He had not found the courage to confess his sins to the monsignor and earn absolution. He lacked courage because he knew that the monsignor would demand that he stop this Medieval nonsense and return to modern church practices. If he refused, he would be removed from this parish and reassigned. But he did not want to stop torturing Mary. He enjoyed it too much.
Until he gained absolution, his soul was at constant risk of eternal damnation.
He looked at Mary's beatific face, then at her husband's delighted glow, and knew that the risk of sudden death and eternal damnation was worth it.
A few days later, while hearing confessions, he was given good reason to doubt the wisdom of that decision.
In the confessional, when Maria Cortez finished reciting a handful of standard, boring sins, she refused the usual act of contrition that he specified. Instead, she said, “A few Hail Mary's are not sufficient, Father. I require a physical penance to correct my thoughts and behavior. The salvation of my soul depends upon it.”
“I do not understand what you are saying.” He understood damn well what she was saying because it was exactly what Mary White had said a month earlier. Hearing Maria utter Mary's words made him hard instantly.
“I wish to follow the tradition of mortifying the flesh to purify the soul. A day of physical discomfort will give me the focus required to reflect properly on my sins.”
He did not bother to object. “Did you have some type of physical discomfort in mind?” he sighed.
“Yes, Father. I have some skill as a seamstress and have tailored a modern version of a hair shirt. I will meet you before your Friday mass so that you can secure the shirt to me. I will wear it until you release me from it after Sunday morning mass.”
Father Luke sighed but realized that there was no use arguing. This women sounded as determined to punish herself as Mary White had been. Besides, he was curious to see what this woman's idea of a modern version of a hair shirt might be. “Meet me in the undercroft at six o'clock on Friday evening. I will leave the door open for you.”
“Yes, Father. Thank you.”
He did not have to explain what an undercroft was to Maria.
He guessed that Mary White had already told her about it.
So much for the seal of the confessional.
* * *
Friday evening, Father Luke watched Maria strip off her shoes, blouse, and skirt. She blushed with modesty when she removed her bra to reveal full round breasts with wide dark areoles and prominent nipples. Her shame increased when she slipped her panties down to reveal her untrimmed thatch of dark pubic hair.
The priest noted that his erection was only modest. A month ago, he would have been sporting a full hard on at the sight of her lovely curves. Mary had given him so much more stimulation that he was already becoming jaded to mere nudity.
When the woman was entirely naked, she removed a black garment from a plastic bag. He could not see the form of the shirt, but he could see that the material was dotted with innumerable silver studs. She rolled it up then stepped through a pair of leg holes with exaggerated gingerness. After she snuggled it against her crotch, she began carefully unrolling it up the length of her torso. It was a leotard that had been tailored to fit her body like a glove. The unbroken front clung to every curve of her breasts and abdomen. She raised her hands to fit the ends of a zipper together at the back of her neck. “If you would, Father, please lower the zipper down my back to the top of my... past the two small silver holes at the bottom of my spine.”
He did as she asked. She flinched as the edges of the garment were pulled together and fastened down her spine.
The zipper continued all the way under her crotch and up to the base of her pubic mound, but he only lowered it a third of the way down her ass as he had been instructed. At that spot, there was a small grommeted hole on each side of the zipper. Maria took a small padlock from the plastic bag and handed it to him. “Please thread this from the inside through one of those little holes above the zipper and back through the hole on the other side. Then lock it.”
He did as instructed. The function of the padlock was clear. Once it was locked, the hasp was too small for the zipper to pass back through it. Unless she cut the material, the leotard was locked onto her body. As well, the holes were strategically positioned so that the padlock, now closed on the inside of the leotard, was nestled out of the way in the upper part of her ass crack. She could wear blue jeans with only the hasp of the lock protruding enough to make a small, virtually unnoticeable lump.
She pulled the zipper down over her ass then reached between her legs and pulled it the rest of the way to the base of her pubic mound.
He understood the function of that part of the zipper as well. When she had to relieve herself, she could unzip her crotch from the top of her vulva around to the lock just above her anus. The material would relax slightly over her buttocks. Not much because it was held tightly by the heavy bands around the tops of her thighs but enough to pull out of the way. Unlike most leotards, this one covered each cheek completely, all the way down to the tops of her legs.
Maria was acting as though she were suffering considerable discomfort. She was moving very slowly and cautiously, breathing shallowly and quickly. Then she explained. “This leotard is decorated by five hundred metal studs. What you cannot see is that each of those studs covers the head of a short, moderately sharp thumbtack. The tacks are not long enough or sharp enough to break my skin, but they will irritate me constantly, especially when I move. However, when I sit or lie down, or if someone presses against me, they will cause considerable actual pain. You will hold the keys and will force me to wear it continuously until after Sunday morning mass. That means that I will have to spend all night tonight, all day tomorrow and all tomorrow night being poked by five hundred steel points. When I sewed it, I had to try it on to test it, but I have never worn it for more than two or three minutes at a time. Even that was terribly uncomfortable. Wearing it constantly for the next day and a half will be a trial of agony, as you see.” She slowly turned to model the garment for her priest.
