She stands there staring, taking in my form as if she's puzzled by my being here.
"Father Stone. Where can I find him?" she asks, looking down her nose at me.
"He's out to lunch, is there something I can help you with?"
"When is he due back?" she sneers at me with visible annoyance.
She could have been me if she weren't such a cunt.
"Hard to say," I respond, flashing her a bitchy grin. "Can I tell Father Stone that you stopped by?"
She didn't respond. She just turned and walked out of the church.
* * *
"Sister Suri," I hear Agnes ask.
I look up and offer her a smile.
"Can you please take this box over to the Rectory? I would, but you know I've got a bad hip."
"Sure, Ms. Agnes. I'd be happy to," I flash her my best shit-eating grin.
Bad hip? What a liar. Good Catholics aren't supposed to lie, Ms. Agnes. She's been making me do everything for her ever since she heard me taking the lord's name in vain the other day. Maybe she didn't tell Father Stone, and she is giving me my penance this way? Who knows, but I don't care—anything to get out from behind this damn desk.
"Thank you, dear. You don't have to knock, just go right in and leave it on the table in the entryway.
"Great, thank you," I offer her another slight smile and grab the package from her desk.
When I reach the front door of the Rectory, I contemplate knocking. It doesn't feel right, just barging into someone's home like this, permission or not. But one of the Father's might be in meditation. I don't want to disturb them, so I open the door cautiously and walk inside.
Soundlessly, I walk across the parquet floors and place the box on the table next to the stairs. When I reach the staircase, I can hear a rhythmic noise coming from the second floor, followed by a slight moan.
My eyes shoot open with shock.
No. It can't be, but it certainly sounds an awful lot like a guy jerking off up there. That's ludicrous, though. Priests live here.
Father Stone lives here.
My thoughts intrigue me, and as hard as I try to keep them from getting me into trouble, I fail. Before I know it, I am climbing the steps slowly, careful not to make a sound. I hear another, slightly deeper moan as I begin to ascend the staircase. I walk to the second floor and twist my body around the corner toward the source of the captivating sound.
Gazing into the only room on this end of the hallway, I see him.
Father Stone.
He is sitting on the edge of his bed with his back to the door. He is shirtless, and I get to see part of his magnificent body for the first time. Sexy wouldn't be the word that I would use; it's not strong enough. It doesn't fully encapsulate exactly how exquisite he is.
I can't see his dick from here, not even in the reflection of the mirror he's sitting in front of him. But there's no question about what he's doing. I can, however, see his muscular back and chest, and that's good enough.
The longer I stand here, the more the moisture builds between my legs. I need to get out of here, either before I get caught or before I get undressed and join him! No matter how hard I try, I can't make my body move. I imagine him seeing me in the mirror and getting angry at me for my blatant voyeurism.
He commands me to strip out of my clothing and crawl to him on all fours. I stop when I get to his feet and assume the perfect submissive position. He tells me that won't stop the punishment that he has in store, but he'll consider letting me come at the end of it now.
STOP it, Suri.
I clear my head. Fuck. I need to get out of here. Just as I begin to turn back and leave, I notice something I didn't see before. As I look closer, I can see lines running across his back, all in different directions.
They look like whip marks.