Mirum (Mirror in the Mirror)
Chapter 16: MMIV (2004)
Chapter 17: Omnes Enim Vos (All For You)
Chapter 18: Neutiquam Mortuus (I’m Not Really Dead)
Chapter 19: In Somnis (In Dreams)
Navigation, Cont'd
Chapter 20: Amo, Amas (I Love, You Love)
Chapter 21: Veni, Vidi, Volo in Domum Redire
(I Came, I Saw, I Want to Go Home)
Chapter 22: Labra Lege (Read My Lips)
Chapter 23: Deus Aliter Visum (God Decided Otherwise)
Chapter 24: Dilabi in Translationi (Lost in Translation)
Chapter 25: Imperium (Taking Control)
Chapter 26: Torquem Laqueo (The Necklace is a Noose)
Chapter 27: Kalat Lunat Covella
(She Calls Out to the Hollow Moon)
Chapter 28: Devotio (Devotion)
Chapter 1: Advenæ (Arrival)
Dawn sat in the front of her father's Bentley, scowling her displeasure at the man in the back who had ignored her all the way from London. Apparently, only people who did as he wished were worthy of privileges such as basic manners.
Her predicament resulted from refusing the unwanted attentions of yet another son of one of her diamond merchant father's business partners at a dinner party the week before. In response, Steven had informed Dawn that she needed reminding of the family values of her faith, and what was expected of her. Without consulting Dawn, he enrolled her in St. Augusta's Catholic School for Girls in North Yorkshire.
Dawn didn't know why he couldn't continue to ignore her, like he had for most of her life. Why did he truly care? She wasn't naive enough to assume it was out of his love for her. At seventeen, she was about to take final exams at Queen's Court School. Now, Steven Rose had decided to exercise his parental control.
Put bluntly, he was a hypocrite. Her father was rude and inconsiderate on his best days, and cruel on his worst. He didn't live up to his own expectations, but expected her to live up to his.
She knew what his expectations were at least, if not his motives. In order, Steven had some very specific intentions for Dawn's life. First - to marry her off to one of his crony's sons. Second - many grandchildren produced by said union. Heirs.
The heartless bastard's last gambit against Dawn's disobedience was a thinly veiled threat to send her seven-year-old sister Isla to live with distant family in Scotland.
Sweet Isla, who was still adjusting to the untimely death of their mother a few months before, was Dawn's Achilles heel. She didn't care about her inheritance, and Steven knew that. He also knew why she held no interest in any man. His rants about "family values" were his way of saying that no daughter of his was going to be allowed indulge in "unnatural behaviour;" especially as it would produce no grandchildren to keep his business in the family.
Any sense of loyalty she had towards her father vanished as he drove through the tall iron gates of the boarding school. He left her at the main doors with her suitcases, alighting down the stairs without a word of goodbye except to tell their chauffeur 'Home.'
Dawn turned towards the looming brick and mortar fortress of a school and attached church, her eyes shaded with the enormity of the buildings' span. Unaware of her internal struggle, students and staff went about their day around her. Looking up, she noticed movement from a third floor window, and spied two women staring. The blonde made enthusiastic gestures down at her, and even waved. Next to her, a brunette stood almost in the shadows, her pale skin contrasting sharply with the darkness. She didn't wave, but simply observed.
Dawn turned to look back at the driveway where her father's car had been moments ago, and frowned. He'd long since retreated, and it made her feel even more alone in the world.
'King Steven,' she sneered inwardly, and gazed out of the iron gates and into the idyllic countryside.
Her father thought he was a King. He was decidedly, a moron.
Nine months later
The steely resolve that Dawn had come here with had deserted her.
Whenever her mind moved to the reality of her fate once she'd graduated school, it conjured the image of a husband she knew she would be forced to take. The very idea of a man touching her, the actual physical act itself, made her want to shut down completely. Dawn's survival tactic in the face of something she never wanted was to disconnect.
Her grades were still excellent, and upon graduation she could have easily obtained a career, rented her own place and told her father to go fuck himself. But, his earlier threat to send Isla away stayed ever present in her mind. He was the type of ruthless bellend to do it, too.
So, for the greater good and the safety of the little sister that she loved so very much, Dawn stopped fighting.
Then again, there was something she'd never anticipated in the beginning. Someone, actually.
Miss Moore, the school's Latin teacher, with her long brown hair and fiery eyes of green that seemed to swallow Dawn whole. Her toothy, sharp smile, her dry wit; her intelligence, and knowledge of the world beyond this awful place had drawn Dawn in like a moth to a flame.