As he examined her, he appreciated her attention to detail. Though her entire torso was covered with the painful studs, they were concentrated most heavily across her buttock cheeks and breasts. They were placed especially close together over her nipples, looking almost like scales. There was also an irregular line of studs down each side, beginning just under her arm pits and extending across her hips. He smiled when he realized that those studs formed the letters “BLESS ME FATHER” on one side and “FOR I HAVE SINNED” on the other.
She would probably find it slightly less painful to lie on her back and punish her buttocks than to try to lie on her side and have those letters gouging into the tender flesh across her hip bones and ribs. Lying facedown and punishing her breasts would be the worst.
He wondered how long she could remain standing before she became so exhausted that she would willingly accept the pain of sitting or lying down. He guessed not more than eight or nine hours. Other than standing, the only position that would spare her the agony of resting her weight on the spikes would be to support herself on her hands and knees. He wondered if she could sleep on all fours like a cow.
She walked across the concrete floor in her bare feet and grasped the priest's hands in hers. She wrapped his arms around her body to push his palms flat and hard against her buttocks. The pressure made her gasp in pain. Taking fast, shallow breaths, she drew his hands hard across the studs on her hips and abdomen and then upwards to her breasts. She moaned when she flattened her breasts with his palms, pushing the sharp little spikes hard and deep against the nerves there. “Grab me, Father. Feel my devotion.” She sounded like she was forcing herself to say the words.
He gripped her breasts tightly and she opened her mouth wide and groaned in agony, waiting while he took his time, feeling her up through the material. When he finally released her, she wrapped her arms around his back and groaned in his ear,
“Hug me, Father. Hug me hard to yourself.”
The woman was a glutton for pain.
She gasped again as he massaged the studs that peppered her back, pulling her torso and abdomen tight against his body. “Lord, God, Almighty,” she almost screamed. “Madre de Dios!”
Then she turned her face upward and kissed him full on the lips.
She did not try to free herself but kept kissing him until he chose to break off.
“What about your husband?” he asked.
“I cannot let him see me unclothed. There's only one way that I can give him pleasure tonight and tomorrow night,” she said. Then she sank to her knees, unfastened the priest's vestments and demonstrated how she would be satisfying her husband when she got home.
That part of Maria's penance was the same as Mary's.
* * *
Maria Cortez attended mass with her husband on Friday night and again on Sunday morning. This was not unusual. The woman and her husband were devout and often attended two masses on the weekend.
This time, Father Luke noted that the woman's posture was perfect. He knew why she was sitting rigidly upright and not leaning against the back of the pew. Looking carefully, he could see that she was putting as much of her weight as possible on her thighs and straining her legs to try to keep her weight off her buttocks. Even so, from the pulpit, he could see her jaw clench every time she had to sit down on the hard wood after kneeling in prayer or standing to sing a hymn. By the end of each mass, the poor woman's ass must have been dimpled like a pair of giant golf balls. He half expected to see a pool of blood forming beneath her. He prayed that she was correct when she said that the tacks were too short to penetrate her skin. They had been rubbing against her for so many long, hard hours that he feared that they may have eroded small wounds in her skin.
He noticed that she never squirmed in her seat, but, once in place, stayed perfectly still until the ritual required that she stand or kneel again.
Thirty-six hours of this continuous torture must be nearly killing her. She could not have slept a wink for two nights, lying on her personal bed of tiny nails. By Sunday mass, she looked utterly exhausted. When she knelt before him to receive communion, he looked into her eyes. They looked like pink and black marbles sunk into soft grey cushions.
After mass, he got away from his parishioners as quickly as he could and rushed down to the undercroft to unlock the garment's zipper. He wanted to relieve the woman of her suffering immediately.
She was not there when he arrived. After waiting for a full quarter hour, he had no choice but to return to his office and begin working on his duties for the day. God might have rested on Sunday but it is a busy workday for His priests.
As he worked through his duties, he worried about Maria. Wherever she was, she must be suffering terribly. But his concern was tempered by a streak of disappointment. He had come to expect some kind of sexual reward from the women when they completed their physical penance. He had been hoping that Maria would perform a sexual act on him in gratitude for ending her penance. Now he was suffering terrible frustration and his blue balls ached for relief.
As time rolled on, he became less worried and more irritated that she was making him wait on her convenience. Maybe she didn't need him to release her. Maybe she had taken a pair of scissors and cut the garment from herself already. Maybe she had done that as soon as she had left him on Friday night and had been only pretending to suffer for the last day and a half.
It was late in the afternoon when Maria finally caught up with him in the sacristy where he was preparing the host for the evening mass.
“Father! Thank God I found you at last. I can't stand to spend another minute in penance in this terrible shirt. Please unlock me.”
He looked at her with a mild expression. “I waited for you in the undercroft after the morning mass as we agreed.”
