The Confessor Pt. 02

—Thwack—

"Why did you even come to this church!?"

—Thwack—

"There are so many other churches, why did you have to come to this one?!"

—Thwack— —Thwack—

"Does aunt Veruca know that you're here!? By the Goddess, do you have any idea how embarrassing you are to me!?"

—Thwack—

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE!?!"

—Thwack— —Thwack— —Thwack—

Samuel winced in sympathy every time the rod connected with the man's body, but he told himself that he probably deserved it and began making his way up the steps of the church.

"Stop!" commanded the priestess as he was about to walk past her. "What are you doing? The church is closed to visitors."

Samuel turned to face the small woman. The robes of a priestess were not as revealing as those of the Confessors, but they still hugged her body tightly enough to hint at her slender curves as she walked towards him, and instead of a hood she wore a tight coif that framed her face and reached down to her shoulders.

"I-I'm sorry, priestess," Samuel stammered as the woman grew closer, "it's just that I left my wife at this church yesterday and she still hasn't come home. I just wanted to—"

"Wait," the priestess said, holding up a hand to cut him off, "is your name Samuel Cantor?"

Samuel was surprised; he was sure he had never met this woman before.

"Y-yes, priestess."

The priestess, still holding the rod, folded her arms beneath her modest breasts and fixed him with a disapproving glare.

"Yes, the Confessor warned us about you, Mr. Cantor. Weren't you told that she would see your wife home?"

"Y-yes, but—"

"Then you did hear her," she said interrupting him again. "And yet you still came. Do you intend to disobey the Confessor, Mr. Cantor?"

"N-no, of—of course—" Samuel tried to stammer out.

"Then why are you here?" she asked threateningly as she took a step towards him.

Samuel knew the beating this woman had given the old man was a slap on the wrist compared to what would happen to him if he was found to have disobeyed a direct order from the Church. And wasn't that exactly what he was doing? He began to panic as he tried to come up with some kind of explanation that would satisfy the priestess when she suddenly sighed in exasperation.

"Never mind, never mind," she said waving her empty hand dismissively. "As I said, the Confessor warned us that you might come. I have a message for you from her."

She reached into an unseen pocket and produced something that looked like a business card and handed it to him.

"Your disobedience will be forgiven if you return to your home and wait for your wife as the Confessor instructed you to. On that card you will find the Confessor's personal phone number; if you have any questions or concerns, you may call her."

The priestess looked Samuel up and down, "I don't know why the Confessor is being so lenient with you, but you should feel honored to receive her consideration."

She then turned on her heel and began making her way up the steps of the church, but not before looking back over her shoulder and adding, "Mr. Cantor, the next time I see you at this church, you better be with your wife. Do you understand?"

She then resumed walking up the steps of the church without waiting for his reply.

Samuel noticed that the old man the priestess had been beating was watching her ascend the steps with a sad expression on his face. It was then that he realized it was the same old man he'd seen sweeping outside the church the day before. Their eyes met for a brief moment, then the old man turned and disappeared around the side of the church.

Left alone with nothing but the card the priestess had given him, Samuel did the only thing that he could think to do and pulled out his phone to dial the Confessor's number. It rang several times before she finally picked up.

"Hello, Samuel," said the Confessor, her voice sounding calm and content.

"My-my lady Confessor? How did you know it was me?" Samuel asked reflexively.

She laughed. "You gave the church your contact information before your wedding. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, of course," Samuel said almost impatiently, frustrated with himself for asking such an unimportant question, "but, my lady Confessor—"

"Nadine," she said pleasantly.

"What?" Samuel said rudely, forgetting himself in his impatience.

She laughed again. "Call me Nadine, Samuel. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the future, so we should just drop the formalities."

Samuel felt something ominous in the Confessor's words, but he chose to ignore it. "Na—Nadine, please, where is Delilah? Is she with you?"

"Oh yes, she's right here."

Samuel's heart jumped. "Can I speak to her?"

"No," she said flatly, and then added affectionately, "She's sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

"Yes, she's exhausted; we've been going at it all day," she said conversationally. "Your timing is actually perfect, Samuel. If you had called just ten minutes earlier, I wouldn't have answered the phone."

Samuel clenched his teeth at the thought of what 'going at it' must have meant as Nadine continued.

"Oh, I just love her breasts, Samuel. Don't you? I can barely keep my hands off them. Even now..." Nadine trailed off and Samuel could feel himself growing more frustrated at the thought of her fondling his sleeping wife's body.

