A Strict Seduction (15 page)

‘Are you blaming me, Father?' I asked, sounding appalled by the suggestion. ‘I was weak, they took advantage of me. I couldn't resist, they only had to caress my body, touch me in my feminine places, and I was at their mercy.'

‘So there was an element of coercion involved? They forced you?' he asked excitedly.

Bang! That was the key. ‘Yes, Father,' I said, and it took all my willpower to keep that miserable tone. ‘They forced me, much as I didn't want to. And sometimes if I wasn't good they would punish me.'

He coughed, his eyes bulging dangerously. ‘Punish?' he managed to ask, straining to catch his breath and appear calm.

‘Yes, Father. On many occasions they physically punished me. It hurts even to talk about it.'

‘Then it is good that you talk about it,' he insisted. ‘If you bottle it all up then it does no good.'

‘They would punish me like a naughty girl, Father. One of them would pull my knickers down and bend me over her knee. I'd beg her not to chastise me, but it wouldn't do any good. She would pull up my skirt and then spank me several times on the bare bottom. It hurt me so much I'd scream and sob, but that only made her more determined.'

‘How did she punish you? With her hand? A slipper?'

‘It started with her hand. But then she moved on to using the flat side of a hairbrush. She would smack me until my bottom was red hot. I could see myself in the mirror. By the end of a session my bottom would be patterned red and pink, all over my buttocks and at the top of my thighs, and even on my breasts sometimes.'

‘Would you have to display yourself?' he asked eagerly.

Display myself? I didn't know what that meant, but I could tell from his eager expression that it was important to him. ‘I'm not sure what you mean, Father.'

‘Did she make you stand in a corner, displaying your chastised posterior?'

‘Yes, yes. She would make me stand in a corner, holding up my skirt so that she and her friend could admire by smarting backside. It was so humiliating, Father. But the worst of it was that I enjoyed the humiliation, I enjoyed being spanked. Afterwards they would fuck me like a whore, and I'd have the most intense orgasms of my life. I loved being degraded by those two women.'

He said nothing, his posture matched my own, he was leaning forward, face hidden in his hands. I could see his hands were shaking, and the colour had drained completely from his face. Outside it was raining, the world speeding past was a liquid blur. Had he read Freud, I wondered. Did the symbolism of speeding trains mean anything to him?

‘Will you help me, Father,' I pleaded.

‘What can I do, my child? Do you seek forgiveness for these wanton sins?'

‘More than forgiveness, Father. I know I have sinned and I need to be punished, I need to suffer for all the wrongs I've done,' I said evenly, the excitement pulsing in my veins making it harder and harder to control myself.

‘Punishment?'

Our eyes met and I saw the doubt expressed there. ‘Yes, Father. Punish me.' I fell forward, to my knees, in front of him. He tried to sit back but I buried my face in his lap, pressing my tits against his thighs. My face brushed against his prick, it's divine hardness buried in the thick vestments that were a mark of his ministry.

‘As you wish, my child,' he whispered, his voice quivering, ready to crack. I sat up on my knees and rolled my skirt up, revealing completely my black stockings and suspenders. He sat back and I bent over his lap, lifting my backside up as high as possible. My panties were soaked through, the dark patch between my thighs clearly visible. He pulled my knickers down and I felt the breeze brush between my thighs.

The first smack sounded so unreal, a high pitched slap of skin on skin that was almost drowned out by the rattle of the train. If the sound was unreal then the sharp dagger of pain that shot through me wasn't. It stung, but the pain was turned to pleasure, the red imprint of his hand connecting to the delicious excitement in my pussy. He spanked me several times, long hard strokes, moving from buttock to buttock, rouging my skin and building layer upon layer of exquisite pleasure.

‘I've been a bad girl, so very bad,' I cried, wishing he would verbally chastise me as well as physically.

‘So very bad,' he repeated breathlessly. ‘And now you are being spanked for it.'

The heat on my backside was delicious in itself, but I wanted more than just a sound spanking. ‘But, Father,' I cried, ‘this is how those sinful women treated me. It's the same pleasure I feel, you must show me how wrong I've been…'

‘How child? How?'

I passed my hand over his lap, found his prick and squeezed it lovingly. We said nothing, we understood. I slipped from his lap and knelt against the seat where I'd been sitting earlier, my backside raised, smarting painfully, the juices from my pussy running down my stockings.

It took a second, but when I turned round I saw him standing over me, his prick red and hard in his hand. I arched my back, opened my aching pussy with my fingers, then guided his cock deep inside. The pleasure pierced me. I climaxed immediately, my cry filling the compartment. He thrust forward, fucking me quickly, filling me with his lovely hardness. He was inexperienced, his rhythm rough and ready, violent, passionate. I climaxed again, enjoying the feel of his cool body against my burning backside.

His cry was muted, as if at the moment of his orgasm he remembered himself. He filled me with thick cream then withdrew quickly. I fixed my clothes slowly, slipping my panties off and stuffing them into my bag. He was already nosing through his book, his ashen face turned away from me, lips quivering tearfully.

We remained silent until the train drew slowly into the station. I reached for the bag. The skirt rose up and I knew he was looking at my uncovered backside, still stinging red.

‘You know, Father,' I said, smiling guiltily. ‘I tell a lot of lies.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘All that stuff about the other women, it wasn't true,' I admitted.

‘But why… for what reason?' he mumbled, looking askance.

‘My real sin is seducing men of the cloth. Nothing turns me on more than sex with a young priest.'

The look of pain and confusion on his young face was pitiful. I sort of shrugged, grabbed my bag, and went to the door. I turned, saw him still looking lost. I stepped out onto the platform then turned back.

