Brooklyn couldn't sleep. She had barely slept since seeing him on Monday and now it was the night before their next meeting. Her hand wandered as she laid on her sofa, wide awake. She let it rest on top of her panties. Her fingers twitched, but she made sure not to rub herself. Brooklyn truly wanted to please him. No matter how difficult it would be. With a groan she got up, deciding it was safer out of bed. I guess I'm going for a run, she thought. The ache between her legs was impossible to ignore as she got dressed and went for a light jog.
Despite her misery, she felt good being up so early, jogging with others who had their life together. Maybe one day, she'd be like them. Brooklyn smiled and picked up her pace. The cool morning air felt good on her face and reddened her cheeks. Fall was just around the corner, she noted. By the time she finished her loop, the ache had subsided to a bearable pulse.
Work was like pulling off her finger nails; the rush of orders didn't numb her mind into distraction as much as it usually did. That is, until Stephen came in. Gregory wagged his eyebrows at her and she threw a forgotten cap from a carton at him.
"Americano for..." her voice trailed off when he reached for his cup.
"How are you today," he looked at her name tag, "Brooklyn. That's a nice name. Suits you."
"Uh, um, th-thank you." Brooklyn stared at him wondering why he had said anything to her at all. He barely paid attention to anyone. "Oh! I'm fine thanks. How are you? Busy I bet. So busy." She laughed nervously.
Stephen smirked. "You could say that. See you later."
Brooklyn sagged against the counter when he left.
"Ummm, what was that?! Did Stephen just talk to you?!"
"Yes. But why?"
Gergory pulled her off to the side. "Can I be honest with you? Friend to friend, even though we're new friends?"
"Of course."
"You were kind of a mess. Like, you had it written all over your face. But something's been changing. Look at you." He held up a stainless steel cup before realizing it didn't offer a clear reflection. "Never mind. What I'm trying to say is, you look great. Healthy. Happy. I don't get that leave me a lone vibe from you anymore. Don't get me wrong, you have been a little moody these last few days but it's normal moody, not like grrr moody."
Brooklyn laughed. "I get it. And, thank you. That means a lot to me. I've been trying really hard to turn things around."
"Well it's working. Now we need to get working before the elite throw their Manolos and Gucci bags at us."
Brooklyn was early for her meeting with her priest and sat on the steps, eagerly watching the clock. When it was eight fifty-nine she entered the church and hesitantly headed for the rectory.
The small table by the window beckoned her and she went to it, to light the candle and pray. She prayed that he would finally take her tonight, then amended her plea that she would have the patience needed to wait for whenever he deemed it time for her to come.
She heard him enter and instinct told her to remain as she was. His footsteps drew closer and stopped right behind her. He showered her hair with feather-light touches. Brooklyn felt ridiculous over her body's visceral response to such an innocent touch.
"Good evening, my child."
"Good evening, Father."
"Are you done praying?"
"I am, Father."
"Very good. Go to my room, bend over the bed and pull down your pants and underwear."
She did as he said and proudly displayed her marked bum. The bruises were starting to fade but still boasted the punishment she had endured.
"Beautiful," he sighed. "Stand up and turn around." He waited for her to do so. "Have you abstained from touching yourself?" he asked once she faced him. Father Mathias watched her eyes for signs of deceit.
"Yes, Father." She returned his gaze, proud that she had listened and proud that she wasn't lying because she had considered it.
"Get undressed and lay on your back on the bed."
She did, in a manner that showed her defeat. Brooklyn didn't hope for release and accepted the fact that she probably had much more suffering to endure.
"You have found the strength to pray, yet you still haven't told me why you had such difficulties in the first place. Tell me, but only if you're ready to speak of it."
Brooklyn closed her eyes. Her ears roared with the quiet panic that thoughts of her past provoked. Instead of giving into the panic she took a deep breath and waited for it to subside. "My mother is a fanatic," she started slowly. "Growing up, she would always make me pray. I had to pray all the time and especially when she believed I was being sinful. Nothing was ever right. Sometimes, even the way I would walk would be considered wrong and she'd force me to pray for hours on end, kneeling on the floor. She believed the discomfort would help rid me of my demons because demons don't like discomfort."
Father Mathias grabbed her hand. "I am so sorry, my child."
Now that she had started, Brooklyn couldn't stop. She wanted to tell him her story. "We went to church almost everyday. The priest would put me through all these cleansing rituals. My mother convinced him that I was infested with evil and that he had to do everything he could to purify me. Sometimes, the entire parish would be involved. We lived in a very small town and everyone there is just like my mother." Brooklyn opened her eyes and they glistened with unshed tears. "I truly started to believe that they were right."
"Oh, my child." Father Mathias sat on the bed next to her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her as if she was an infant. He rocked her back and forth until her breath stopped hitching.
