Devil's Fire (15 page)

‘And what better way to use the brandy left in the pans?’ Sybil suggested. ‘Just this morning, Mrs Goodin warned us not to waste our supplies. So we’d only be complying with her command, wouldn’t we?’

I was laughing too hard to be afraid, only faintly anxious as Vee and Zee fetched the pans while my captor planted me in the pot of chocolate. Like warm mud, the fudge oozed up between my toes, and then the blonde sisters were giggling on either side of me, pouring the warm, sticky brandy so it ran in rivulets down my breasts and back. It went down the crack of my arse, and saturated my bush, and then slithered into my slit.

‘I think she’s ready,’ Brother Paul announced in a feral voice. ‘Let’s see how long it takes to make her cry for mercy!’

They converged on me like a pack of hungry dogs. Lips and tongues teased every part of my body while sly fingers entered me from front and rear. Brother Quentin centred himself in front of me to kiss me hotly on the mouth, so I didn’t know whose mouth massaged my bottom or who was suckling each breast. Female panting and laughter mixed with male, and my body threatened to overload from all the sensations of their probing tongues and exploring hands.

‘I bet she has the most delicious feet,’ Zee suggested, and I was suddenly uprooted from my pot of chocolate. Elvira cradled me against her smoothly muscled chest, while Brother Paul sucked on one foot and Zee latched on to the other. I writhed, amazed at such exquisite torture. Was it Sybil kneeling beneath me, separating the halves of my arse? I felt Vee kissing my neck, and closed my eyes for the more thorough kiss I saw in Elvira’s shining gaze.

The lips were a man’s, hard and demanding, and I opened eagerly to them. I squirmed against the arms that tightened passionately around me, certain I was incapable of accepting any more pleasure. Then I heard a devious chuckle — Quentin’s — and after he lifted my bush to wetly tongue my clitoris, he shoved something inside me.

My eyes flew open. ‘What —? Whose —?’

Quentin’s laughter came from between my legs. ‘Now you know why we delight in making these chocolate cocks, sweet Mary. I filled one of Elvira’s with some of that fudge, so even after you’ve climaxed, there will be luscious pleasure left for the rest of us. How much more can you handle? It’s only halfway in.’

I curled upward with the next thrust, barely containing a scream of utter ecstasy. Elvira smiled, a mere inch above my face. ‘That’s how you’ll feel when I get my turn, lovely Mary.’

Again and again the velvety dildo was pushed and pulled, coating my inside passage with its lush warmth until I could hold back no longer. I cried out with loud, lusty wails that ricocheted from the copper pots hung by the hearth. I convulsed as though possessed by the Devil himself, and then fell limp in Elvira’s arms.

‘Welcome to the Kitchen Club,’ Vee said with a giggle.

‘We’re so glad you could come,’ Brother Quentin quipped, and he gently placed the dripping dildo on my chest. It had shrunk considerably, and it reeked of heated chocolate and brandy and my own copious juice. ‘Since you so gamely entered into our fun, Mary Grace, you get to choose who’ll tongue you out. Can’t let all those choice ingredients go dribbling down your legs, wasted.’

‘Wouldn’t want to defy Mrs Goodin,’ Sybil chimed in, making them all laugh. ‘And Lord knows old Hortense would be green with envy if she knew how we’ve all enjoyed making Mary’s acquaintance.’

‘Or just making Mary,’ Brother Paul added with a chortle.

‘Better to be green with envy than red and scorched from the fires of Hell.’

The group sucked in its collective breath and drew instinctively closer together. But that didn’t keep the dour woman in the doorway from seeing our unclad bodies, all caught in the acts of pleasure from moments before. I clenched my eyes shut, doom roiling in my stomach as the seconds of Mrs Goodin’s silence ticked by. Elvira gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, but it did nothing to relieve my mounting fears.

‘Father Luc will see you now, Miss Michaels,’ the housekeeper announced, her voice ugly with glee. ‘He wants to discuss your next quilts. I’ll tell him you’re on your way.’

