The Storm

Chapter 1

I rushed through the waning light of the autumn afternoon, having been caught unexpectedly in the biggest thunderstorm of the season. It figures, I think as I hurry through the downpour, holding my coat tightly around my body, the evening I've finally chosen to make that long pilgrimage to confession would turn out this way. Leaves of all colors fall through the saturated air. Italy is beautiful this time of year and I was happy I was attending school here even though I knew it was my last year. I would be going home this spring. Wet and cold, I finally find shelter in the doorway of the church. The sepia toned sunset seems liquid itself, spilling over the ancient building like some ghostly effluvium. As I reach to open the door I realize I'm shivering; I didn't know if it was from the weather or the nervous storm brewing inside me. It had been a long time since my last confession.

I push the great door open, into the incense rich air, and step inside. Surprisingly for this late in the day, all of the candles are still lit, though services ended hours ago. Wax spills down over the candelabras, some burn brightly in their pools. I remove my hood and shake the rain from my coat as best I can. I was still shivering. It is my nerves I think even though the rain had soaked through my coat. My impulse is to turn and leave, but before I can make that decision a voice speaks.

"I've been waiting for you. I almost thought you weren't going to come". The priest steps from the shadows of an alcove, his robes casting great and varied shadows across the walls, larger than life, larger even than my sins.

I involuntarily take a step back, and look to the floor. "I've come to confess, Father. I have much to tell you." He chuckles, but there is no gaiety in the sound. It's not the laugh of a man of God, but it's too late for me to leave. He stands before me and places his hand lightly on my cheek. "I have much to cleanse from your soul," he says. His gentle touch is disarming, and I'm stunned when he slaps me across the face and an instant of blinding bright light flashes across my vision.

He says, "Come with me," as he grips my shoulder.

With stars still dancing in my vision from the cruel slap, I take his hand and follow him deeper into the church away from the eyes of the faithful. My steps are wobbly, and my heart is beating mightily. I've come to be absolved of my sins but at this moment I realize that absolution is not obtained here through forgiveness and silent prayer.

This priest, this man, is different. I've heard the rumors from other girls in the congregation. Father Jason is said to have requested they join him in private for spiritual counseling. On those nights, for these sessions are said to begin at sundown, wails and cries and moans have been heard from deep within the bowels of the church. I had never believed it myself, in fact the rumors of sounds were amusing in the way that ghost stories often are. But now, dripping wet and walking through the candle light, a new reality is setting in.

"You want to confess?"

"Yes, Father."

"You wish to tell me of all of your sins, from your earliest memory until this very moment?"

"Yes, Father."

"But you are sinning even as we speak, aren't you?"

"I do not understand, Father."

Another slap strikes my face, on the other cheek. I cry out involuntarily, and Father Jason touches my cheek gently. "I'm sorry, child, but these things are necessary. Your sin is in your thoughts. I know the rumors about me, and I know what you're thinking. We will work tonight to remove those sins from your mind."

I'm shaking more furiously now, even as my body begins to respond to a new sensation altogether, confusion. I feel the unmistakable arousal of my body, but how can that be? This is the darkest place I can imagine, and the thoughts racing through my head are the worst kinds of sins, those of Father Jason, ripping off my clothes and forcing me onto the altar, forcing me to... but that can't be.

He interrupts my racing thoughts. "We'll begin in the confessional. Please remove your coat and your sweater."

We are deep under the church now, a place I have never been before. I quickly look around, the darkness is deep. The only light is coming from a lone candle burning from within the confessional. I am a little frightened.

"But Father, under my sweater is only..."

Another slap and I shiver and do as I'm told. What I was going to tell him is that under my sweater is only a t-shirt. It's partially wet, and my nipples are plainly visible. I usually never wear a bra. Shame courses through me and I reflexively cover up.

"That is not necessary, child. If you cover up, you are covering your sins from me. Now, into the confessional..."

I follow him towards the ominous wooden confessional. What else am I going to do? A man of God should not have this sort of control over me, and yet there I am, prepared to follow him to the very gates of Hell if need be. It's not my soul that he cares about, after all, that much has become clear. And yet somehow that has ceased to matter.

He turns to face me in the dim light coming from the confessional. His eyes are dark and yet they reflect and seem to amplify the candlelight around him. There is something very nearly supernatural about it, a power lurking just beneath the surface of his retinas. He takes my face, cups it in his hands, and says in a near-whisper. "Are you prepared to begin this journey towards salvation?"

"Yes, Father."

"Will you follow my every instruction, obey my every order?"

"Yes, Father."

"Even if your mind tells you to say no, your soul will do as I say?"

"Yes, Father."

"Very good, my child, we will save you yet. I am going to enter my side of the confessional, and close the door. After I've entered, you are to disrobe completely, and step inside. Do you understand why you must be naked?"

