Mistress Kathy's Wicked Protégé Ch. 02

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession."

"Yes, my child."

"Father, may I depart from the usual ritual? It's me. Sister Helga."

"Of course. Would you prefer to confess face-to-face?"

"No! I mean, what I have to tell you is . . . Well, it's quite unusual. I'm not sure I could look you in the eye while doing it."

"Just relax and tell me about it, Helga. I'm here to bring absolution, not judgment. Just tell me how you have sinned."

"That's just it, Father. I'm not sure what I've done wrong."

"I don't understand. Tell me what's troubling you."

There was an awkward silence as Sister Helga sought the right words to say.

"Father, am I a good person?"

"Of course you are."

"Do I not live by the Beatitudes and the Golden Rule?"

"Yes, of course."

"Am I not obedient? I try very hard to be obedient."

"I've never known anyone of such unquestioning obedience. You are an example to all the other members of the convent."

"Then why am I being punished?"

Father Murphy hesitated.

"Why do you think you're being punished?"

Sister Helga breathed a sigh of despair. "Ever since I reached puberty, people have behaved strangely around me. Like I was different from other girls."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, most boys would get anxious around me, and those who actually had the courage to talk to me would suggest the most shameful things! And most of the other girls wouldn't talk to me. They would behave like I was a threat to them—even though I just wanted to be their friend."

"Why do you think people acted this way?"

"I think it was because . . . Well . . . ," Helga fell silent. She had never talked about this before.

"My breasts are very large," she said at last.

"Yes. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"And my waist is very small."

"Yes."

"And I have always had very athletic thighs and buttocks."

"Ohhh, yes."

"And I think . . . I know this is foolish. But sometimes I think God made me this way because of something I've done. That it's his way of telling me I'm a bad person."

"Nonsense!"

"But being this way makes it harder to be good. If you only knew the temptations that have been put to me! If you only knew how I've been tested!"

"Many women would consider such gifts a blessing."

"Bad women! Women who sin!"

"Certainly you can find ways to use your gifts for good. People listen to you. They trust you. Your natural beauty makes you a valuable messenger for God's word."

"Then why am I being punished?"

"I still don't understand why you feel that way."

Helga sighed again. "As you know, the convent—that is, the building itself—shares its east wall with St. Augustine's School for Wayward Girls."

"Yes."

"And it shares its west wall with the School for Troubled Boys."

"Yes."

"Yesterday, when I was in the convent—showering . . ."

"Yes?"

". . . I discovered . . ."

"Yes?"

". . . a hole—in the shower wall. When I look through it, I can see the janitor's closet in the boy's school."

"Really? A hole?"

"Yesterday, someone in that closet looked through that hole, and saw me showering! I didn't notice at first because of the design in the tile. But when I discovered it, I looked through, and I saw someone run away. He had been looking at me!"

"Oh, my poor child! I'll tell the custodian to have it repaired immediately."

"I feel so ashamed!"

"Now, Helga, you mustn't blame yourself. You know what teenage boys are like."

"Oh, it wasn't a student! That closet is always kept locked." Helga wiped away a tear. "I try so hard to be good. I thought this sort of thing would end when I joined the convent."

"My dear Helga, joining the convent doesn't change the nature of the world. I'll find out who's responsible."

"It couldn't have been a student. After it happened, I asked the janitor to show me the room, and he said he couldn't because he didn't have the key. That room isn't used anymore. It hasn't been for years."

"I promise I will handle this situation myself."

"The janitor said he'd worked here for twenty years, and he'd only ever been in the room once—and that time, you had to unlock the door for him."

The silence that followed was terribly, terribly awkward.

Helga didn't want to continue, but did.

"Only you have that key."

Father Murphy still said nothing.

"WHY WERE YOU SPYING ON ME?" she cried. "I know what a good person you are, so I know you wouldn't do that sort of thing unless you thought I deserved it." Helga did her best to control her emotions. "Please, just tell me! Why am I being punished?"

She waited for a reply.

"Father?" she asked when the silence had become unbearable. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Two rosaries," blurted Father Murphy. "Pray two rosaries for forgiveness."

