Bless Me, Father

"Mother," she pleaded into the phone, "I need to know something. It's important."

There was a hesitation on the other end. Finally, a cautious 'Yes?' was uttered from the opposite side.

"Who was my father," she blurted out, knowing that she would receive no answer. She had asked before.

"I can't tell you," was all she said.

"Can you at least tell me something about him?" her daughter insisted.

"Dear," her mother replied, "It would do you no good. You have to believe me."

"Then can you tell me at least why you never married?"

Again the silence.

"We were young, high school sweethearts," she spoke, finally breaking the silence, "Reckless and free. But he had a calling, and I couldn't be a part of it. I never told him I was pregnant, and he followed that calling."

Her voice quivered with the final words, and with a simple 'Goodbye,' the phone went dead.

"So that was it," she thought to herself as she wondered, half-conscious, back to her cell. "He is my father!"

Chapter Six

Sister Eulalia knelt for hours in the old stone chapel of the convent waiting for her confession to be heard. The other sisters filed one by one into the confessional. What sins were being confessed, Eulalia wondered, in that cubicle from which words never escaped. Sister Therese was overweight, despite one unsuccessful diet after another. Was it the sin of gluttony she confessed? Or was it vanity? Sister Frances was always late, oversleeping most mornings, running into the chapel as the first matins were being recited. Sloth? Sister Bernice was different from the others. When she woke Eulalia from her nightmares, she would linger, her eyes feasting upon her body. Lust? Abomination?

One by one they were absolved of their sins. One by one they left the chapel, resolved to try again, destined to fail. For all... all were shackled in the bonds of original sin. For all the time spent in the confessional, she felt the refining fires of hell were just below her feet.

Finally, the chapel was empty. It was her turn. She had been struggling for days, trying to decide how she would handle the realization that it was not only her spiritual father to whom she was confessing, but also her carnal father. Her knees seemed frozen to the ground, for she never used a kneeler, and they had become callused from her hours at prayer.

She heard an 'ahem' issue from the confessional, calling her to penance. Slowly she rose and entered the tiny cubicle. She knelt, facing a small and only slightly opaque screen separating her from her confessor. She eyed his profile, taking in the reality. He was called to the priesthood, and her mother sacrificed herself so that he could fulfill that calling. But the sins of the fathers are indelible. And are visited upon the daughters.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she whispered, fraught with double meanings. She paused, not sure what to say next.

"Yes, my child?" he replied, urging her gently onward.

This was like one of her dreams, but there was no waking from the words she was about to utter.

"Father," she confessed, "I wallow in sin too horrific to express in words. Every minute of my consciousness, waking or sleeping, I am obsessed with only one thought."

"And what is the thought that could so trouble a mere child such as yourself, Eulie?"

Father Lars had a way of disarming a person, making the sins of this world seem trivial and easy to overcome with penance and prayer. Even the use of a spiritual nickname seemed to endear himself to her. But she had to say what was on her mind, however distasteful it might appear. Otherwise if she were to die tomorrow, she would be consumed for eternity in a crucible of refining fire.

"Father, I lust in the flesh. I pray, but my prayers are to the devil within, a devil that burns in my womb with a fire unquenchable. I do not wish to expel him, for the fire is exquisite and its extinguishment even more so."

Father Lars was taken aback by this frankness which he was not expecting from a nun who was known about the convent as a paragon of sacrifice and consequent holiness, but he realized that the devil always lurked just beneath the surface.

It was at that moment his battle with the devil commenced, and the battleground was Sister Eulalia... Eulie.

"Can I ask you a question, Father?"

"Certainly, my child."

"Are you not a sinner, Father?"

"All are sinners, Eulie... all."

"And how do you quench the fire? Can you compute the number of fires that wrest your mind from holiness toward the lustful rumblings in your groin?"

Father Lars thought for a few moments before answering. Was this a test? He was taken aback by the sister's use of the word 'compute' in her question. If he gave the standard answer, to drive such unholy thoughts from her mind, he would not be answering her question, sounding as though he was skirting her inquiry. If he said that he drove those same thoughts from his mind through prayer, he would then be uttering a lie, which was itself a sin, one of the worst, as he was in the sanctity of the confessional.

