Invisible Girl - An Erotic Romance Pt. 08

She walked into the workshop area and--oh, sweet Mother of God, there it was: the sawhorse. She stopped, staring. It looked as if it hadn't been touched since...since... The blanket was still folded over the crossbar. And there were the ropes, piled carelessly on the workbench!

Ohhhh.... She closed her eyes as she felt her breath beginning to quicken and a warmth begin to spread through her, making her knees feel like rubber. Yes, she would be purified again! She would be free of sin and filled with light like an angel!

But what was she doing? Father Brian would be here any moment! She had to make herself ready!

She stood facing the basement door--tense, waiting. Waiting...she had already waited so long, why were these last few moments such an eternity? She felt such a yearning, a desperation almost, for the peace she had once known. Deliver me from evil, she prayed.

At long last she heard a car approaching. She put on the sleep-mask, barely noticing that it was damp with sweat from being clutched in her hand. She carefully pulled her hair free of the elastic and arranged it as best she could with her fingers.

She waited, listening as the car approached, stopped and fell silent. She heard a car door slam. Footsteps on the porch. A door opened and closed. More footsteps, drawing closer. The door at the top of the stairs opening. And finally a heavy tread on the stairs themselves: Father Brian, coming down and down towards her.

She began to shake. And when she heard the door at the bottom of the stairs swing open she fell to her knees, arms spread beseechingly. She tried to speak clearly but couldn't stop herself from stuttering a little as she said, "I s-submit myself to you for...for judgment and p-punishment."

So focused was she on getting the words right that she failed to hear him gasp as he came in.

There was a long silence after she had spoken.

Finally she heard him say, "Uh, h-hello, um, my child." Another long pause. Then: "Tell me, why aren't you...um, why...why...are you naked?"

"To show hu-humility, Father--before you and before God."

As she spoke she felt the warmth again; felt it spreading through her entire body. Felt her heart open, ever so slightly. "God has shown me that I'm always naked before Him. That I can't hide anything from Him. He sees what's inside me. And that..." She felt her eyes begin to overflow beneath the mask, and she sat back on her heels and dropped her hands into her lap. "..Th-that's why I wanted to see you again." She took a sharp breath. "So that I can be purified in His sight." She let her head fall forward. "I need you to purify me, Father."

There was another silence.

Then to her shock she felt a hand--his hand--rest gently on her head and begin to caress her hair. It sent a thrill from her scalp down into the pit of her stomach, so that she almost failed to hear him reply, "No you don't, child. There's nothing wrong with you."

She started to shake her head in disagreement but stopped herself for fear he might take his hand away. She said, "But there is, Father! You don't know..."

"Yes I do," she heard him say gently. "You told me, remember?"

"But I..."

"No. Listen to me."

Chrissy heard him kneel down so that he was at her level and felt his other hand on her shoulder--she suppressed a shiver--as he continued to smooth and caress her hair. She felt the warmth inside her increase.

"You made some mistakes," she heard him continue, "--which you've already been punished for, and which you told me you were going to try to correct. Did you write to your teacher?"

"Y-yes, Father. But he never wrote back."

"That's not important. You tried."

Both of his hands were on her shoulders now and Chrissy was very much aware of how close he was to her--and of her own nakedness. She noticed distantly that his voice had become inconsistent, not always sounding entirely like Father Brian's as he went on, but she didn't care. His words were a balm to the pain in her heart. And his touch...

Then he said, "Now, as for this other business--the...uh, touching yourself and so forth, I think...

Shame boiled up through her, choking her. She jerked away from his grasp, bringing her head up suddenly as if to look at him through the sleep-mask and said, her voice tight, "I...I've tried to stop, really I have! But it...the need...comes back all by itself, it's like a demon inside me! Father, you have to help me get rid of it!"

The hands returned to her shoulders and shook her gently. She heard him say, "Cri--uh, child, listen to me. If you were...uh, daydreaming about someone other than a priest there would be no need for all of this. Wanting to...touch someone, and be touched by someone...um, the way you do, is something that everyone feels. It's a part of life. It's...uh, part of God's plan, and..."