Brooklyn pulled away enough to look up at him. "And I had believed it even after I ran away." She looked back down, running her finger across the material of his shirt. "I guess I was determined to prove them right. But you," she smiled through her tears, "a priest, one of them, told me otherwise. And I don't think anyone else could have made me believe that I am good. Well, or at least have the potential to be good."
The priest looked into her eyes. "You are more than good. I have already told you that you are perfection."
Brooklyn buried her face in his chest and pressed herself against him as much as she could. Everything was going to be all right. Her Priest was her salvation.
Father Mathias laid her down and got off the bed, then stepped back to admire her naked form. He gently touched her left cheek, moved down to trace her shoulder and collar bone, then over a breast, down her tummy... he lingered at her pelvis then continued down to her thigh, shin, and to her foot.
She sighed so deeply from his attentions, her body already singing from his touch. He continued on with his tantalizing torture until her hands were clammy. Her cheeks glowed, imitating the increasing heat between her legs.
"Close your eyes, my child. And whatever you do, do not, open them. If you do, the consequence will not be favorable for either of us. Is that understood?"
She nodded and closed her eyes. "Yes, Father," she said breathlessly.
His fingers brushed across her clit and she moaned a moan that came from deep within. Her legs spread involuntarily. He teased her with light strokes of his fingers then brought them to her lips. She cleaned herself off of them and he continued, tracing light, quick circles that forced her hips off the bed. She wanted to get him to do so much more but she was afraid to speak.
He leaned down. "You are so beautiful like this," he whispered in her ear. As he spoke, he applied more pressure and her moans grew desperate as she neared climax. "You must ask for permission to come, child."
"P-please, Father! May I come? Oh God! Please!" She gasped as he rubbed her harder and faster.
"Yes, you may, my child. Because I will it. Open your eyes, now."
She did, and his incinerating gaze bore into hers just before her body was shattered by an intense orgasm. Her entire body shook and her hips raised up high off the bed. She screamed from its intensity and from each wave that followed. It wouldn't end and her cries of pleasure were muted by her gasps. Never, had she ever felt anything like it. Suffering, indeed, exposed true pleasure.
Father Mathias was relentless and he pressed harder still, continuing to rub quick circles until she was close to coming again.
"Please, Father!" she cried.
"Please, what?"
"Please, may I come?"
"You may."
Brooklyn came and was deafened by the sound of her pounding heartbeat and couldn't hear her own cries of pleasure anymore. Through all of this, she made sure to maintain eye contact with her priest.
After the last wave of her orgasm finished tearing through her, Father Mathias withdrew his hand and this time, brought it to his lips. He tasted her, and she watched him, getting aroused all over again.
"You are magnificent whilst in the throws of pleasure, my child."
"Thank you, Father." He had finally given her what she'd wanted, and she was horrified to find it only managed to make her desire for him stronger than ever. She needed to feel him inside of her, filling every hole so completely that he'd imprint himself in her.
"It was my pleasure, child." He smiled. "Yet the flame of lust has not been quelled from your eyes. You're a ravenous little one," he mused.
"Father, I want to give you pleasure as well," she said shyly.
"I am more than satisfied with watching your face as you climaxed. We are done for tonight, my child. Go and pray and give thanks to the Lord."
"Yes, Father." She got up and started to get dressed but he moved to help her as if she was a little child. "When will I see you next?" she asked.
"I didn't say because I don't know at the moment." He looked at her and she could see the pained look in his expression. "This church is proving to be much more demanding than the last. Although I wasn't on my own there. I had assumed a smaller church would be less demanding."
A thought crossed her mind. "Have there been others? Are there others?"
"Of course there have been others. I trained them and set them free to live as they should."
"Is that what you'll do with me?" she asked, panicked.
He chuckled. "Oh, my sweet child. Do you not listen when I speak? Watch when I touch? See when I look a you? Have I not told you I want to own you?"
Brooklyn bit her lip and nodded shyly. "Why me, Father?"
"Because, child, you are a special caliber of a woman and I'd be a fool to give that up if you're willing to be mine."
"Oh, but I am, Father!"
He chuckled sadly. "Such a quick turnaround."
Brooklyn fell to her knees and hugged his legs. "Remember when you told me that all I'll think about is pleasing you, Father?"
"Yes."
"Even when I was telling you no, it's all I wanted. It all made sense the day we washed each other's feet. I hated the fact that I had this need to submit. It made me feel, small and... I don't know, low. I know it hasn't been long but I feel like everything makes sense now. I'm happier. I'm only sorry that I was so rude to you."
"Your admission warms my heart so profoundly, my child." He sighed. "But being mine is not as ideal as you may think it to be."
"How could you say that, Father?" Brooklyn pulled back just enough so that she could look up at him. Her hair brushed the soles of her feet.
"We'll discuss this another time. You may pleasure yourself once tomorrow morning if you'd like."
Brooklyn wanted to know why he felt that way, but chose to be obedient rather than let her curiosity get the best of her. "Thank you, Father."
"Good night, my beloved child."
"Good night, Father."