A
s I hurried along the path to the abbey’s imposing entrance, where the gargoyles leered with more menace than before, my tunic was sticking to all the wrong spots on my body and my hair was a ghastly sight. I could only wonder what sort of punishment awaited me when I reached Father Luc’s office. Mrs Goodin had only had five minutes to tell her tales — but I suspected she’d set a nasty trap before coming to the kitchen. My thighs chafed with the memory of her lye soap as my footsteps echoed down the stone corridors. I entered that solitary hallway, nipping my lip.

Father Luc awaited me alone. He was seated on his thronelike chair, his hands tented beneath his nose, following the sinister lines of his black moustache. ‘What day is this, Miss Michaels?’ he demanded.

As I calculated back to when I left Mount Calvary, it seemed I’d crammed weeks into only a few days. ‘It’s Sunday, sir,’ I murmured, already sensing where this path would lead.

‘And have you attended Sabbath services?’

‘No,’ I replied, the heat rising into my cheeks. ‘Have you?’

‘I conducted mass at sunrise, before breakfast. I noted your absence, Mary Grace, and was appalled that you’ve so quickly departed from the way in which your parents raised you.’

‘Let’s leave my parents out of this!’ I retorted. While I was ashamed for forgetting what day it was, no one else had mentioned any worship services — nor had they behaved as though today was different from any other.

‘And why are you mentioning this now? I’m getting pretty damn tired of everyone else knowing the routine here, and leaving me out!’

His coiled laugh warned me that I was playing into his trap. ‘Sybil didn’t inform you? She hasn’t missed a Sunday service since she’s been here,’ he continued smugly. ‘And Elvira — whom you undoubtedly met during your kitchen visit — is the finest organist Heaven’s Gate has ever enjoyed. If I were you, I’d be wondering why my so-called friends didn’t tell me about these things…why they allowed me to blunder, and then pay the consequences. Perhaps you’re associating with the wrong people.’

My mouth dropped open. ‘You’re the one who assigned me to Sybil’s cottage!’

‘Because she had room for you. Because we have so few women’s quarters.’

‘And you have nothing but praise for her cooking!’

The abbot chuckled as though he were dealing with a dense, witless woman. ‘What Sybil and her crew produce in the kitchen is our business, Mary Grace. Our livelihood. Let’s not confuse our earthly work with seeking our souls’ places in the hereafter.’

When Father Luc leaned towards me, I noticed how his eyes burned with something familiar, yet something so cruel and vindictive it frightened me. I braced against his scrutiny, because it would be a sign of defeat to shrink away from his gaze.

‘What’s that I smell?’

‘I don’t know, sir. Your cassock looks fresh,’ I ventured. ‘Perhaps it’s the soap and sunshine from Mrs Goodin’s laundering.’

His mouth quirked. ‘You reek of brandy, Mary Grace. Sybil invited you to assist with the chocolate-covered cherries, but you didn’t have to return here smelling like one. Did you bathe in that liquor?’

I would have to reply carefully to this line of questioning, or I’d betray my new friends. ‘I must’ve sloshed some on my tunic. It has a delightful pungency, doesn’t it?’

The hint of a twinkle in those piercing eyes was all the humour the abbot allowed for. I suspected Mrs Goodin was waiting in the wings to join him in this interrogation, so I had to speak carefully. He had probably heard her account of our kitchen activities, and would mete out my punishment according to how bad a lie he caught me in.

‘Remove your tunic. I can’t possibly work in this small room with you smelling like fermented cherries.’

‘I assume you have another one for me?’

‘No. You’ll have to wait for this one to be washed.’ The planes of his face creased with a nasty mirth. ‘Each resident is issued one tunic upon arrival, in keeping with our vow of poverty. Perhaps after this you’ll take better care of your clothing, Miss Michaels.’

Did this mean everyone went around naked while his tunic was being washed? I had a hard time believing the monastery coffers were so low, or the residents so tidy, that the monks made do without any additional clothing! And yet…I’d seen those men circling that pear tree, and Sybil’s assistants had no qualms about hanging up their tunics when their games began. Perhaps I’d have to set aside my modesty, even though I didn’t plan to remain here past May.