"No, Father, it's not!" Chrissy whipped her head back and forth crazily. "It's fornication! It's a sin, a terrible sin! I need to be purified! Please--it's hurting me, it's killing me!"

And with that she reached out blindly and threw her arms around him, pressing herself to him, sobbing, her head resting at first on his shoulder then gradually sliding down his chest until it rested in his lap, where she continued to repeat the word "please" between sniffles and gasps for breath. She noted, dimly, that he was not wearing the robes of a priest--she had felt buttons on his shirt and could tell that the fabric against her cheek as she lay there was denim--but she refused to think about it. His hand was caressing her hair again and she wished she could just lie there forever.

After a while she heard him sigh, a long exhalation of breath. Then: "All right, child. As you wish."

He helped her to her feet and took her by the hand, but even so it suddenly seemed as if she no longer had a body. In the darkness created by the mask it seemed as if she had been reduced to her essence, floating there, the touch of his hand in hers a sensation as distant as the moon, the feel of her bare feet on the braided rug and then the concrete floor as he led her toward the workroom something totally unrelated to her.

Then she became aware of the air flowing over her skin like a cool liquid as she moved through it, and for a moment she simply enjoyed it. But it reminded her that she was naked--and alone with a man. But it was all right; he was a priest...wasn't he?

In the back of her mind there rose a sluggish uncertainty. It was Father Brian who had her by the hand, and he was about to help her become purified again. But wasn't there something about...Jane's friend? Didn't he have something to do with this? She had to remember!

She felt her hand being released, and then the sound of something heavy being placed on the floor in front of her. She reached down tentatively with one hand: the sawhorse. Then his hands, taking hers, leading her forward so that she straddled it. The hands gone again. Rope being tied around her left ankle. Then her right. But who was doing it?

"Who are you?" she whispered.

There was a sudden stillness in the room.

Then the familiar voice, saying, "I...I believe we've been introduced, child."

But Chrissy heard the uncertainty. She wanted desperately to tear off the mask and see who was there with her; she started to raise her hands. But...if it was Father Brian, then he would leave her--forever! She couldn't take that chance.

So when the voice asked her if she was all right and whether she wanted to continue she simply nodded and held out her arms. But as she was gently pulled forward and bent over the sawhorse and her wrists were being fastened her mind was spinning.

Who was it?

There was no speech this time about sin and punishment. No instructions about counting and apologizing. Just his voice behind her saying, "Last chance to change your mind, child--you're sure this is what you want?"

Her mind was saying, But what if...? But what if...? But the need was too strong now. She could feel it--all her sinfulness, all her wrongness--concentrated as a devilish heat in her loins. This was the only way. She took a deep breath through her mouth and let it out slowly as a single word, pleading.

"Yeeeesssssss."

And the first blow fell.

With the first snap of the rope across her buttocks Chrissy felt something shift within her. Even as she cried out the image that had so often come to her mind was there: the shadowy, faceless figure in a priest's robes standing over her as he wielded the scourge. But the image was blurry, and as the rope continued to punish her a new figure seemed to be taking shape there. Someone with a face. Each burning touch of the lash seemed to bring the image into clearer focus.

("There! Ye'll not be siccin' Father Brian on me, by God!")

Sweet Lord, she remembered now! Oh God! She was naked and tied down and being whipped by Jane's friend! He was standing behind her now, looking between her parted thighs as he raised the rope to strike her again!

She jerked as the sting of the rope sent another wave of pain through her, meeting and somehow joining with the fire in her loins.

She wanted to die of shame. Not a priest, but a boy, a boy she knew! A fornicator with that little whore! The shame of it! She had to stop him right now! Oh, Sweet Jesus, what was the phrase, what was she supposed to say to make him stop?

Another blow fell, this one across the back of her thighs, almost touching her...there!...and sending an arc of electricity racing up her spine, wiping all thought from her mind. What was it? What was it?

'In the name of God'. That was it! She knew how to make him stop! She opened her mouth to speak, but to her horror what came out, though barely a whisper, was:

"Harder..."

