Brooklyn knocked on Father Mathias' office door. Entering the church had gotten easier, but after yesterday's attempt at prayer, she was back to trembling.
"Come in, child," called out Father Mathias.
Once in the priest's office, her unease dissipated. Brooklyn found peace with Father Mathias. Even before she chose to give into the notion that she was submissive and should allow him to train her, she had felt it.
"Bend over across my desk."
She did so, quickly. Brooklyn wore pants and he pulled them and her panties down to her knees in one, swift movement.
"Tell me child, how did the spanking make you feel?"
"I don't know. Humiliated, I guess," she mumbled.
He pinched her still tender flesh.
"Father!" she added.
"How else did it make you feel?"
"Turned on," she whispered. "Father."
"Hmm. Have you looked at yourself?"
Brooklyn shook her head. But she had rubbed the sore spots through out the day.
He gently squeezed her bum. "Does it still hurt?"
"A little, Father."
"Whenever you felt the tenderness of your bottom, how did it make you feel?"
Her cheeks turned red when she remembered her day yesterday; working in a constant state of arousal.
"Answer quickly."
"It reminded me of you and made me very wet." She hid her face between her forearms, pressing her forehead against the cool wood of his desk.
"Mmm, very good. You have a delightful response to pain, child. As I'd suspected. I can trust you abstained from pleasuring yourself?"
"Yes, Father. But why can't I?" she half moaned, half whined.
"Trust that you will find out soon enough."
"Are you going to hit me again, today, Father?"
"Is that what you want?"
"I don't know," she said meekly.
"Is that, what, you want?" he repeated.
"I want you to touch me, Father." Whether it be pleasurable or painful, she added silently.
He pressed his palm against one cheek, then the other, just before landing two, sharp and quick smacks on each one. They drew out a small whimper from her.
"Close your eyes, child. What you felt yesterday, was but a taste of what you must endure."
She did as she was told but was filled with fear. She could hear him move to one end of the room and then felt him near her again. Soft material was pulled over her head and something hard and cold was being rubbed against her bottom.
"Are you ready, child?"
"Yes, Father." She wasn't sure if he could hear her whisper, but the first impact came and it rang through her body. It wasn't terrible, but felt different than his bare hand. She received a dozen or so impacts; some light, some a bit heavier. But then he began hitting her with intent and Brooklyn bit her lips to keep from crying out too loudly.
He stopped for a moment. "Now, child, if it ever becomes too much for you to bear, you must call out Mercy. I will not listen to anything else. You may cry, you may beg... but I will not stop unless you say that word. However, it is not one to be used lightly. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father," she said between ragged breaths. And the onslaught began again. She sagged against the desk and cried out from the stinging pain of whatever he was hitting her with. When she thought that he was tiring, the impacts only grew harder. She tried to move away but then the hits would come from the direction she was moving in, forcing her back to her original spot on the desk. She flinched when his hand met her screaming red skin, and it took a moment for her to realize that the touch was gentle.
"Spread your legs," he commanded.
A deep guttural moan escaped when she felt a single finger run between her lips. Finally, she thought, but the pleasure was short lived.
"Stand up, and turn around."
She wanted to protest for him to touch her again, but she silently obeyed. He pulled off the hood and the light blinded her momentarily. He held up his finger. It was glistening with her wetness.
"Each day you surprise me, child. This," he brought his finger to her lips and coated them with her juices, "pleases me more than you could imagine."
She tasted herself and another small moan escaped from her lips. She felt as if she was in a dream and concentrating was a chore. Father Mathias went to sit behind his desk.
"Pull up your pants and come sit on my lap."
She scurried over to him after doing as he said and eagerly sat on his lap. He pulled her closer and made her rest her head on his shoulder. She quickly became drunk off his scent, one that used to trigger horrible anxiety attacks.
"'So husbands ought also to love their own wives as their own bodies. He who loves his own wife loves himself; for no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ also does the church,' Ephesians Chapter Five, verses twenty-eight and twenty-nine." he said as he played with her hair and massaged her shoulder. "Although it speaks of husbands and wives, it is very much applicable to Masters and their servants. In all that we do, in all that I do to you, never forget that I cherish you. I am at the mercy of your perfection, my child."
"Yes, Father."
"Good, now go and pray. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."
"Father?"
"Yes, child."
"I didn't pray properly yesterday. I can't do it. It brings back too many, memories." Brooklyn whispered the last word.
Father Mathias checked the time.
"Maybe it's time you tell me about what haunts you."
Brooklyn buried her face in his neck and shook her head. "Please don't make me, I can't."
Father Mathias held her away from him. "You do not have to speak of it until you're ready. I will leave that up to you to decide when that is. Until then, you do not have to pray if it causes you too much distress."
"Really?"
"Child, I am not here to demand only what I want, I am here to help you blossom into the woman you were meant to be."
Brooklyn thought for a moment, confused and trying to search for an angle. She couldn't imagine him being so selfless, so unentitled, when he had asserted himself as her superior. There was no angle, at least not one that she could see. "Thank you, Father." And just like that, he had earned her complete and total trust.
He nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Stepping into the blinding sunlight pulled her out of her subdued state. Brooklyn was confused. She never listened. Never obeyed. She reveled in doing everything but what she was told... Unless it came to Page. With Father Mathias, she had managed to resist for a moment, but her will was obliterated in his presence. She half-heartedly contemplated not going back, but she already knew that wasn't an option; that she would go back whether her pride wanted her to or not. That game of 'should I or shouldn't I,' was long over. If Brooklyn was honest with herself, it had never even started in the first place.
