Father Thomas, a man of the cloth with a strong sense of duty and an unspoken superiority complex, was no stranger to the intimate confessions of his parishioners. Yet, the whispered words of the woman kneeling before him in the dimly lit confessional had struck a chord within him that he couldn’t quite explain. “I think impure thoughts, Father,” Victoria had confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thoughts of being… disciplined.”
The priest had swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the wooden rail that separated them. “We all wrestle with impure thoughts, child,” he’d replied, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him. “But some must be punished to find their path to redemption.”
After she’d left, he’d found himself unable to concentrate on his evening prayers. Victoria, his parishioner, his penitent, had ignited a fire within him that he’d long thought extinguished. He’d seen her around the church, always dressed provocatively, her curves accentuated by revealing clothing. It was as if she was daring him to react, to break his vows, to… discipline her.
The next day, he summoned her to his private study, a small, dimly lit room filled with religious texts and wooden chairs. She arrived, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short gasps. She was dressed in a thin, silky wrap that did little to conceal the lacy lingerie underneath. Father Thomas steeled himself against the sudden surge of desire that coursed through him.
“Father, you wanted to see me?” she asked, her eyes wide, innocent. Yet, there was a spark in them, a challenge.
“Yes, Victoria,” he said, his voice stern. “I believe you require guidance, a firm hand to steer you back onto the path of righteousness.”
She bit her lip, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I… I’ve been a bad girl, Father.”
He felt his body stir at her words, but he pushed the desire down, burying it beneath his resolve. “Indeed, you have,” he agreed. “And as your spiritual guide, I must administer justice.”
He gestured to the straight-backed wooden chair in the corner. “Bend over the back of it, Victoria. Lift your skirt, and receive your penance.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide, but there was no fear in them, only anticipation. She did as she was told, her silk wrap rising to reveal the lacy thong that barely covered her cheeks. Father Thomas took a deep breath, his hand reaching for the wooden ruler he kept on his desk.
He began with a light tap, the wood connecting with her flesh, leaving a faint red mark. She gasped, her fingers gripping the chair tightly. He continued, each strike a little harder than the last,until her cheeks were a rosy red, until she began to squirm and moan.
“You must learn to control your desires, Victoria,” he lectured, his voice harsh with desire and self-denial. “You must learn to be a good girl.”
She whimpered, her body arching slightly with each impact. “Yes, Father,” she gasped. “I’ll be good. I’ll be a good girl.”
He believed her, but only for a moment. For as he finished the last strike and she straightened, her eyes met his, filled with a hunger that was not repentance. It was desire, pure and simple.