‘It's all right, Father,' I assured him, putting my head back into the train. ‘You're the sixth priest I've seduced this way. The others enjoyed it as much as you did.'

I watched him fall back into his seat, burying his head in his hands. He looked so sexy then, I almost climbed back into the train.

Assignment

Felicity arrived promptly at three that afternoon, just as had been agreed previously. She was good like that, Clive could not fault her there. In many ways she had been the perfect secretary: attentive, hard working, punctual, very good at her job in every conceivable way. Damn it, she'd even had the right degree of sexiness, and she knew how to charm clients, that too could not be denied. Perhaps that should have been a clue, the fact that she was so perfect in every respect…

‘I hope I'm not late,' she remarked with a smile when he opened the door to her. She knew she wasn't late and was making a point of it, but he could forgive her the small conceits.

‘No, you're right on time, as usual,' he said, making way for her. She was wearing a smart business suit of short skirt, white blouse and matching jacket. The eye was drawn naturally towards her, to her long silky smooth legs, the pale tan of her flesh contrasting to the darkness of her clothes. She liked to look good, that was obvious, and as always she had done a perfect job.

He showed her the way through the house and up the stairs to his office, aware of the way she was looking around with unconcealed interest. It was the first time she'd been to the house, and of course she was curious to see her employer's house. The office was the largest room in the house, on the first floor overlooking the garden, and beyond that the woods. Though functional it was a bit more relaxed than his other office, though it was still a working office and not a den for him to hide away in.

‘There's lots of room,' she said, going straight over to the window to look out across the way.

‘I get a lot done here,' he explained, trying to carry on a conversation he hadn't planned on.

‘There are less distractions here, I suppose,' she said, turning from the window and flashing him a smile. Her long blonde hair caught the light, golden curls cascading over her shoulders, lighting up her eyes and face.

‘Yes, very few interruptions,' he agreed woodenly. ‘Would you like a coffee before we start?'

‘Love one, thanks,' she agreed.

‘Make yourself comfortable then,' he suggested, pointing to the computer at his desk.

‘Do you want me to make it?' she offered helpfully. ‘If you let me know where the kitchen is I can do it.'

‘No, it's okay. Why don't you get ready, I'll only be a few minutes.'

He left her at the desk, leaning over to switch the computer on. Her short skirt revealed much of her long thighs, and the way she moved, slow and sinuous, only accentuated the fact. She had never looked so beautiful, the streaming sunlight heightened it, and the severe cut of her suit added to it too.

There was no point rushing, and he settled back against the counter as the aroma of fresh coffee wafted around him. It gave him time to think, to ponder on what to do next. He was attracted to her of course, what man wouldn't be? And her choice of outfit was designed to allure, she was sending all the right signals. Not that he needed such signals, he'd long understood what the message was. In the past she had worn skirts inches shorter than the one she was wearing now, and worn blouses that exposed the firm bulge of her breasts. Her eyes sparkled when they spoke, and she liked to lean across his desk in a manner that was painfully arousing. It was even Felicity who had suggested working together during the one weekend when his wife was away.

Carefully carrying two mugs of coffee on a tray he made his way back up the stairs, heavy footfalls and the heavenly smell of fresh coffee signalling his arrival. She was at the desk, busy tapping at the keyboard. She turned and smiled to him. Her jacket was draped neatly over the back of the chair, and she was perched on the very edge of the seat. Her legs were crossed, sharp high heels glossy black in the sunlight, skirt pulled back an inch more to reveal long, lithe thighs that were all the more attractive because they were bare. Her white blouse was unbuttoned, the lacy whiteness of her bra almost visible.

‘That smells good,' she exclaimed, reaching out to take the cup that was offered.

‘Started already?' he asked, gesturing at the computer screen.

‘Yes, I was just reviewing what you'd already done,' she explained quickly.

‘How did you know the password?' he asked casually.

‘I guessed… I just tried Cleo and it let me in,' she said, with a slightly apologetic shrug.

‘Too obvious really,' he mumbled to himself. Having his wife's name as his password had been too painfully obvious, and now that he thought about it he could have kicked himself.

‘Oh damn!' she shrieked suddenly, pushing herself back from the desk as the coffee splashed down all over her.

‘Are you okay?'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry!' she wailed, standing up and trying to brush the wetness from her clothes. Somehow she had spilt waves of coffee all down her blouse and over her skirt, making a real mess of things. The desk was splashed with coffee too, as was the screen and keyboard.

‘It's not your fault,' he said, though his voice indicated otherwise. While she was more concerned with her clothes his first concern was the computer, and the few tissues to hand were used to wipe the coffee from that.

‘What do I do now?' she complained, looking down at herself pityingly. Her clothes were ruined, the snow-white blouse would never be the same again, and the skirt sported a sharp jag of darker colour where the drink had soaked through.

‘You'll have to change,' he told her, realising that there was no alternative.

‘But Mr Sheppard, I haven't got anything else…' she said, looking at him with widening eyes. Was she really that shocked? Or was it a game she was playing?

‘I'm sure Cleo's got something that fits,' he suggested, smiling for the first time.

‘Won't she mind?' Felicity asked, also breaking into a smile of complicity.

Clive shrugged. ‘She's not here to mind,' he said. ‘And besides, this is quite innocent, isn't it?'

‘That's right,' she agreed, happily, ‘it was an accident.'

The master bedroom was on the other side of the landing, just a few steps from the office. ‘This is a lovely room,' she commented admiringly, taking in the bedroom which had been interior designed by Cleo herself.

‘My wife designed it,' he explained proudly.