‘Where’s the dress I wore here?’ I demanded, stepping forward to challenge him. ‘If you think I’m going to do my quilting naked —’

‘You’ll do as I tell you.’

‘— then Hyde’s going to hear about your perverted —’

‘He won’t believe you.’ Father Luc raked his fingers back through his raven hair, smiling arrogantly. ‘If you tell him I forced you to strip, he’ll chalk it up to your own wantonness — which he knows about, first-hand. And I’ll attest to your need for penance, if you’re to continue to live here. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived, Mary Grace, and I have more important matters to attend than your behaviour. The sooner you obey me, the sooner you’ll have your tunic back.’

No laundry would be done today. I glanced at my little corner beside that window — where anyone passing by could look in and see my naked state — and wanted to put up more of a fight. Yet my punishment for defying him would only increase with each passing moment.

And he was right: no one else would defend me to Hyde, because they all seemed quite comfortable shucking their clothes. I closed my eyes and tugged the bottom of my tunic towards my waist, hoping this would satisfy Father Luc’s penchant for humiliating me. Hoping he wouldn’t notice other substances I’d tried to wipe off before coming here.

When I stood clutching my sticky tunic against my front, the abbot cleared his throat. ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Mary Grace.’

I opened my eyes, knowing he’d found another path to pursue.

‘Drop your tunic beside you.’

I did so, wishing my nipples didn’t react to my lack of clothing. It repelled me to think that Father Luc’s lecherous gaze might inspire the hardening of these buds, or the clenching of muscles in my nether regions, where my honey began to flow in spite of my growing resentment towards this man’s manipulations.

‘At the risk of embarrassing you with an indelicate matter, Miss Michaels — what’s trickling down the inside of your leg? I hope you haven’t become so upset while talking with me that you’ve soiled yourself.’

My face went fiery-hot. I was tempted to say yes, it was excrement and it expressed exactly what I thought of him. But Mrs Goodin would be all too pleased to wash my mouth with her lye soap, if I got too cheeky.

‘Perhaps, Father Luc, I smell so horrible you’ll want me to work in the cottage. If you find my personal hygiene lacking, I’ll gather my things and go.’

He laughed abruptly. ‘You smell like chocolate. Chocolate and your own musk.’

I remained silent. He hadn’t asked a question, so it was better not to respond.

‘Melted chocolate is one of this world’s greatest delights,’ he went on in a voice that raised the hair at my nape. ‘It coats the mouth with velvety sweetness, and makes the palette — one’s very soul — sing for joy, and for more chocolate. Don’t you agree, Mary Grace?’

I had visions of him spreading my legs to indulge in the treat he described so poetically, and my body’s reaction to this fantasy made me wish I could disappear between the marble tiles I stood on. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’ he demanded, scooting forward on his chair.

‘Yes, Father Luc. Chocolate is delicious.’

‘Then we shouldn’t waste a single drop of it.’ His expression tightened and he folded his hands below his waist, where I suspected he had a large bulge. ‘Cleanse yourself, Mary Grace. Catch the drippings on your legs, and then lick your fingers. Reach higher, until no trace remains on your private parts, or your pubic hair, or inside you. Then I shall deem you fit to continue your work here.’

My shock made him chuckle darkly. ‘And if you find this too revolting, I’m sure Mrs Goodin will oblige me. She craves chocolate even more than I do.’

Heart pounding, I reached down to scrape the warm liquid from the inside of one thigh. Quentin’s chocolate phallus had thoroughly coated my inside passage, and now gravity was running its course in a sticky stream. I licked my fingers quickly, eager to be done with this repugnant display.

‘You should savour that, Mary Grace. Sybil and her assistants stir up the finest chocolate in the world, so suck those fingers slowly,’ the abbot murmured. ‘And tell me — what do you taste? Besides cocoa and sugar, that is.’

My cheeks prickled again. ‘Myself, sir.’

‘And what flavour might that be?’

My belly went tight with his question, causing more liquid to seep out. ‘Salty…buttery.’

