Rectory

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Sophie made her way along the rows of scroll-ended pews, painfully aware of each sharp click’s echo throughout the vast domed nave of the Cathedral of Saint Paul. Heels. She was in a hurry and the place was nearly deserted, so speed won out over quiet. Her friends had summoned her for night-two of this weekend’s blowout, starting with happy hour down the street on W.A. Frost’s patio. Last night’s was a doozie, her head still rattled from the last call at dawn.

It had been months since her last confession and mounding guilt had finally pushed her from her nearby studio apartment to her holy home. Rounding into the north transept, she appraised the queue at the three ornamented wood confessionals dwarfed beneath the magnificent rose window of the Martyrs. A half-dozen faithful stretched down the aisle. Twenty minutes remained until the Sacrament of Reconciliation closed up at five. Plenty of time to bare her soul and grab two-for-one drinks.

Sophie felt conspicuous in her new dress, costumed for dancing, not reflection. While the flowery print on the knee-length white cotton dress was arguably winsome, the dip at her neckline could raise the dead. And Sophie had plenty to reveal. Fortunately, her long blonde curls offered a shielding curtain, provided her eyes remained solemnly downcast.

While looking up at the stained glass depiction of Christ the shepherd seeking his lost sheep, the door opened to the left confessional and a frail woman in black hobbled out, coughing into a handkerchief. Sophie looked around. No one else was behind her so she entered, sat on the narrow hardwood bench, and secured the door. She made the Sign of the Cross. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been three months since my last confession.”

“Welcome my child,” said an unfamiliar but warm, tenor voice. “Place your trust in God with all your heart, mind, and spirit.”

After a pause to collect her thoughts and weigh the amount of detail to reveal, Sophie opted for the “lite” version. “You sound new here, Father. Welcome.”

“Thank you. Two months now. How can God help you today?”

She giggled, uncomfortable. “Oh, this is always so embarrassing. So, I’m single and…well, I don’t want to be tied down to anyone yet so…I’ve been kind of…busy. You know?”

“Go on,” the priest urged gently.

“Okay. Here goes. In the last three months I’ve slept with twelve guys…men.” She took a quick breath. “And three women.” A thud on the other side of the screen startled her. “Are you all right, Father?”

“Yes, forgive me. My bible, it fell. Please, please continue.”

After a sanitized accounting of her exploits, she quickly tried to conclude the ordeal. “I know I’ve been staying out too much, drinking too much.” She blushed again. “Everything too much.” She waited for a response. When none came she filled the gaping void. “Father, I can’t seem to stop. But part of me doesn’t want to.” She let out a long breath, relieved. “Pretty bad, huh?”

A lengthy quiet ensued. This time she let it go. At last, the priest spoke. “These are dangerous times for you, my child. Our world teams with great temptations. You need to allow the Lord’s mighty hand to guide you.”

Sophie nodded. “Yes, sir, you’re right. Thank you. Maybe I’ll talk to someone.”

Father Flynn assigned her a penance of three ‘Our Fathers’ Betturkey and four ‘Hail Mary’s.’ After Sophie recited the Act of Contrition, he concluded the Sacrament. “I absolve you from your sins, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

She reached for the latch. “Thank you, Father.”

“Talk to me.”

Something in the priest’s tone stopped her cold. She checked her fashionably over-sized watch. “Now? But I have to meet my…”

“No, when you have time. Stop at the Rectory next door on your way out. Make an appointment.”

It couldn’t hurt to come in and talk, she thought. He seemed nice enough. “Okay, Father. I’ll swing by. Thanks.”

***

Father Flynn took in the surprised expression on Sophie’s face when he came out of his office in the Rectory. “Hello, Sophie.” He saw that she recognized his voice. Excellent.

“How did you get here so fast?” she said interrupting her notation for their appointment in her phone.

“The old masters thoughtfully provided an underground route. Wonderful in the winter.” They exchanged smiles. “Do you have a minute?”

Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Well, I really don’t. My friends are waiting for me.”

“It’s important.” Father Flynn let his features soften. At nearly sixty, his widened eyes and tilted head looked welcoming, grandfatherly.

How could she say no? “A minute, I guess.”

Sophie tucked her phone in her handbag and followed him into his office. He motioned for her to sit at a small round table off to one side of his massive oak desk and closed the door. Feigning an afterthought, he opened the door again. “That’ll be all, Mrs. Larsson,” he said to the receptionist. “Have a good evening. Thank you and God bless.”

He closed the door again and sat on the other side of the table. With hands folded, Father Flynn studied her until she began to fidget. “I’m quite concerned,” he said simply.

Sophie’s eyebrows lifted. “About…?”

“If I may be frank, I’m concerned about your behavior.”

Her gaze shifted quickly to the floor.

“Tonight,” he said calmly. “I know your plans.”

“How could you? I don’t even know.”

“God knows.” He said evenly, then folded his arms. “My dear, you’re on a path to destruction.”

Sophie folded her arms too. “That’s a bit extreme.”

Father Flynn admired her spunk. He relished a challenge. “You said yourself you aren’t able to stop.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Well yeah, but I was half-joking.”

“It’s the other half that concerns me.” He reached across the table and grabbed her elbow. His sudden movement knocked a pile of books to the floor.

Sophie jumped. “What are you doing?”

The priest rose and moved beside her, firming his grip on her arm. “Do you believe in God?”

“Of course, Father. I’m baptized, confirmed, go to communion. Hey, you’re hurting me.”

He brought her to her feet and looked at her squarely. “But do you believe?”

“I…” She turned away.

He raised her chin until their eyes met again. His heart pounded. He said gently, “I can see you walk a fine line. You’re hovering over the abyss.” She looked away again. He seized the moment and grabbed her wrist. “I’m going to pull you back.” Then he sat on her chair, Betturkey Giriş glanced briefly at the horrified look on her face, and pulled her over his lap.

“Oh, my God,” she shrieked.

He brought his palm down hard over the taught fabric on her upturned bottom. “This is for your own good.” He spanked her several more times and she tried to wiggle off his lap. “Young lady, I suggest you focus your energy on why you are in this predicament in the first place. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished.”

She stopped moving and became quiet. He could hear her rapid breathing, felt her heaving torso against his thighs. The look on her face, he imagined, was glaring fury. Father Flynn smoothed Sophie’s cotton dress over her cheeks and flattened the fabric down her thighs. His heart beat as if trying to break through a locked door. He realized with a start his mind was drifting. He had a job to do. The priest raised his hand and set to it.

“No, stop!” Sophie wailed as his hand danced across her bottom. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

He pushed down her legs when they began to kick up. “I’m not interested in empty words. Now keep still.” After another stinging round, her hand flew back and fanned lamely. “That does it,” he said. “You’re behaving like a child. It’s a bare bottom spanking for you!”

Amid a shower of howls and protests, he managed with some effort to raise the tight hem to her waist. He nearly gasped when he saw the pink blush on her plump cheeks, barely covered by black cotton panties with several lines of glittery silver text across her two summits: “If found, please return to:.” Beneath that, in practiced, silver cursive, he read Sophie’s name and phone number underneath.

Father Flynn stared in disbelief. “Disgraceful,” he said as he shook his head.

He had yet to land another blow, yet she wiggled and kicked desperately. His powerful arm across her back kept her pinned and at his mercy. Admittedly, the sight of Sophie’s flexing muscles and scrambling legs had the man entranced. Familiar urges tugged throughout his being. Wanting the moment to freeze, he wished he could step into a time capsule and follow a different path, just this once.

No. That would bring him down to her level. A simple, wild lamb in the flock. He was above all that, a good shepherd.

Wasn’t he?