***
When Brooklyn arrived the following day, she found Father Mathias sitting in the middle of his office with a small basin of water by his feet.
"Good morning, child," he greeted.
"Good morning, Father."
"How is your bottom feeling?"
"It hurts, Father," she replied.
"And have you touched yourself?"
"No, Father." And it's unbearable.
He smiled. "Very good. I'm pleased. Come here and kneel by my feet."
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shyly went to him.
"Take off my shoes and socks."
Her hands trembled and she fumbled with the laces of his polished shoes. When she was done, she placed them neatly off to the side. She waited with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast, unwittingly presenting the perfect image of submission.
Silence ensued. Brooklyn wanted to peek up at Father Mathias but couldn't bring herself to. She could only picture him looking at her. He still didn't speak or move and Brooklyn began to pick at her nails, wishing he would say anything.
"One of the most commending works of Jesus was the washing of feet," he started, speaking as if giving a lecture. "He'd wash the feet of the outcasts; those shunned by their community for their sins and shortcomings. The feet are special because they are the lowest part of the body, and considered the most dirty." He leaned down and cupped Brooklyn's chin, making her look up at him. "But the lesson Jesus taught was; that even as the Son of God, he was still humble enough to perform this act of service for even the lowest human. I've told you, you are a divine creation of God. You are absolute perfection. You are a gift to this depraved world. Now, I want you to wash my feet."
"Yes, Father." She pulled the basin closer and he put his feet in. Her hands shook more than ever and it took extra effort to concentrate on her task.
She washed his feet with care. There had already been a switch flipped on, where she gave into her involuntary will to serve him. Now, something shifted inside her. She felt tenderness, even affection towards him and she found herself speaking those emotions through her touch. Brooklyn managed to peeked back up at him. His face only managed to magnify those feelings and they hit her so hard she that she drew in a sharp breath. When she was done, she removed the basin of water and tenderly dried his feet, then put his socks and shoes back on.
"Stand up, child." He stood up himself and helped her up. "Now sit in my place."
She sat, and he took her vacated position.
"Now listen to me carefully, child. I've told you of your divinity and perfection. But the affirmation of your status comes from serving those of us worthy to receive the gifts God has bestowed upon you. I am below you, because you are perfection. But I am above you because I allow that perfection to come to fruition. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
She thought for a moment. "We need each other?"
He nodded. "You are child, because I am Father. I am Father, because you are child. Those titles hold no meaning without the other. So now, my child, I will wash your feet."
His touch was also tender, and made her wonder if there was more to this than just the roles they played. He removed her white canvass shoes and her ankle socks before bringing back the basin of water. She watched his face, filled with wonder and adoration. She felt it in every touch and she hoped she had done as good of a job as he was doing now.
He spoke as he worked. "'For who is greater, the one who reclines at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who reclines at the table? But I am among you as the one who serves.' Luke Chapter twenty-two, verse twenty-seven. So you see, my child, you have come to us to serve, just as the Son of God had. You are divine. You are divine."
Tears streamed down her cheeks before she realized she was even crying. She had spent a lot of time resenting this will... this need to bow down to someone. To him. She wondered why she had been made this way. But his explanation of his and her role and how those roles needed each other to have any meaning at all, made her feel alive. She had purpose. But one that she could be proud of.
He dried her feet and put her socks and shoes back on.
"Thank you, Father."
"You are more than welcome, my child. Now go bend over my desk."
Her eyes widened with fear. She couldn't imagine receiving even the lightest spanks on her sore bum. Just kneeling had been painful.
Father Mathias' laugh surprised her. "Do not look so frightened, my child. I will not spank or paddle you until you've healed."
"Yes, Father," she said with relief. She went to bend over his desk and waited, instinctively knowing she should look straight and not look back without him telling her to.
He approached her and pulled down her pants and panties with care. The indescribable sound that came from him when he saw her bottom lit a fire in her belly.
"Have you looked at yourself this time?"
Unlike the first time he had hit her, she had gone home to look at herself. Brooklyn had carefully pulled off her pants and turned to look at her backside in the cheap mirror that hung on the back of her apartment door. The angry red marks appeared ugly to her and she hated the lumpy feel of her skin. But she did enjoy the warmth, warmth that she felt even this morning before getting dressed.
"Yes, Father."
"And what do you think?"
"I think..." She stopped herself. How could she say that she found what he'd done to her ugly?
"Speak, my child."
"I... I didn't like the way it looked, Father." She hung her head low.
"Why do you speak with such shame?"
"Because I realized now that you made those marks and I don't like something that you've done."
"And?"
"I want to see myself again. Please, Father."
"Stand up."
They walked over to a corner of his office, with her pants still around her knees, where he had a mirror.
He turned her around and motioned for her to look. Now the angry red had softened and was tinged with faint purple and blue. She ran her fingers across the marks and the lumps had softened a little as well.
"What are you thinking?"
"These are reminders of you. I see them, and I remember the moments they were made. How I felt." As she spoke, she could see his expression change.
He growled and grabbed her by the hair. Her heart pounded when he brought his face close to hers. He was going to kiss her, finally. But instead, he buried his face in her neck. Still, she was not disappointed. He squeezed her bottom, and the pain mixed with the tickle and warmth of his breath on her neck made her dizzy with want.
"You learn so quickly and so beautifully." He took a deep breath. "That is all for today, my child." He let her go with a grunt and left his office.