"Aren't you going to tell me what I . . ." Sister Helga fell silent. She heard Father Murphy's breath catch in his throat. Was he crying? Or was he . . .

"Father, are you masturbating?"

"Just keep talking!" gasped Father Murphy.

Sister Helga ran from the confessional in tears.

Alone, Father Murphy continued his prayer. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god . . . ohhhhhhhhh, lordy!"

Saying goodbye to her friends at the convent was difficult, but she could not stay. Her faith had been shattered beyond repair, so she chose instead to return to school to pursue her other dream—that of getting her master's degree.

She soon found a new direction for her life within the chemistry department of a prestigious university where she quickly drew the attention of one of her professors.

"Do you know why I chose you to be on the research team?" asked Dr. Watts.

"Because I'm one of your best students?" said Helga, beaming with confidence.

"You are. You have an intuitive grasp of our work that my other students lack." This was the truth. Helga was extraordinary—a model student for the chemistry department.

"You're very kind, Doctor," she said, blushing.

"Not at all." Dr. Watts chuckled good-naturedly. "I didn't bring you on the team just for your good looks."

This was a lie. As an expert in the emerging field of commercial aphrodesiacs, Dr. Watts knew it could only help to have someone of Helga's obvious appeal helping to draw attention to his work.

"What exactly is this research about?" she wanted to know.

"A colleague of mine donated to me a unique plant," he said, picking up the potted flower on his desk. "This was grown from a seed taken from the original. He told me that its scent had the ability to arouse the libido of anyone who smelled it, and he hoped that I could learn the secrets behind its chemistry.

"As you may know, most so-called aphrodesiacs are no more than placebos, so I was naturally skeptical. To my surprise, the plant had an astounding effect on the lab mice it was tested on. I asked my colleague where he found this plant, hoping he could help me find more. But he claims it's only found on a remote and inaccessible island in the Pacific—where its scent has a profound effect on the local population. He told me a tall tale about an island of dominant women who operate a kind of sex school there. Obvious nonsense, of course, but the plant's attributes are real."

He offered Helga the plant hoping she would take it—and perhaps even inhale deeply—but she merely looked and nodded with polite interest.

In the days that followed, Helga got to know the other two members of the research team. Artie and Jay seemed like nice fellows, but she was sometimes apprehensive about the way they would stop talking when she entered the room, or would abruptly look away when she made eye contact with them, as if she wasn't supposed to know they saw her at all.

The truth was, they did see her. And seeing her made it impossible to think about anything else. Maybe the scent of the flowers was to blame.

One night she worked late, using the amphitheatre of the empty lecture hall to enter some test results into her laptop. It was a warm evening, so she had slipped off her lab coat and was working in her tank top and shorts. She sat in the front row typing while sipping an energy drink. She was listening to her iPod through tiny earphones, so she didn't hear Artie and Jay whispering about her. She believed they were in the lab down the hall, but they were actually in the back of the room staring at her.

"I love hot weather," whispered Jay. "I wish I lived where it was always hot and women always look like her."

"Yeah," agreed Artie who was more guarded about sharing his private thoughts. He was carrying a tray of test tubes, not because he needed them, but because they made him look like he had a reason to be there.

Helga sipped her energy drink and seemed to grow restless. She wiped some perspiration from her neck and absent-mindedly tugged at her tank top as though it were suddenly a little too small.

Distracted by her activity, Artie rattled his tray indiscreetly.

She didn't look up or notice they were there.

"We shouldn't be staring at her like this," said Jay. "What if Dr. Watts saw us?"

Artie finally decided to risk speaking his private thought out loud. "Jay, you know how we're always joking about the flower serum and what effect it might have if we used it on a human girl?"

Jay knew he was talking about the active chemical which they had extracted from the flowers. Finding a way to refine and mass produce the substance had been the subject of all their research.

"Sure," said Jay. "We even figured out how much we would need for a human dose. Of course, human trials haven't been approved yet, and until they are, testing it on a human would be wrong."

He giggled inappropriately.

Artie wasn't laughing. "Yes," he quietly agreed. "It would be wrong. Except . . ."