No! That wasn't what she meant to say! She tried to open her mouth again but nothing came out but a low groan. She heard a small sound...the rope dropping to the floor? Had he somehow understood her real intention and stopped? Was he going to untie her now?

The pain that suddenly bloomed across her buttocks completely dwarfed everything that preceded it, and made her arch her back and scream. His hand! He had struck her with his open hand! He had touched her nakedness!

He did it again. And again. Oh God, the shame! She screamed, and moaned, and screamed again but somehow could not force herself to even say 'Stop!', never mind the phrase that was actually supposed to work.

Now she was being struck by both of his hands, one after the other, and her body was betraying her, bucking and rising to meet each assault. The pain, the heat inside her, roiling together, building, just like before only so much more intense this time, why?

Because it's not a priest. Because it's a boy I know, who's tricked me into this. And yes, because of the shame of having him see my nakedness and lewdness while he strikes me across the buttocks with his bare hands. Because...Oh God, faster, yes! Because it's...

"AHHHHH! Sweet Jesus, forgive me, I...I'm...Oh! Oh, GOD! AHHHHHHH...! Nnnnn! Nnnn!....AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

...Peter, she breathed to herself, like the closing of a prayer.

To her own surprise she didn't pass out this time, even though the release she'd felt had been twice, many times more than the first time. She rested uncomfortably, her head turned sideways against the blanket as she gasped for breath, her legs trembling with exhaustion as they continued to hold her up at the hips, the flesh of her buttocks and upper thighs still burning.

She was aware of her bonds being loosened, one by one. A hand gently lifting the sweat-soaked hair away from her face and smoothing it behind her ear. A voice close to her ear saying, softly, "Enough of this now, child. You're a good girl." And then, incredibly, warm lips pressing tenderly against her temple for a moment, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating and then climbing the stairs.

He kissed me. Father Brian kissed me.

Then her mind cleared and she remembered.

No. There is no Father Brian. It was Jane's friend... Peter. Peter did this to me. Peter knows what I am.

The shame of it, she thought.

And felt herself smile. To show my humility...

As soon as she heard the sound of Peter's car starting she stood up--slowly, painfully--then climbed off the sawhorse and removed the mask. After blinking a few times to accustom herself to the light she walked to the other side of the basement, where she'd left her clothes. She looked at the pile of neatly folded garments on the couch, started to reach for her underwear...then stopped, her arm still extended.

After a moment she shook her head slowly, turned and began walking up the basement stairs, still carrying the sleep mask.

At the top of the stairs she hesitated momentarily, leaning out and glancing around, listening intently to make absolutely sure the house was empty. Then she stepped out into the kitchen and stood there.

On top of the glow she still felt from what had just happened in the basement she found it oddly exhilarating to be standing naked in the kitchen of the house where Jane and her family lived. There was something vaguely familiar about the experience but she couldn't figure out what it was.

She made a point of walking into every room and standing there for a while. She sat down on chairs, looked out of windows. She turned on the television in the living room and watched it for a moment, then turned it off again.

Naked in someone else's house! She had never done anything so wicked, and she didn't care. She went back into the kitchen, opened the freezer, took out a package of ice cream, opened drawers until she found a spoon and ate a few bites before returning the package to the freezer. She washed off the spoon and put it away.

Then she made her way upstairs. She went to Jane's parents' bedroom and replaced the mask where she had found it. As she turned to go she noticed the full-length mirror and stood before it.

Her face was streaked with make-up and tears and her hair was in wild disarray. She took some tissues from the bedside table and cleaned herself up as best she could, dropping the tissues in a wastebasket near the dressing table when she was done, then took a brush from the table and fixed her hair.

Then she stood looking at herself. Peter, a boy just her age, had seen her like this. And not just seen her...

She turned her back to the mirror and twisted her head around, straining to see.

There: buttocks and upper thighs angry red, with raised welts where the rope had struck and-Oh God-fading but still visible, the imprints of his hands! As if he had branded her with his touch!

She reached back and placed one of her hands gently over one of the outlines his had left. And shivered.