‘Mmmmmm…keep cleansing yourself, Mary Grace. You seem to create more sweet, salty honey-butter by the moment.’

I couldn’t look at him. Pretending my closed eyes were a part of that savouring he demanded, I scraped my fingers along the other leg and inserted them into my mouth, pulling them out slowly so I could indeed enjoy the consequences of our contest in the kitchen. I thought again of Paul and Quentin, firing their chocolate shells, and of mysterious Elvira kissing me deeply, and I could forget about my lewd spectator, who was probably pleasuring himself beneath his cassock. Visions of Sybil came to mind, proudly poised on Elvira’s lap with her breasts encased in hardening chocolate, parting her legs in invitation as I anointed the curious man who held her.

I began to use both hands, dipping and licking one before quickly following suit with the other. The sensitive skin of my thighs quivered and I caught myself writhing, more aroused than I would ever want to admit once this shameless exercise ended.

‘Spread further, Mary Grace. Scoop that dark, sweet liquor from your outer folds. Dip your fingers deep…deep inside you.’

I complied, wiping at my bush and my outer lips, and then sucking off the chocolate. My breathing was becoming shallower and more rapid with each stroke. Although I had to run out of that buttery-brown nectar soon, my pussy was pulsing it out continuously and growing more excited by the second. I reached up inside, using three fingers as a scoop, and heard a low moan.

‘Lie down,’ the abbot rasped. ‘Keep reaching into yourself, with your thighs wide, until I declare you completely clean.’

He demanded the most intimate of views, the most explicit means of exposing myself. As I sank to the floor, bunching my tunic beneath my head, Father Luc walked quickly into the little room where I’d dressed after my earlier episode with Mrs Goodin. He returned with a basin of water and a towel, which he folded, lengthwise, and then draped across my eyes.

‘You’re not nearly finished,’ he chided in a breathy voice. ‘Now keep those fingers moving, Mary Grace. You know what’s required of you. You know that to fully purge yourself of that chocolate — however it got up there — you’ll need to convulse like a female giving birth.’

He spoke in a different metaphor than others I’d met here, but his meaning was clear. The towel created a dimness I could hide behind, even though my sex was still blatantly exposed to him. Relieved that his housekeeper wasn’t being called in, and aroused enough that my initial hesitation had disappeared, I thrust my fingers up my cunt again. I was rocking on the floor, my movements becoming more frantic between tastes of the syrup I brought out with wet, furtive noises. I felt the inner spasms beginning, like low and distant thunder before a storm.

A hand clamped around my feet, pressing the balls of them together while pushing down slightly to keep my legs open wide. ‘It’s running clear now,’ the abbot whispered. ‘Time for the final act of contrition, Mary Grace.’

The position he held me in intensified every sensation as I strove towards the climax that would settle this matter. I was somewhat constricted, unable to see, yet between the confines of my thighs, my slit and clitoris pulsed so powerfully Father Luc could probably view their movements. He would be looking directly down at them, as I felt his feet flanking my hips and his cassock fluttering around my bent knees. My fingers slid quickly along my wet slit while my thumb rubbed the aching nub adjoining it, until the warmth and the wetness and the illicit nature of this penance had me writhing up towards release.

Father Luc raised my feet, which elevated the sensations until I grimaced with an exquisite tightness that refused to be denied. As I cried out, I heard an answering moan. A torrent of hot seed splattered against my breasts.

I fell limp, and the abbot released me. ‘Use the towel and water to wipe yourself, and then continue with your work, Mary Grace. You’ll be sequestered in this room until Mr Fortune visits on Friday, to prevent any further temptations and the need for purging them. Your solitude will provide the time to contemplate your purpose here among us, and to plan your future work.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll inform Sybil of this situation, and instruct the others that you are to be left completely alone, for your own benefit. Do I make myself clear?’

I sighed beneath the towel, imagining a week in this claustrophobic room, naked, with only the abbot and Mrs Goodin for company. ‘Yes. Quite clear.’

‘Fine. Make yourself respectable, and be thankful for my lenience today. Your penance will be much harsher and more humiliating next time.’