Blackmail Confessional Ch. 01

The rain beat a muted hymn upon the stained glass windows of the church, its solemn rhythm echoing eerily around the almost empty chambers. A lone figure, dressed in a long, grey trench coat and hood, made its way down the wide aisle between the pews, marble flooring clicking in time with the rain beneath a pair of black stiletto heels.

Miriam Widows kept her chestnut-colored eyes downcast as she reached a delicate fist out to announce her presence at the Priest's chambers. The intricately carved door swung open to absolute darkness, a mute invitation. Hugging the woolen coat tighter about her shoulders she leaned forward, her feet uncooperatively remaining on the far side of the threshold.

A deep voice resonated from the darkness, "Enter."

Heel-clad feet obeyed and carried the small woman forward, muffled now as they transitioned from stone to plush carpeting. Miriam's mind conjured up a picture of the offices. The dark woods and emerald green accents hidden in the darkness were accented by a deep burgundy carpet in a loose pile that beckoned the knees of many worshipers. There would be a large presidents-style desk in the middle of the room, accompanied by a leather wing-back chair. Behind the desk were shelves and shelves of bibles, hymns, and religious pamphlets. Miriam stopped in the center of the room, facing the direction of the desk as she waited. Yes, she thought, this was a room which commanded subservience. This was a masculine room.

The voice returned, bouncing around the chamber so that Miriam was unsure where the speaker was. She could see him though, in her mind's eye, sitting tall and proud behind that desk, his long fingers steepled atop an aged copy of the Holy Bible. "Did you do as I asked?"

Miriam's voice was sweet, hesitant, "Yes."

A light flickered on, illuminating the space in which Miriam stood, and she could see that her mental image of the speaker was correct. Priest Michaels sat tall and stiff in his wing-backed chair, wearing the collar of his calling beneath ebony waves and looking down at the young lady with disdain clearly showing on his face. His hands were indeed angled above the Bible and Miriam let her eyes rest on the many heavy rings that adorned his fingers. She waited, trembling, as the powerful man raked his strikingly blue eyes down her body.

"Remove your coat... and the hood."

Miriam nodded, flicking her eyes up to meet his before quickly dropping to the floor again. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on the coat, carefully undoing each one without parting the folds of the fabric. When the last buttons were released from their holes she closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. She had to do this.

The heavy wool folded upon itself in a pool around her stilettos. Priest Michaels' mouth twitched up at the corner as another part of his body twitched in response to the sight of the now-naked woman standing before him. She released her hood and piles of auburn hair tumbled about her ivory shoulders, dragging those intelligent blue eyes downward, towards the pink tips of her firm breasts and across the flat expanse of stomach to where another set of curls nestled between her thighs.

Miriam's body flushed under such intense scrutiny and she waited silently, chest heaving, for further commands. Priest Michaels made her wait, inspecting every inch of smooth flesh before him and then twirling one finger around so that he could admire the backside of the nervous woman in front of him before he spoke. "Ms. Widows, do you know why you are here?"

Miriam nodded, feeling the flush burn deeper as she spoke, "Yes Father Michaels."

One dark eyebrow arched upward, "Say it."

"I am here to serve punishment for my sins, so that I may be forgiven of them and may learn to better serve the Lord, our Father."

Father Michaels nodded, a brief flash of excitement passing over his face, "What are your sins?"

Miriam shook like the prey she was, her eyes darting about the room as she responded, "Vanity, prudishness, provocation. I am a tease, Father."

The priest stood up behind his desk, his broad frame towering over the small woman as he slowly stalked toward her. He circled around the woman, coming up behind her petite frame and leaning forward to inhale her sweet scent. His breath was hot and threatening upon her neck, "And..."

Miriam gulped, her body shivering in awareness of the male behind her even as her mind cursed him for trapping her like this, "And...and for lying about my sins in the house of God."

SMACK!

Miriam's body jerked forward and away from the stinging blow even as Father Michaels pulled back to deliver a second one. She tried to run from the pain, crying out each time his palm struck her round cheeks, but the Priest wrapped his other hand around her upper arm and held her tight, his deep voice rising above her cries and the sounds of punished flesh.

"You deserve this, Ms. Widows. You have proudly flaunted your God-given assets like a whore while behaving all the while like a nun. You cannot have it both ways Ms. Widows, and I think we both know which path you have chosen."

Miriam's flesh was hot and red beneath his hands and she tugged wildly against him trying to escape the spanking, her pleas falling on deaf ears. "No. Please, stop it. I'll be a good girl. I'll be good, please! I'm sorry Father, I'm sorry!"

Father Michaels continued his punishment, enjoying the sting of his hand each time he met her flesh. He could feel himself straining against his black trousers as he methodically reddened the buttocks of the writhing woman. Soon, he thought, she would be writhing in a much different way.

"You are a whore, Ms. Widows. A common whore who needs to be taught her place in the Lord's kingdom. Say it."

Miriam shook her head wildly, tears burning paths down her aristocratic cheeks as she denied his claims, "No! No, I'm not. Please, ow...please! I'm not a whore. I'm not!"

The spanking stopped abruptly and Father Michaels dragged the panting woman to the desk, tossing her over it so that her legs dangled off the edge and her breasts and stomach were pressed up against the cold wooden top. Ignoring her pleas and denials he pinned her to the desk top with a hand and cruelly thrust the fingers of his other hand into her snatch, satisfying himself with the hot moisture he found oozing there.