Dawn was beyond in love with Miss Moore, and had been for some time. However much that was true, she was always careful never to let it show. What would have been the point? She was Miss Moore's student until the end of term, and though she was eighteen soon, Dawn knew better than that. What teacher would risk her profession for a woman her age? None that she knew, especially who were as kind and pretty as Miss Moore.
To have romantic inclinations for a student was extremely frowned upon, even if this situation took place years in the future, in Uni. Most people with that problem dropped the offending course, and then stated their wanting. She had no such luck, and wouldn't be able to explain to the administration here as to why she suddenly wanted out of Latin. Besides, the prospect of not seeing Miss Moore every other day made Dawn even more sad than imagining the scandal.
The memory of her first class with her teacher took over her daydreaming, and Dawn was freed momentarily from the worries and cares that laid so heavily on her shoulders.
"Name?" the scarlet lips dark as sin curled around the word like it was sex itself.
"Dawn, Miss Moore," she'd answered peevishly.
Ignoring Dawn's crankiness, Miss Moore's low, rhythmic voice replied.“Repeat after me... Salve! Quis es tu?
”
“Uh... Um... Sale-vay... Quee-”
"Your Latin is terrible. See me after class," Miss Moore interrupted, before clearing her throat.
She didn't even look up at Dawn. Grading papers on her manse of a desk seemed more interesting.
A smirk had fallen on those lips then, one of many that would grace them in the term to come as Dawn had fumbled her way through the dead language.
Even if the teacher had a meter-high stack of papers to grade, she always insisted on Dawn's tutoring sessions not being delayed or canceled. On those days, Miss Moore would sit relatively silent at her desk, her red felt pen squeaking over the papers as she would hum in approval, or hiss in distaste – no words. Dawn noticed during these quiet afternoons that Miss Moore was unusually tired, dark circles marring the beautifully smooth skin beneath her eyes.
On other days, Miss Moore was more animated, and would walk the rows of desks while shooting out words for Dawn to conjugate verbally. As she would make her way back to Dawn's desk, Miss Moore's elegantly boned fingers would rest just close enough to Dawn's as they pored over texts, more often gesticulating and pointing where she needed to focus more. As excited as her gaze became whenever Dawn answered correctly, Miss Moore never made a big fuss. Sometimes, she would gaze down with the tiniest of smiles, and move onto her circuit around the classroom in a fluttering breeze, like a willow tree in the wind.
Miss Moore's heady perfume of sandalwood and frankincense would waft when she did that, and it made Dawn's heart thunder. Her teacher smelled of comforting things, and wild things – incense, and nature. Dawn would press her fingernails into her palm to keep from blurting out anything foolhardy, like asking what perfume it actually was. Doing so would tip Miss Moore off to her noticing something that intimate. She longed to escape, and every time that scent filled the room, Dawn prayed that Miss Moore would be the one to whisk her away.
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Dawn Rose. The young lady had only been at the school for near a year, and she was completely new to Mallory's class this semester – but oh, how she wished she'd known this little sprite for far longer. Overtly obedient to all other teachers and staff, the girl would answer Mallory's questions during class with quick, tart replies before blushing and visibly crawling back into the gloomy, yet sweet shell she displayed to everyone else. There was a dazzling intellect beneath the girl's sadness, she was sure - and it bothered Mallory to no end that it might go wasted on the world if Dawn could not be coaxed out of her melancholy.
She wished in vain that whatever had drowned out Dawn's light could be crushed, but Mallory Moore had no idea what the issue was. The girl would simply clam up if she asked a personal question other than those related directly to the speaking or writing of Latin.
Mallory knew that Dawn was nervous around her. Frankly, she couldn't blame her; she was very tough with her grading of the newcomer, as she had a lot of catching up to do curriculum wise. So, she had proposed extra tutoring in an attempt to weasel her way into the broody girl's mind, and hopefully increase her fluency in Latin as well.
If she didn't know better, Mallory would have thought that Dawn had been quite bullied about by life and people, knowing herself what a terrible experience it was to come back from. She wouldn't have wished it on any person (excepting a very short list,) let alone the little supernova that burned brightly with pinked cheeks whenever she would stop at her desk, golden tresses lit like a halo in the classroom sun.
Gentling her typically stern manner in acknowledgment of the girl's skittish nature, the first time she had actually tried to lay a comforting hand on Dawn was last week. The resulting reaction was expected, but altogether depressing.
The girl acted frightened of her. How typical - and yet...
How could Dawn Rose be frightened of her when they'd spent nearly every other afternoon with one another for just under two terms? They had dissected the Latin language in far more depth than any of the other students would have dreamed of, prior to university. Even so, Dawn avoided personal questions like the plague.