Helga took another sip from her energy drink and held the can against her face. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Then she slid the can along the inside of her thighs and gasped in quiet pleasure.

"Artie," whispered Jay. "What did you DO?"

"I did it when she was in the bathroom," he confessed. "Nobody saw me put it in her drink."

"Artie, do you know what you've done?" asked Jay. "That experimental drug that hasn't been approved for human trials!"

"I just thought if I gave her a little, I could ask her out, and she might say yes. And if I gave her just enough, she'd be sure to say yes."

Jay stared at him judgmentally. "Artie, you remember the mice we tested? They weren't in the mood for dinner and a movie. I've never seen animals assume those positions before."

"But she'll be all right? I mean, the mice were okay."

"The mice were happy, but okay? I'm not sure. And with the doses we just gave her—?"

"What do you mean 'doses?'"

Jay looked away with sudden guilt. "Okay, I gave her some, too. But just a little bit."

"What? She could have seen you!"

"You didn't see me!"

"Oh my god, what if we've killed her?"

They looked at Helga. She seemed to have regained her composure and was diligently typing at her laptop. The music from her iPod still played in her ears.

"See?" said Jay. "She's fine."

"What if she's not?" whispered Artie. "You've seen the lab results. Right now, we can assume that her cortex is entering a state of accelerated activity. Her nerve endings are being saturated with endorphins. Her blood pressure is elevated, and her perspiration rate is accelerating to keep pace with her increased pheremone production."

"Man, that's hot."

"What if she needs a hospital?"

"Who needs a hsopital?" asked Dr. Watts. Neither of the boys had seen him enter the room.

The boys guiltily stared at the floor. Under the withering gaze of their professor, they eventually whispered their confession to him.

"I see," said Dr. Watts. "I see that I'm working with immature, irresponsible frat boys—with no impulse control." He made no effort to hide his disappointment. "Do you know what could happen? By adding your doses to the one that I . . ."

It took the professor a moment to realize he had just incriminated himself as well.

Watts raised a judgmental finger to silence them. "What I did was different!" he whispered. "I'm a scientist!"

The conversation degenerated into a series of rapid-fire whispered accusations which failed to address the problem. Again the professor silenced them with an upraised finger.

"If what we're saying is correct, we have unknowingly given her three doses of an extremely concentrated experimental aphrodisiac." He paused meaningfully. "Is that what we're saying?"

Artie's voice quavered when he said, "I gave her two."

Jay slapped Artie on the back of the head.

"All right," said Dr. Watts. "Four doses, then. That means, theoretically, that some of the effects on her brain could be . . . permanent."

"What?" hissed Artie.

"Only theoretically," whispered Dr. Watts. His tone suggested that he had already given this subject some thought. "And theoretically, this could cause some of her natural libidic tendencies to become exaggerated. If, for example, her inner nature was to be submissive, the drug would cause her to become excessively obliging and compliant to anyone she was even remotely attracted to. She wouldn't be able to help herself. For example, she might . . ." He paused wistfully. "But I digress."

"Is she submissive?" asked Jay along a new line of thought.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Dr. Watts.

"Does it matter?" asked Artie. "We've damaged her brain!"

"Only theoretically," said Watts. "There's no need to panic. She may be fine. We'll just watch her for a while and see that she's all right."

They looked.

She was gone.

She had left her things behind—her laptop, her iPod, her notes, her flip-flops, her labcoat, her tank top, her denim shorts . . . .

They stared at the items on the floor while the implications settled in their guilty minds.

They looked around the lecture hall, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Dr. Watts insisted that they must find her.

They stepped into the hall. It was hard not to notice a pair of panties hanging on the knob of the door to the main lab where the rest of the flowers were growing. The door with the panties was ajar, but the room beyond was dark.

Cautiously they entered the dark room. For stealth, they did not turn on the lights.

The sweet smell that greeted them was already familiar to them. They knew it as the smell of desire. However, they did not immediately see Helga.

Until, one by one, they noticed a pair of bare feet standing on a countertop where a bit of light fell from the window to illuminate a dark corner of the lab. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they saw the feet were connected to the most spectacular body they had ever seen. The body glistened with natural oils secreted from Helga's skin as she towered over them.