I hesitate and finally say, "I don't understand, Father." He raises his hand to strike me again but I cower. He lowers his hand and smiles that same smile as before, a combination of mirth and malice. "Why my child, you must bare yourself before me, bare your body and soul."

Then he turns and without another word encloses himself in the confessional. Shivering uncontrollably, I do exactly as he says and remove my clothes, leaving them in a wet pile on the floor. The air on my bare skin is surprisingly warm, and damp. I was cold a moment ago, but now that I've exposed myself it's as though the very cathedral itself has warmed. That is of course impossible, and I shake the thought from my mind.

The door to my side of the confessional opens easily, and with a slight creak. The interior is larger than I expected, and the seat has armrests and a high back. The lone candle lights it well.

"Close the door, child, and be seated."

"Yes, Father."

I close the door and it locks in place. With a sudden surge of terror I realize that it's locked from the outside. Father Jason has brought me into a trap, a windowless coffin of a confessional to which he alone must hold the key to my escape. What kind of a confessional is this?

I force myself to sit, and instantly feel that the wood of the seat is rough and splintered. The tender flesh of my buttocks feel very nearly seared, and I let out a gasp.

"Yes," says the voice from the other side of the partition, "The seat is of rough-hewn wood, Cedar, it has a pleasing scent and rough qualities. You will not be comfortable sitting on it for long, so we should get started."

"Yes, Father."

"Place your arms on the arm rests."

"Yes, Father."

The moment I do as I'm told, two cold metal clamps snap shut over my wrists. I cry out involuntarily and struggle to free my hands. As I move in the seat a splinter pierces my left buttock, and I feel a small trickle of blood.

"Father, please! What are you doing? I've done everything you've told me and already you're punishing me! Please, let me go, I don't want to do this anymore!"

A sigh from behind the screen, almost resigned. "My child, you should know better than to ask for freedom from your sins. That outburst cannot go unpunished. Do you understand? Now, place your feet on the rests by each leg."

As I do, metal clamps close around each ankle and holds my legs tightly and spreads them open. My body is electric, his words searing into my flesh just as surely as they register in my ears. Even as I realize the desperation of my situation, my body reacts as it did a few minutes ago, when he struck me. Each splinter piercing my ass cheeks, the stinging of the metal clamps, sends waves of terror through my body that strangely becomes arousal, excitement and even more strangely, desire. I am fully aware of my situation now, how I must appear to him.

I feel the unmistakable feeling of my sex growing warm and moistening. Over my own scared breaths in my terror, I can even feel my flower beginning to swell and spread open. I thought this was impossible to have this kind of heightened sexual arousal with no lover caressing me.

I was frightened and deeply ashamed to be sitting there exposed to him with my body reacting the way it was. Guys have always told me I had a very sexy tight slim body with my small perky breasts, flat stomach and freshly shaved hairless mound, I had just shaved that morning. I was so exposed and feeling like a slut sitting before him.

"F-Father, what are you going to do?"

"Child, I am sorry to tell you that this confessional is modeled after one that was designed during the Spanish Inquisition. It served a dual purpose: a true confessional, and also a chamber in which suspected witches were interrogated, often with exceedingly harsh methods and devices, many of which I have improved upon."

Oh my God, I think to myself. I am now more afraid than ever and start tugging against the wrist and leg straps.

"I have a series of levers on my side, which I can use to activate various, shall I say, features of the confessional. For example, this lever here..."

I hear the creaking of a lever being pulled, and the center of my seat slides open (dragging yet more splinters across my ass) and I stop my struggles.

"I have just opened what was known as the Witches' Chamber. In the slit between your legs is a wheel, and on that wheel are attached various devices that I can use to probe you. For example..."

Another lever is pulled, and I scream in shock as a cold metal ball, the size of a tennis ball, is placed against my swelling moist lips. I try to fight its entry by squeezing my legs together but to no avail and while I am screaming and fighting its entry, pressure is exerted and it is slowly pushed into me and stops just as it gains its entry and my pussy surrounds it. The entry hurt but with it held still, I felt the cold fullness of it.

I was now more ashamed than ever and started crying when Father Jason stated, "Now, my child, tell me the first of your sins."

Again I hesitated answering and tried to lift myself up and away from this invasion as I felt the ball being pushed deeper into me. Again he stated louder now, "Now tell me of your sins!"

I sank back down as the lever was being pulled back and forth causing the ball to move back and forth inside me. I was trying to fight back and bit my tongue to keep from replying but the quick movement of the ball inside me overwhelmed my thoughts and I heard this voice spilling words as my body raced ahead in ecstasy. The ball coursed back and forth inside me through several orgasms as I blabbered on. Finally there was a pause and as I gathered strength, I heard this voice say, "Tell me more my child."