It was just as well, Mallory frowned. If Dawn answered a personal question, she might ask one in return.
Mallory - simply put - didn't like personal questions.
Still, Dawn's behavior last week refused to leave her in peace while still unresolved. She sat at her desk and leaned against a hand in consternation, remembering the Wednesday afternoon as if it were happening right in front of her.
Mallory reached out to rest a hand on Dawn's shoulder as she peered down towards the chicken-scratch the student liked to call legible writing. Dawn gasped, and shrunk back from the hand like it had burnt her, eyes glassy with tears that refused to fall.
No, this would not do, not at all. Mallory made the decision then and there that Dawn needed kindness – small gestures of comfort that might unlatch her mind and heart.
She hesitated, leaning back against a desk to look into those deep blue eyes. "What hurt has been done to you, sweet girl? We shall erase it – it shall be but a memory forgotten," she promised. This, she knew how to do.
Dawn whimpered in response, so quiet it could have been considered ambient noise. "I'm... I'm fine, Miss Moore."
Every afternoon since, Mallory wished that she had said the things on her mind. There was something about Dawn that she couldn't quite place - a familiarity and affinity she'd not felt for another person in all her twenty nine years of life... that she could remember, Mallory thought with a wrinkle of her brow. She wanted to protect Dawn from whatever nameless monster was haunting her. Whatever, or whomever it was - she would have slayed gladly, if only the girl had asked.
But she hadn't, and Mallory didn't push.
It was of no matter now as it was the end of June, and the class was graduating in a few short weeks. Dawn had been within her reach since the beginning of January, and she'd yet to unlock the secrets that rested behind those eyes.
True, her Latin had improved. Some days, Mallory could coax a smile from the petite blonde, but it was rare. It was as if she were looking into a mirror darkly; Dawn reminded her so much of herself.
Mallory had been that angry, lonely teenager once, her heart bound in agony.
_____________________________________
Never in her life had Dawn lost her impeccable self-restraint until the moment Miss Moore had laid a gentling hand on her shoulder the week before. She'd retreated from it, unintentionally creating the impression to her Latin teacher that she had feared it.
The truth was painfully different. Dawn craved the woman.
The physical boundary now broken between them, Dawn's desire ignited like hellfire, her daydreams growing larger and more ridiculous. In turn, it led to her adopting even more stringent measures of self control in her teacher's presence.
That is, until control fled the only way her subconscious knew how.
While asleep, Dawn's mind betrayed her. She dreamt... standing in a room she didn't recognize, dressed only in her white tank top and her black boy shorts. The surrounding dark was lit only by a handful of flickering candles, and a full- length antique mirror was the only piece of furniture present.
She moaned softly as beautifully tapered fingers slid around her narrow waist from behind. The mirror revealed Miss Moore to be the presence against her. The older woman's hair was loose, her perfect silhouette sheathed in shadows.
As Miss Moore's hand reached to cover her own, Dawn's breath quickened. Sparkling green eyes locked drew her blue gaze in their mirrored reflection, and Dawn felt unable to look away.
After a few moments in this position, Miss Moore guided their joined hands upwards, to Dawn's breast. Squeezing, she applied enough pressure to make her groan, and slowly whispered; "Repeat after me: Quod delectatio non sit peccatum," - "Pleasure is not sin."
Miss Moore gently moved their intertwined fingers downwards, and Dawn's grip tightened.
"Puh...Plea-" she stammered.
"Pudor me, n
on fiant," Miss Moore cooed as softly as a dove, but with an underlying command that could not be ignored. "Shame does not become me."
Unable to contradict what the woman she adored said, Dawn could only whimper in response.
"Diligunt me et te in conspectum," Miss Moore continued as their hands hovered over Dawn's most sacred flesh, but not touching her skin. "Love thyself in view of me."
Her teacher's final instruction coincided with Dawn's hand slipping from Miss Moore's, under the edge of her panties, and imagining doing that almost sent her over the edge. Miss Moore looked down at Dawn's fingers against her sex, as her other hand slid around Dawn's waist from behind, tickling and raising goosebumps with such a simple touch.
Dawn's head fell backwards against Miss Moore's chest. A sliver of exposed skin caught her eye, and she turned her head sideways, straining to kiss it.
In response, Miss Moore's left hand found Dawn's chin.
Holding her steady, the hand tilted her face back up, remaining like that while the Dawn brought herself to orgasm. The yearning in Miss Moore's scorching green eyes was palpable as they gazed down upon her. It only intensified the climax.
Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1) Page 1