His voice was victorious, "Aren't you Ms. Widows?" He removed his fingers from her clutching flesh and leaned over the body, pressing his hardness against her even as he shoved his fingers into her face, rubbing them across her cheeks as he continued, "Only whores get wet from punishment. You are a whore, Miriam. Nothing more than a common cum-slut whose only purpose on this planet is as a receptacle for the Lord's most holy gift to man."

Miriam cried out, her face burning in shame as her mind fought against the possibility that her body had betrayed her. She shook her head, inhaling the sweet scent of arousal left on her cheeks as the fingers were removed from her face. "No."

Father Michaels shoved his fingers back into her moist center, strumming the supple flesh he found there, he raised his other hand up and prepared to strike, "You're so wet, Miriam, just like a whore, you thrive on punishment. Your body knows you deserve it. Say it, Ms. Widows, tell me what you are."

Miriam closed her eyes, unable to look at the enigmatic man forcing himself on her even as her body responded to his none-too-careful administrations. She arched her back, crying out a little as the soft pads of his fingers brushed over her G-spot. Inside she was at war, her mind telling her that this was wrong, telling her to be ashamed of herself, her body behaving the way Father Michaels wanted her to. "No! No, I'm....ahhh..."

Father Michaels brought down his hand, delivering a fast strike to her right cheek before pulling back. He curled his fingers inside of her as he felt the tremor from the blow travel through her, felt her muscles clench in orgasmic joy even as her cries grew louder. He smacked her again, enjoying her now thrashing body as it arched toward his fingers with every thrust. "You had an orgasm, Miriam. Don't deny it; I felt the trembling of your flesh. Tell me what you are!"

Miriam dropped her head, her mind finally giving in to the endorphins released by the sexual act. Face burning she whimpered, her voice so quiet Father Michaels almost didn't hear her admonition, "I am a whore."

Father Michaels slowed his pumping, stroked her back with his other hand to soothe the punished flesh. "You are a whore. And what is your only purpose on this planet?"

Miriam gulped, burying her head against the Holy Bible as she mumbled, "T-to serve the Lord, our Father as a receptacle for his greatest gift to man."

Father Michaels removed his fingers from her clenching hole, quickly yanking the woman off of the desk and pushing her to her knees in front of him. His smile was wicked as he yanked open his trousers, "Then you'd better get started, cum-slut."

Miriam jerked her head back against the desk, pain shooting through it as Father Michaels' considerable penis leapt from his pants. She shook her head, raising her eyes to plead with the priest even as his fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her forward toward the monster. "Do it!"

Her lips parted ever so slightly, the tip of her tongue darting forward to meet the cock as it strained to get into her mouth. Tentatively she tasted him, closing her eyes tightly to separate her mind from the experience as she gently licked around the head of his cock. Without her realizing it, one of her hands raised up to grasp his girth, tugging on the hard flesh as she opened her mouth to suck him in. It wasn't so bad, she thought, suckling the sensitive head like a child might a breast, it didn't taste bad or hurt. It wasn't so bad.

Father Michaels tilted his hips forward, trying to force a little more into her warm, wet mouth as she handled his cock like a fragile thing. He bit back a groan as her tongue darted into the little slit at the tip, mentally congratulating himself on finding this one. When her gentle administrations became too much, too ticklish, he tightened his hold on her hair and fed her more of his cock, eager to get the whole length in.

Miriam's eyes shot open as the cock pressed deeper into her mouth, with her head against the desk she had nowhere to escape to and she simply tossed her head around in an attempt to escape as that thick, mushroom head pressed hard against her tonsils. Her hand tightened around his shaft, tugging in the opposite direction in a futile effort to stop the cock's progress into her throat.

Father Michaels reveled in the heat as he pressed forward, feeling her first gag rumble over his cock as he thrust against her tonsils. He thrust again and spoke harshly when her hand stopped him from entering her tight throat, "Relax whore. And drop your hand or I will smack you."

Miriam's hand released the pulsating meat and her eyes rolled backwards in her head as Father Michaels brutally thrust his entire length down her throat. She gagged and sputtered, her nostrils becoming tight slits as she attempted to breathe. Father Michaels watched her struggle, enjoying the spasms that alternatively tightened and loosened her throat. When he judged she was about ready to pass out he pulled back, leaving just the tip of his penis in her mouth.

"It is your duty to serve cock, to pleasure it until it delivers God's gift to your stomach. You have no say in how I use you, if I wish for you to deep-throat me, you will. And every time I pull out you will eagerly lap at the underside of my cock with your tongue. To please me." He thrust in, "Do you understand whore?" She nodded and he pulled out, groaning as her tongue stroked the sensitive underside of his cock.

He repeated this slow build up for a while, enjoying the boiling sensation in his balls as he took the prude's mouth. She had never expected a Priest to use the confessional for his own purposes when she had gone in to repent. Had never expected to come across a Priest who would study his target and successfully obtain evidence of an indiscretion with which he could blackmail her. She hadn't expected Michaels to be as brutal, as commanding, as intimidating in his approach as he had been. The Priest thrust agressively against her throat, using her mouth as he would later use her pussy, his gift bubbling up inside his balls, pressure building for release. Father Michaels reveled in the painted nails scratching brutally at his pant-clad thighs as he buried himself in to the hilt. Yes, he thought as his cum rampaged up and out of his twitching cock, she hadn't expected it from him.

His voice was just as harsh and cold as it had been the whole time as he issued a final command, "Swallow it."