"Who was this girl?" he thought, who could see through him so easily, teasing his soul to unabashed honesty. Should he tell her how he truly coaxed the fire out of his groin, or should he toe the line of the Catholic Church, away from such disturbing and sinful inquiries? He decided only the truth could truly free his soul.

"Eulie," he whispered, "We are in God's holy house, in a confessional from which no words escape, and no secrets are revealed. I have to know that you will respect that."

"I shall, Father," she tentatively replied.

"Two truths must be uttered here this day, in this place. I will answer your question, then you must confess to me the object of your lust. There will be no prevaricating once the exchange has begun. You must swear to me by our Lord and Savior that you will honor this exchange."

Eulalia knew that she was unleashing the devil himself by her promise, but there was no turning back.

"Yes, Father," she whispered, soft as the dew that from heaven falls.

"I am but a man, tempted by all the sins of the flesh. As I have sworn not to touch another, I cast my eyes upon those who recklessly show themselves in the flesh to others. I pray for their salvation as I commit myself to a self-consummation prompted through their sins."

"I've seen you in my dreams, Father," she interjected, "Last night you witnessed the defloration of a child but eighteen years of age. Tell me, Father, in her professional capacity... did she sacrifice her hymen to the other professional, who performed the act not for her, but for the money? If not, were you not then the responsible agent of her defloration?"

She watched as he puzzled over her words for quite a while. In the hallway beyond the chapel, periodic footsteps could be heard to pass. Otherwise they were in a world removed from the rest of the convent.

"What do you want of me, child?" he broke through the impassive silent wall.

"To answer that," replied Eulalia, "I must fulfill my part of the agreement. You asked me to confess the object of my lust, my obsession, my over-powering fire."

She hesitated for a few seconds, still trying to fathom if this was the right moment, then finally surrendered her will to the truth.

"My father! He... you... are the object!"

Chapter Seven

Her last words echoed against the stone walls of the chapel. Father Lars sat, frozen by the revelation. The devil had come to his door. He wondered how Sister Eulalia knew of his masturbation of the evening before, even to the video he was watching. As he was in the throes of his orgasm, he heard her screaming down the hallway of the other wing, and when he opened his eyes, the girl in the video was Eulalia. He quickly pulled the plug and closed his eyes to calm his brain, and his penis, before going to bed. He would not attend to the nun who had screamed in her sleep. That was the business of the convent. But he couldn't sleep that night.

And now, the revelation that he was desired in the flesh by the holy sister. This could not be. Besides the fact that she was half his age, which would be scandalous outside of holy orders, the addition of the cloth made it impossible. His body began to warm to the suggestion though, as his favorite fantasies on the computer screen always involved a young and nubile girl half his age.

He hurried through the halls toward his room, anxious to get out of sight and behind the privacy of his locked door before the erection beneath his robe began to show. Inside his room he pulled off his cassock to reveal a stiffened member, straining to be manipulated by its owner. Every face of every young sister and novitiate in the convent appeared before his eyes, wanting to help relieve him of his sinful stiffness. He was only minutes stroking it to an orgasm which ejected itself with such a force, it could be heard as it blasted the bottom of the computer desk, dripping like creamy stalactites onto the floor and his lower legs.

His body soon relaxed and began to recover from its highly agitated state. His thinking became clearer as he began to clean up his mess. He had to stop doing this, but the flesh was weak, weak beyond his capacity to control. His guilt was almost unbearable, thinking that he was the spiritual pastor of those very nuns whose images raced through his brain while masturbating. The last image, still imprinted on his mental retina, was that of Eulalia. He could not erase her, her voice running through his mind continuously.

"Father, I lust in the flesh," she had said to him, inviting him to partake of her 'fire unquenchable.'

Sister Eulalia walked softly through the corridors to her room, passing Sister Bernice's room on the way. Sister Bernice was slender and small, much like Eulalia, except for the fact that she had not taken her final vows. She was a recently arrived novitiate, eighteen years of age, and was a true beauty in her fresh nubility. She had often aided Eulalia, waking her in the morning from her naked unconsciousness on the stone floor, and sometimes tying her to the rafter before locking the door on the way out. She had a key to Eulalia's room for that purpose and was trusted to look after this strange and troubled soul who invited mortification upon herself.