She stared at them in judgment.

"I was beginning to wonder," she said casually from the darkness. "I was beginning to wonder when you boys would come looking for me." She slid down easily from the countertop and stepped toward them. She wore nothing but a smile, and it was strangely terrifying.

How much has she overheard? wondered Dr. Watts.

"We were washing the test tubes," blurted Artie, holding up his tray in evidence.

Helga paused and seemed to consider the worthiness of his response. "That sounds very plausible," she said. "Well done, Artie."

She looked each of them in the eye, one by one, and turned back toward the counter. "Do you always think about me when you're polishing your tubes?" She turned toward them and rested her naked bum on the countertop. "Your debate about me seemed very heated earlier."

"Helga," started Dr. Watts, taking a stab at being the responsible adult in the room, "we think perhaps you may have ingested some of the flower extract."

"Really?" she asked with incredulity. "But that would be wrong." She smiled again.

Something about her eyes suggested that they should run, but for some reason, they didn't. Maybe it was the scent of the flowers.

"Well, yes," said Dr. Watts. "Of course, it was probably an accident."

"Liar!" she snapped at her professor. "I think you should try again." She leaned forward from her perch on the countertop. Her body tensed as if ready to pounce.

Jay felt as if it were his turn to say something. "Do you feel," he asked with newfound caution, "different?"

She seemed to look at something far away. "Different?" she asked thoughtfully. "Oh, yes." She ran her fingers through her hair as if for the first time and exhaled heavily. "Yes, I can definitely feel something going on in here. Something liberating! I wonder what's inside me."

She parted her legs in their direction.

Dr. Watts reasoned that Helga wouldn't need a doctor as long as she was under the observation of a trained scientist with a background in commercial aphrodisiacs.

It was the scent of the flowers.

"I think we should get you someplace where you can rest," suggested Dr. Watts.

"Maybe you're right," said Helga. "Someone should walk me home."

"I will," said all of them.

"I have a car," added Dr. Watts. "And I'm a scientist."

"Good," said Helga, holding out her hand for the keys. "I'll drive."

This seemed like a perfectly reasonable request in the flower-filled room.

"Run along," Dr. Watts told the boys as he gave Helga his keys. "I'll handle this."

"No, bring them," said Helga as she left the room. "I need a lot of handling."

In the days that followed, Helga's friends and classmates noticed that she had changed. She was oddly more confident, and decidedly more authoritative, than she had ever been before.

As for Artie, Jay and Dr. Watts, they were never seen on campus again. It took almost a week before anyone reported them missing.

In fact, the last person to hear from any of them was a mailman, and he never fully understood what it was that he had witnessed.

It happened when he was delivering a heavy package to an address which had received many such packages that week. He had no idea what the busty young redhead did for a living, but he had started to look forward to these deliveries because she nearly always answered the door in a breezy white silk robe.

"Another package that didn't fit in your mailbox," explained the mailman at the door. "You've been getting a lot of them lately."

"Yes, I have," said Helga. "I've got some projects going on in the basement—three of them." She looked at the label on the package and shouted to someone the mailman couldn't see. "Good news, boys! Your asshooks have arrived! Isn't that good news?"

The mailman let it pass. He didn't want to admit that he didn't know what asshook meant in college slang.

When no one answered the redhead, she repeated, "I said, 'Isn't that good news?'!"

The mailman heard some faint screams which he was sure must have been from a television. Then he remembered he had a job to finish. "You also have a letter," he said, giving her an envelope.

"Thank you so much," said the redhead eying him intently. "Actually, if you have time, you could help me with my projects." She stared at him the way a cat stares at a mouse.

Something in her eyes told him he should run.

He did—stumbling back toward the mail truck with an urgency he couldn't quite understand.

Helga looked at the letter which she was genuinely surprised to receive. It was from Darlene Carmichael, her former student.

Dear Sister Helga,

I know you're probably not expecting a letter from me. The nuns said you moved to a different convent, but I hope they can forward this to you.