“Yes, Father. I'm so sorry. I was going to excuse myself from my family to use the restroom and then go downstairs but my husband grew impatient while you were still wishing the congregation farewell and insisted on taking me home. I was not able to return until now.”
“I see. Well, I cannot do anything for you in the sacristy. It is too public. Please go to the undercroft and wait for me.”
“Yes, Father.” Maria turned to leave.
“Wait a minute.”
“Yes, Father?” she turned back.
“Are you contrite about your sins?”
“Yes, Father.”
“I think you would benefit from a little additional contemplation. You are to go down to the room in the undercroft and prostate yourself on the floor. Pray for forgiveness while you are waiting. I will be down as soon as I finish my business here.”
“Prostrate myself? You want me to lay face down on the floor while I'm wearing this shirt?”
“Yes.”
“The floor is concrete,” she wailed.
Her distress pleased him. “Prostrate yourself cruciform. Remove all your clothing but for the leotard and then lie down and stretch your arms wide like Christ on the cross. In your prayers give Christ thanks for the suffering that he endured for the sake of your sins.”
“Yes, Father.” Her voice was quavering in fear of the agony that she would feel when she pressed the full weight of her upper body against the spikes covering her breasts and abdomen.
She did not know how long she would have to suffer this agony.
For a full hour, he waited in his office, stroking his cock gently, being careful to avoid stimulating himself enough to cause an orgasm. The woman would have spent the first minute or two pressing down against the floor with her hands to support as much of her weight as possible. But if her arms were stretched to their full extent, she would have no leverage. She would tire almost immediately and have to rest her full weight on her torso. The dense clusters of cruel steel points would press deep into the unfortunate woman's nipples and aureole. That part of a woman's anatomy is thick with sensitive nerve endings. She would suffer a full measure of agony. Every minute would feel like an eternity. As much pain as the woman below him must be experiencing, that was the degree of pleasure that he was enjoying. He wanted the afternoon never to end. After an hour, though, he could dally no longer. He had to get on with preparing for the evening mass. He though briefly about leaving Maria prostrate on the concrete floor until the mass ended at ten-thirty but dared not. Mary White would be coming to have her chastity belt removed and he did not want the two women to meet.
When he entered the room in the undercroft, he found Maria stretched out as instructed. The concrete below her face was pooled with tears and she was sobbing continuously. When she saw him, she begged for him to forgive her sins.
“You are forgiven,” he intoned as he drew the key from his pocket, “but remain where you are. Spread your legs as far apart as possible.”
She did as instructed.
“Now raise you behind into the air a few inches and spread your knees wide.”
Pressing down with her knees forced her breasts into even more full contact with the concrete floor. She barely managed to stifle her screams.
He reached between her legs to feel for the zipper pull that hung down from the base of her pubic mound. Slowly he drew it over her crotch. As the garment parted, he revealed her lower lips lining her lovely wet slit then her puckered brown anus. Finally he reached the point where the lock restricted the zipper from moving any further. He used the key to unlock the padlock. “Lower your rear.”
She pushed her abdomen against the concrete, forcing that set of spikes to dimple her flesh anew.
He removed the lock and then slowly raised the zipper along her spine, allowing the back of the leotard to part. When he finally uncoupled the neckline, he said, “Your suffering has caused me a certain discomfort.”
“I'm sorry Father. If you allow me to remove this leotard, I will be pleased to relieve your discomfort with my breasts.”
“With your breasts?” The pr
iest did not understand what she meant but his curiosity was aroused.
“Yes, Father. I will show you.”
“Show me.”
With a low groan, she pushed herself off the floor and gingerly pulled the leotard away from her skin. Though the points had not pierced her skin or caused bleeding, they had dimpled her flesh so deeply that she had to pull them away, particularly around the brown tips of her breasts.
The process must have been excruciating.
Father Luke found the sight breathtaking.
As she rolled the garment down her torso, she revealed a delightful pattern of small dark bruises with a depression at the center of each one. He could almost read the words that had been spelled by the studs along the sides of her torso. Her skin would be mottled for some time. He wondered idly how she would explain that to her husband. Most likely she would make love to him in the dark for the foreseeable future.
When she was entirely naked, she opened the priest's cassock to free his rampant member and then pushed her sternum lightly against it. Putting a hand on the side of each ample breast, she pushed them together to completely engulf his male organ. She began squeezing, rubbing, and massaging him with her breasts. While doing this, she drooled copious amounts of saliva down onto him to provide some lubrication.
Involuntarily, he began rocking his hips to increase the stimulation.
He came so hard that his seed flew across her face. She had felt him coming and deliberately bent her head over his member to collect his emission on her lips, nose and eyes.
He watched in fascination as she lowered her face to lick him clean, then used her finger to swipe his creamy seed from her face and breasts and push it into her mouth. As she did that, she kept looking up at him and smiling as though she were eating the most delightful treat on earth.
He almost forgot about going back upstairs and performing the evening mass.
Punish Me, Please Me Page 15