Propped against the wall of Eulalia's cell was a saltire, like the cross that the young Eulalia was fastened upon in ancient times. She was desperate to drive the sinful fire from her womb. She looked penetratingly at Bernice.

"Tie me to the cross?" she implored the young novitiate.

Stepping upon a chair so she could reach, Bernice pulled several coils of hemp rope from the rafter of the cell. This was out of the ordinary, she realized, as Eulalia only suspended herself during her menstrual flow, which was only a week past. She looked at her sister in Christ as her tunic slipped from her shoulders and to the ground, leaving her naked, her small nipples hardening in the cold mortifying atmosphere of the stone cell.

Eulalia stepped upon the footrests at the bottom of the saltire, her legs spread apart to match the bottom half of the x-shaped cross upon which she intended to drive out her fire through self-mortification. Bernice tied her ankles firm and tight so there would be no slipping when her muscles gave out in the night, refusing to hold her up anymore. Then her wrists were tied to the upper arms of the cross.

As Bernice was tying her feet, she could feel upon her shoulder, even through her tunic, the heat emanating from Eulalia's vulva. And as she tied her wrists, the hard nipples brushed against her elbows repeatedly. Her crucified friend was exceedingly beautiful and sensual in her sacrifice and self-immolation.

Chapter Eight

Bernice walked to the door of the cell, which she usually locked behind her as she returned to her cell, but at the door she hesitated. It clicked shut with its familiar sound.

After a few minutes, Eulalia opened her eyes. The room was dim as night wore on, but she felt she was not alone. Through the failing light she saw a figure by the door. It was Sister Bernice, unclothed, nude, and seething with a desire that she could not bury beneath the nun's habit of the convent.

She slowly walked through the darkness toward the saltire upon which the sacrificial lamb was suspended. Time slowed to indistinguishable increments as she gently touched her lips to Eulalia's nipples, hard as pebbles. She drew them one by one into the warmth of her mouth, making them soft and pliant. Eulalia closed her eyes and uttered not a sound. Instead she prayed to God to help her accept the sacrifice from which she could not, of her own accord, be delivered.

"Thy will be done," she whispered in barely audible tones.

Bernice, with her warm caressing tongue, played with Eulalia's nipples for what seemed a blessed eternity, sending trembling shivers throughout her body. She could only surrender to the sensations engulfing her, as she was wholly immobilized and defenseless against them. At any moment, with but a word, she knew she could put an end to the sweet torture, but her fire within only burned hotter, and sought a continuance of all that fed its flames.

From her small rounded mounds, tipped with their crowning nipples, Bernice descended to ribs that stood out against the oft-mortified flesh like ridges on a washboard, radiating with tickling sensations that travelled up and down her frame; downward to her quivering thighs and ending in the soles of her bare feet, and upwards to her neck, making the hairs on the nape stand up and tingle.

Arriving at her navel, Bernice thrust her now hot tongue into its opening, filling it with a pool of warm saliva that dribbled downward into the pubic hairs beneath, firing the already scorching womb to an almost unbearable abandon. Eulalia's breathing began to grow heavy, sometimes with an almost inhuman effort to take in enough oxygen to cope with the furnace that so quickly exhausted its supply, needing ever more air to sustain its passion.

Sister Bernice mounted the small step stool and pressed her naked flesh against Eulalia's. Their flesh melted together in the flames that they both felt, refining their precious elements, making a new hybrid substance through a combination of the two. Bernice gently kissed her hands, now cold from the cords that restricted the flow of blood to the fingertips and palms, palms that could not caress the angelic form before her.

A small trickle of blood flowed from the palm of the first hand, then the second. As the unrestricted angel slid her moist tongue down her arm and to her waist, the trickle became a flow and followed the path she blazed downward to her feet. She kissed the precious feet also, cold with blood uncirculating, from which the sacrificial fluid also began to flow. The streams of scarlet meandered down her body and formed a pool on the stone floor.