I was drained emotionally and physically and hesitated answering when the ball began to vibrate. It was not a slow or shallow vibration, but a fast hard one. It shook my whole body and I went into an instant orgasm. This was intense and sheer torture to me. After several more orgasms I screamed for him to stop I couldn't take any more. The vibration of the ball stopped but it seemed like my insides kept vibrating and I orgasmed again.

"Tell me more child," was the reply I heard.

I no longer held back, I spilled everything whether it was a sin or not. I covered every aspect of my life from the earliest memories of my childhood to the guys I had slept with, the indecent thoughts I had ever had and even those thoughts I might have in the future. I was an open book. He knew everything about me. Hell, he probably knew how much I had in my bank accounts. I talked for hours, never pausing. I spilled my entire life.

It was only after I had spilled my guts that I realized that the confessional was quiet and the ball had been removed from me. The opening under my butt had been closed and I was once again sitting on the hard board. The silence was deafening.

I suddenly became afraid. I sat still listening, there was nothing but silence. My body began to awaken and started to shiver. It was like it was going into shock at being abused but it might have been hypothermia, I had been drenched with sweat. My teeth were chattering. Suddenly the silence was shattered. His voice spoke.

"My child, you have told me of your sins, now you must do these things. Remember, you must follow my every instruction, obey my every order."

"Yes Father." I was powerless now in his total control.

"First you must drink this; it will cleanse your body. You must drink it every morning."

He gave me a small glass of some dark liquid which I quickly drank. It wasn't bad, tasted like vinegar.

"Second, you must no longer use any type of birth control and give up all of your sexual relationships."

"Third, you will come to confession every evening"

"Yes Father." He droned on and on with me saying "Yes Father," to each of his demands. I wondered if I would remember them there were so many and at some point I dosed off. When I awoke, I found myself at home in my bed wondering if I had had some sort of strange dream.

I needed to go pee and looked at the clock as I got up to go to the bathroom. It was 2 AM and besides having to go pee, I had a slight headache. I also was a little sore, more than a little sore I discovered as I tried to walk. My hand went there and I discovered a harsh tenderness. The dream I thought as I flicked on the bathroom light and discovered myself in the mirror. I looked and felt terrible. After peeing, I climbed into the shower and turned on the hot water and let it cascade over my slim body. It felt good and I thought back to the evening.

I went to confession I thought. What happened, how did I get home? I don't remember anything. I do remember going to confession but nothing after that. Strange I thought as I washed and turned off the water. I must have had a good time at one of the clubs I frequent after classes and had been picked up by one of the guys I usually meet with and he went home early. Yes that must be why I am a little sore down there. We must have had a little rough sex I thought as I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

It was all there for me to see in my reflection and feel, the redness, the scratches on my buttocks, the soreness of my pussy. Yes I thought as I admired my body, my perfect body. It was why I was so popular and had no trouble finding someone to sleep with. At 23, I was a 5 foot 4 inch blue eyed blond with what all the guys said was the perfect body. 105 lbs wringing wet, slim, petit ready to eat was what the guys said and I loved that part, the oral sex. I could be driven totally wild with that.

I reached out to turn off the light and head back to bed when absentmindedly I reached for the medicine cabinet door and opened it. I was looking directly at my birth control pills when I reached in and took out the 3 month supply that I had just started and opened each package and flushed the contents down the toilet. The packages went into the trash. I turned out the light and headed to bed giving no thought to what I had done.

I slept soundly and awaken at 7 AM got up and headed to the kitchen. There on the counter was a small glass of dark liquid that I drank without any thought as I turned and went back to my bedroom to dress for class.

The weeks went by fast, the dark liquid absentmindedly taken each morning and each evening when I showed up for confession. There was a slight change in my diet like no more coffee, tea, no alcohol; l stopped going to the clubs after classes, gave up my social life so to speak as I told everyone I was under doctor's orders to change my lifestyle. When asked about it I just said it wasn't any business of theirs and that stopped the questions. I sort of withdrew into myself. Every evening I was back at church for confessions. Each time, it was the same confessional with Father Jason and each time I didn't remember what took place. After each confession I would wake up at home tired but no longer having any soreness or anything like that. I did notice a rosier healthier color to my skin and after a good night's sleep I felt more invigorated than ever. My period started the Sunday of the 4th week and it had been a mess when I awoke in bed. I no longer used tampons and had bled on the sheets. I grimaced as I cleaned up but nothing really registered with me at the time other than I felt more alive than ever.

It had now been 5 weeks since that first confession and tonight again being late Sunday evening as I was happily standing outside the confessional removing my clothes; Father Jason stood before me and watched. As I removed my panties, he handed me a white robe and told me to put it on.

"My child, there would be no further need of the confessional, you will follow me."

"Yes Father," I replied without question. I no longer questioned anything.

He took my hand and led me deeper into the church stopping at a large old door that he opened with a key. It hid a staircase that led deeper into the bowels of the church, the catacombs.