With renewed vigor, his thick fingers gripped her waistband and pulled down her panties. He thought he heard a sniffle in the breathless silence when he raised his hand high. As the Lord’s servant, he brought forth His mighty hand across the creamy pale and rose-hued canvas stretched before him. Good would prevail.

In measured cadence, each strike left an impression and induced an increasingly distressed response. Father Flynn’s broad hand bridged both Sophie’s cheeks, just above her thighs, each spank lurching her forward. He could hear she was crying. Her fight had ebbed and now “took it.” It seemed she had learned her lesson.

He ceased her spanking and stroked her back. After a while, the priest leaned down and said softly, “Do you promise to behave, young lady?”

She swiped her nose and sniffled. Oddly, her body went suddenly limp until her golden curls pooled on the carpet. Then her bright pink bottom and outstretched legs tightened. Father Flynn barely heard her muffled voice.

“Spank me harder.”

***

She couldn’t believe the words had tumbled from her mouth. Her bottom was already on fire. Now it felt like a hail storm of lava, pins, and cayenne pepper. “Spank me harder.” What was she thinking? The old priest spanked her so fast the pain blurred. He was possessed.

In fact, all her senses blurred, which surprised her. Tears streamed from her eyes, her stuffed up nose suffered a chronic drip, her voice felt threadbare from crying, and his grunts of exertion fused with the echoes of his hand striking her by now crimson flesh. And she was barely aware of any of it.

Sophie knew why she was crying. It wasn’t from the sting. Not entirely. She needed this. She had successfully left the home-nest for college but hadn’t done so well at navigating her new freedom. Feeling lost, Sophie missed the guidance of her parents, as much as it drove her crazy. At the end of each day, at least, she had a fresh reminder that someone truly cared; whether it was a sharply spoken reprimand or the rare sharp smack of a hand.

Not that her friends didn’t care, but they were in the same place as she. They were all wandering souls trying to find something to call their own, something to believe in, to take hold of and build a life. Here, under the stinging palm of Father Flynn, or maybe it was indeed the Lord’s, she felt grounded again. Yes, she did need to feel loved. And, holy mother, did she feel it now.

That’s when she realized he had stopped. For how long she did not know. His warm handed rubbed her sore bottom. So tender. She started to cry again.

“There, there, my child,” she heard from far away. “You’ll be all right.”

Maybe. Probably. At the moment, though, Sophie felt utterly baffled. As awkward and humiliating as this whole episode had played out, she didn’t want it to stop. How could she find this emotional comfort on her own? Was it from somewhere inside her? Or from another?

Suddenly, she felt both his hands at her sides. They tightened around her hips. Her pulse sped up. What…next?

“Okay, Sophie. You better get up now.”

***

Father Flynn helped her stand. He watched her reach to her knees and pull up her panties. Her blonde curtain of ringlets covered her face but he caught glimpses of her bright blue eyes. She was watching him.

Sophie lowered the hem of her dress and smoothed it out all around, then adjusted the low neckline and pushed the side of one breast to center her cleavage.

An involuntary gasp escaped him.

She looked up with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry.”

Father Flynn cleared his throat. “Your friends are waiting. Yes?”

She nodded. “They are.” Sophie took her purse in hand. “But you know what? I think they can wait a little longer. I’d like to go back to the sanctuary and sit for a while.” She reached back and rubbed her bottom. “Or maybe I’ll kneel.”

He cracked a smile. She really was a sweet girl. Out of habit, he spread his arms, and she came to him, huddled in close. It felt wonderful. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her soft curls. “Be good,” he said and gave her a warm squeeze.

“Thank you, Father,” she croaked.

Father Flynn watched the gentle sway of her hips as Sophie left his office, crossed the reception, then left there too. Yes, much to think about. “Perhaps I should have a sit as well,” he said to the painting on the wall of St. Mary Magdalen. He opened a concealed door in the dark walnut wall panels and disappeared.

THE END

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