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“Is there... someone you have in mind?” she asked, her voice so airy as she looked up at him, paranoia in her gaze even as he moved so near to her. His warmth amplifying her own.
The Father wet his lips and very carefully ended his rubbing, taking his hands from her shoulders as he smiled and reclined back.
“Well my child, when people stray from the flock… it can be hard to tell if they are still truly devoted to our Lord. Willing to do whatever is necessary to spread His word,” he says, sounding so genuine and heartfelt. He reached a hand out to rest upon her knee, right beneath the hem of her skirt. “Are you, my child?”
“Of course,” she said, aghast he’d even, for a moment, doubt her faith. Her resolve!
She nearly trembled beneath his touch, fear beginning to work its way into her heart. She’d been strong until then, certain that she could sway him to support her. Yet the way he was talking, she was becoming more and more concerned that she couldn’t.
He could even see her shaking with how pronounced it was, and he reached back out, put his arms about her and rested them at her shoulders.
“Oh no, my child, don’t quiver in fear,” he said with a gentle smile. “The Lord does not close a door without opening a window,” he said in that reassuring yet authoritarian voice of his. “If you wish to show your devotion, I may be able to give you that opportunity. That is… if you are willing to take it,” he said, tilting his head down as he gave her a scrutinizing look.
“Of course! I’ll do whatever you want! Come every week, without fail. I know daddy won’t be pleased, of course, but he’ll understand. It’s for the good of the town. For all the children!” She didn’t mean to sound over dramatic or like a martyr, but she was incredibly passionate, and she looked over his eyes, his smile, her brows furrowed so sternly.
“That’s good,” he said with a serious expression and a sympathetic nod. “But in the meantime, I need something special from you. An act of contrition for all your missed time from the house of our Lord,” he said, and he stood up, walked over towards his desk.
“You know, so many of the Saints suffered for our Lord. What I ask of you is but a tiny sliver of their penances,” he explained as he moved to look through his drawers.
And Amy was nodding, leaning forward on the couch as her skin stuck to the material, the heat gathering beneath her knees.
“Yes, Father, of course. You know my devotion, of course,” she said, her words coming out quickly and passionately.
He smiled over at her as he bent down, fishing a long, leather implement from his drawer. She recognized it immediately as a tool that was used to discipline the very unruly students at Sunday school.
“Then you will bend over my desk, lift your skirt and offer your mortal flesh to the Lord’s tender mercies, won’t you?” he said, testing the implement against his other palm with a slight smack.
She stared in disbelief, her eyes flicking between him and the tool, her body stiffening slightly. It was far too warm in the room, the fire still crackling away, and she felt a bead of sweat trail down her spine, making her shiver.
“Father,” she said, her breath panted a bit from the heat, the confusion.
And yet she stood, her arms folded beneath her chest as she glanced to the door. “I don’t know if that’s, like, appropriate?”
The Father furrowed his brow at her in confusion.
“Not appropriate, my child? Not appropriate,” he moved towards her just a couple footsteps, his looming presence a little more imposing. He looked at her with a dark sort of expression, his voice growing harder, “Saving your soul, giving yourself over to God, and making up for your shortcomings is… beyond appropriate.”
He was so tall, and when he spoke to her like that, it seemed to be all the more apparent.
“It’s just, aren’t I a little old for that?” she pressed, her head tilted to the side and letting her braid snake along her bicep. Her heart raced as her brows furrowed with confusion, with anxiety. She wouldn’t let something so simple stand between her and her job, though.
“You’re right,” he said to her as if conceding a point. “It’s the sort of minor punishment for a child. But you have been away from the flock for a while now, and you are a woman. In every way,” he remarked, his eyes roaming down over her voluptuous figure as he spoke. “We will do something more special, but first…” he pointed the leather strap at his desk with such authority.
She was weak to his commanding presence and she took a step forward, arm over her stomach as she looked back at him
curiously. Then another step. And another.
It was difficult for her, but she was so afraid of not getting the job she desired and had dreamed of ever since she was a little girl.
“And then you’ll endorse me for the position?”
His demeanor shifted, “Put your fate in the hands of our Lord, and you shall have the life you deserve, my child.” He intoned those words so solemnly, so comfortingly, it was hard to believe anything but. Even though the Father was brandishing a weapon, that large man standing there so ominously. Such a big, brute of a man.
Most of the men of the town were hard, worn that way by decades of hard work. But never had she felt so frail and dainty, only the curves of her hips and ass and breasts giving a bit more size to her.
But even though she flushed and felt so terribly embarrassed, she obeyed.
She leaned over his desk, her large breasts pressed into it as she looked at him over her shoulder, skeptically.