His hands on her naked body!

She turned to face the mirror again. Bent forward, legs apart, arms hanging down, imagining herself tied to the sawhorse again. Imagined Peter standing behind her, holding her gaze in the mirror as he raised his hand...

She gasped. Shameful!

She straightened quickly, and turned and left the room.

But he kissed me, she thought as she walked down the hall. He knows everything about me and he kissed me, said I was a good girl...

She started to walk past Jane's room then stopped.

("Do you like my new undies?")

("...And if you're not inside me in ten seconds you're the one who's going to get punished, buster!")

("There! Ye'll not be siccin' Father Brian on me, by God!")

She caught her breath as an image from that night flashed into her mind: Peter, standing in front of his car in the moonlight, pants around his knees, naked buttocks flexing as he...

Peter had fornicated with Jane and spanked her and done God knows what else. But it was Jane's fault--she had tempted him, the little whore.

Chrissy turned and went into Jane's room.

She stood, looking for a moment at the neatly made bed. Had they fornicated there? Had she lain there as she had on the car that night, and spread her legs for him and told him to...

She tore her gaze away. She had opened drawers in Jane's bureau while looking for the sleep mask and now she turned and pulled open the top drawer again.

("Do you like my new undies?")

The little whore's underwear drawer. Chrissy looked at the colorful jumble of lace and cotton and wondered what Jane had been wearing that night--what she had lifted her dress and shown to him. Black, she thought, spotting a brassiere in that color. That's what a whore would wear. She freed the bra from the tangle and looked at it, admiring in spite of herself the flowery design of the lace cups. Slowly, she held it up in front of her breasts and looked at herself in the mirror above the bureau.

She looked at herself for a long time.

Then she slipped her arms through the straps.

Her breasts were larger than Jane's and she held her breath as she struggled to fasten the clasp behind her back. She looked at herself again. Saw her breasts overflowing the too-tight brassiere, felt the pressure of its cups against them.

Shameful.

She rummaged around in the drawer until she found the panties that matched the brassiere and stepped into them, easing the elastic over her tender behind. Although tight, they fit reasonably well. But she couldn't see them in the mirror. She'd have to go back to the other room...wait.

She went over to Jane's closet, opened the door and began searching through the clothes hanging there.

No...no....there! That was the red dress Jane had been wearing that night, Chrissy was sure of it.

She tore it from its hanger and put it on, her fingers fumbling with the long row of white buttons in the front.

It was a terrible fit--Chrissy was much taller than Jane as well as bigger in the chest and hips--but she didn't care. She found the red sandals Jane had worn and found to her surprise that she could get them on her feet.

Then she left Jane's room and walked slowly down the hall to stand in front of the full-length mirror again. The dress was bunched up in places and had ridden up her hips as she'd walked. She straightened it as best she could, then looked at herself.

Then she reached down, grasped the hem of the dress on either side and raised it, slowly, tugging it up over her hips until the black lacy panties were fully exposed, watching herself all the while.

Staring into her own eyes she murmured, her lips barely moving.

"Do you like my new undies?"

She lowered the dress again. Then she began undoing the buttons that ran down the front. When they were all undone she held the dress open with both hands and looked at her reflection. Was this how Jane had done it, letting him see...everything?

Chrissy looked at herself--the red sandals, the long white legs, too-tight bra and lacy panties framed by the red fabric. Is this how the little whore seduced him? She pushed her breasts out more blatantly and spoke in a breathy whisper:

"Do you like my new undies...Peter?"

She pulled the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor behind her. "I'll bet you do," she cooed to the mirror. "I'll bet you like seeing me in my just my undies, don't you Peter. I'll bet you want to touch me...here." She reached up with both hands and lightly touched her fingertips to the cups of the brassiere. "Or here..." She reached down and stroked herself once, delicately, between her legs.

Then she did it again.

And again, more slowly.

"Oooo, you like touching me there, don't you...Peter." She started backing up towards the edge of the bed behind her. "I'll let you touch me there as much as you want--'cause I'm just a little whore."