"My lady Confe... Nadine, please, could you wake her up. I just want to hear her voice."

"I said no, Samuel," Nadine said firmly, "she's sleeping." Then after a pause, she added in an almost considerate tone, "Are you all right, Samuel? Are you feeling lonely by yourself? Do you want me to send one of the priestesses to keep you company?"

Samuel was surprised by what appeared to be the genuine concern in Nadine's voice, considering how hostile she had been with him during the wedding consultation.

"N-no. Please, Nadine. I just want to see Delilah."

Nadine sighed in exasperation.

"Samuel, I'm trying to be patient with you, but you're making it very difficult. You've already disobeyed me, disobeyed the Church, by returning after I told you to go home, and now you're making demands of me?"

"No, no. I'm not making—"

"Do you know how many people have my personal phone number, Samuel? I swear to the Goddess, if it weren't for Delilah this would all be going very differently for you, do you understand that?"

Samuel was almost at the end of his rope. He knew that he was on thin ice but the thought of returning home again without at least speaking with Delilah pained him so much that he was even willing to risk Nadine's displeasure.

"Nadine," he began, trying and failing to suppress his emotions, "please... I just want to hear her voice."

Nadine was silent for a long time and Samuel feared that he had finally pushed her too far. But then she spoke.

"Fine," she said flatly. "In fact, I think letting you hear her voice is a wonderful idea; it might help you understand the situation."

Samuel felt a thrill run through him at Nadine's words and, once again, his emotions showed in his voice as he thanked her.

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Nadine."

"But not now."

"What?" he said, crestfallen.

"I told you, she's sleeping and I'm not going to wake her up. Go home, Samuel. I will contact you at nine, no, ten o'clock this evening. I will let you hear Delilah's voice then. In exchange, you are not to use this number again until Delilah returns home. Do you understand me?"

"Ye-yes my lady Confes—"

"Samuel," Nadine said chidingly.

"Ye-yes, Nadine... I understand...," he said numbly, feeling defeated.

Just then, Samuel heard Delilah's sleepy voice in the background and his heart skipped a beat.

"Nadine... Who are you talking to?"

"No one, Delilah. No one. Go back to sleep," Nadine said lovingly before ending the call without saying another word to him.

****

By the time Samuel returned home, it was six o'clock, which meant that he would have to wait four more hours before he could talk to Delilah. He spent thirty minutes pacing around the house before he realized that he was going to drive himself insane if he didn't have something to pass the time. He paid a visit to the local grocery store and restocked his supply of beer, telling himself that he wouldn't go overboard like the night before.

That was the plan at least.

When ten o'clock came and went, Samuel's anxiety increased as did the number of empty beer cans on the floor. It was past midnight and he was about to start in on the last six-pack when he received a message on his phone; not a phone call like he was expecting, but a message.

He fumbled for his phone, more so because of his eagerness to see the message than the alcohol he'd consumed. When he finally got a hold of it, he found that he had received a single audio message. He touched the icon on his phone and the recording immediately began to play.

"DYANARAH!!" Delilah's screaming voice and the sound of skin hitting skin exploded from his phone and filled the living room.

"OH, DYANARAH ... I CAN'T... TOO MUCH!" Delilah pleaded as she struggled to speak through what sounded to be very powerful thrusts from who he could only assume was Nadine. And his assumptions were proven correct in the next moment.

"Yes you can, my child," came Nadine's calm and measured voice in reply, though it sounded strangely muffled for some reason. "Just one more time and I'll let you rest again. Now come on, cum for me."

Samuel could hear the pace of Nadine's thrusts suddenly increase and Delilah's words became unintelligible as she came closer and closer to climaxing.

"OH...DYA...NARAH...I...I...CAN'T...TA-...TAKE..." Delilah began to say, but abruptly went silent. For a few seconds, the only sounds coming from Samuel's phone where Nadine's low grunts of pleasure and her relentless thrusting.

When he heard Delilah's voice again she spoke one word so quietly that he almost didn't hear it.

"...Nadine..."

After that, there was a wet splashing noise and Nadine cooed in pleasure as Delilah seemed to breathe rapidly through her nose. She had wet herself again.

"Very good, my child. Your pleasure pleases me greatly" Nadine said, sounding very unlike herself. "Go on. You may rest now."