The crucified and bleeding lamb closed her eyes in sacrificial ecstasy. If this was what it was like to be a martyr for Christ... oh! Heavenly death. She would die a thousand times! What heaven could be sweeter than this? What ultimate sacrifice could be more exquisite? Her answer was soon felt between her soft and virgin thighs.

Bernice buried her face between those angelic quivering thighs as, with her hungering mouth, she consumed the juices that had dribbled from the spring between. Eulalia felt her tongue, like a lapping flame that licked and danced around the center of her being. She became the saltire, upon which all her sensual lusts and desires were concentrated at its center. Bernice knew only too well where that nexus could be discovered. The clitoris of the angel suspended before her swelled and responded to her tongue, returning fire for fire.

The energy emitted from that angelic nexus flowed outward to her extremities as the ministering angel unremittingly supped at its source. The furnace within began to burn with an all-consuming conflagration of flesh and blood... spirit and soul.

Suddenly Eulalia was possessed by throes of indecision. Who possessed her? Christ, or the devil? It was too late now to turn back. Her soul could be divvied out between the two on judgment day. For now... surrender!

A great pressure invested the atmosphere of the stone cell wherein the two plied their holy games. Eulalia was seized by a force far beyond her abilities to control. Her entire body stiffened and froze upon the cross that held her, predestined to suffer the ministrations of the angel between her thighs. It was not a matter of choice or consequence. It was a total giving over to the powers that sought to possess her small and fragile form.

The saltire began to shake and tremble, as the crucified angel was brought to the climax of her sacrifice, a mighty trembling possessing her frame, exerting a pressure that stopped her breath and suspended her vital functions. From her womb issued an electric pulse that, had she not been tied inexorably to the cross, she would have curled up in a fetal position and begged it to stop.

But she couldn't beg it to stop. Bernice was unremitting still, and her trembling became a terrific quake that made the entire room seem to shake at its foundation. The cords tied about her wrists and ankles seemed to spread rapidly, like vines encompassing her naked torso, tightening and suffocating, until her bladder burst in a torrent of urine, drenching Bernice in a shower of orgasmic fluid, mixing with the blood that now flowed like fountains.

This went on for minutes without cease. Eulalia thought she would expire, and die a martyr's death upon the cross that held her suspended in her endless orgasm. But the waves began to fade and pass, leaving her breathing, gasping, thirsting for air.

Finally her head fell limp upon her shoulder, eyes closed, breasts heaving.

"It is finished!" were her final words.

Chapter Nine

Sister Eulalia woke to the furious pounding of Bernice's fist upon the door.

"Eulalia! Eulalia!" she kept calling.

Eulalia was naked and tied to the saltire. She must have been there all night, for the most part hanging limp and lifeless. She had pissed herself while unconscious, a pool of urine on the stones beneath her crotch. The urine that had run down her leg was causing one of her ankles, rubbed raw and bleeding from the tight cords, to sting. Her feet and hands were purple from the lack of circulation, causing the extremities to be numb and unfeeling to the cords that had rubbed away significant amounts of skin, causing them to bleed down her arms and sides.

"Eulalia!" the voice and pounding continued.

Finally she heard a man's voice, instructing Sister Bernice to stand back. In the momentary silence she closed her blurry eyes and drifted off into numbing sleep, until she was startled awake again by a splintering crash as Father Lars forced the door with his shoulder.

"Holy Mother of God!" the incredulous whisper rose from the Father's throat.

"I'm sorry, Father," shouted Bernice, "I accidentally locked the key inside and couldn't get back in!" There were frightened and concerned tears in her eyes.

He quickly untied her wrists while Bernice untied her ankles, and he wrapped her in a warm blanket and laid her on the bed.

"More warm blankets," he cried, "and warm water with some sponges... quickly!"

Bernice ran from the room, past several nuns who had gathered in the hallway upon hearing the crashing door. The Mother Superior arrived and offered to take over from Father Lars, but he would have none of it. In fact, his fury was rising from deep in his gut until he could hold it no more.

"Is this the kind of convent you run?" he shouted. "This is barbaric and medieval. Look at this poor child. Get out!"