"...But...what about... you?" Delilah asked weakly as she tried to catch her breath.

"I have already received much from you today, my child," Nadine said, continuing to speak in a strangely formal tone.

"But I want to give you more," Delilah breathed in a lust-filled voice.

Nadine chuckled.

"You should focus on playing your part correctly, my child. You made the same mistake again."

"Oh no... I'm so sorry. I won't do it again."

"It's all right, my child. You just need some rest, that's all."

Samuel had no idea how to interpret their conversation. What was Delilah apologizing for, and why was Nadine being so formal? He heard nothing that provided answers to these questions, and, after several seconds of silence passed, he thought the recording might have been over. But then Nadine spoke.

"I love you, my child," she said, sounding like she meant it, "Do you love me?"

"Yes," Delilah replied softly, sounding as if she were drifting off to sleep.

"...More than you love Samuel?" Nadine asked after a pause.

Another long pause and then—

"...Yes..." said Delilah in a dreamy voice. "More than Samuel..."

Samuel, who had been staring at the floor as he listened to the recording, raised his head and looked at his phone in confusion as he felt his stomach twist into knots.

"Good," cooed Nadine, "That's all we needed to hear, my child." Then Samuel heard Delilah softly moaning in pleasure and the recording ended.

He sat in silence staring at his phone.

Is that it? he thought to himself.

He picked up the phone and tried to call Nadine's number but it went straight to voicemail.

That can't be it. he thought, feeling his frustration grow as he rose unsteadily from his chair. That can't be what I was waiting for all this time...

Before he realized it, Samuel was stumbling out the front door without closing it behind him, and fumbling with his keys as he tried to unlock his car door. There was a small voice in his head telling him that he was too drunk to drive, but it was drowned out by the memory of Delilah screaming the Goddess's name on the recording.

But that wasn't the part of the recording that made him start the engine.

I love you, Delilah,...Do you love me?

Samuel swerved through the mostly empty streets driving a little faster than was safe in his drunken state.

...Yes.

He ran red lights and ignored the angry horns blaring for other cars, flaunting the rules of the road as he sped to the church.

...More than you love Samuel?

He knew that he was forbidden from returning to the church, he knew that he would be punished, but Delilah's final words on the recording had chased all sense of reason from his mind.

...Yes...More than Samuel...

***

Samuel stumbled out of his car and made his way up the steps of the church.

"Delilah!!" he yelled drunkenly after he made it to the top. "Delilah, where are you?!"

He pulled on the handle of the door and when it didn't open, he began pounding his fist on it as he continued to yell.

—BANG— —BANG—

"Let me in!"

—BANG— —BANG—

"I want to see my wife!!"

—BANG— —BANG—

"Delilah!!"

He was about to bang on the door again when someone behind him caught his wrist mid-swing.

"What are you doing, you fool?!" a gruff voice hissed at him.

Samuel turned and saw the face of the old man staring back at him in the moonlight.

"Get off me you old bastard," Samuel slurred as he struggled against the old man's surprisingly strong grip. "I've come to see my wife."

When Samuel made to swing at the door with his unrestrained hand, the old man suddenly grabbed him by his collar and began dragging him down the steps.

"Enough! Stop this or someone really will answer you," the old man growled. "Now shut up and come."

Samuel wanted to fight him but the alcohol in his system was making it difficult to maintain his balance, so he ended up letting the old man pull him down the steps and into the dark alleyway next to the church.

The old man brought him to a rundown wooden shed at the end of the alley and, using a key, opened the door and pushed him inside. When he shut the door behind him and turned on the light, Samuel winced at the sudden brightness as the old man once again urged him forward.

"Here, sit down, you damned drunk," said the old man as Samuel, his eyes still adjusting to the bright light, felt himself being pushed onto a hard chair.

He heard the old man shuffling around the shed and grumbling about 'drunken idiots' coming to the church in the middle of the night when he could finally make out his surroundings. He was in a tool shed, and he realized that the old man must have been the groundskeeper for the church.

"Here, drink this," said the old man as he took a seat on an overturned bucket and handed Samuel a large glass of water. "Drink all of it, you hear me? The faster you sober up, the sooner I can get back to sleep."

Samuel took the offered glass reflexively, but he didn't drink.

"Hey," the old man said, "haven't I seen you before, boy?"

Somewhere in Samuel's mind a voice was trying to warn him that he was in danger and he needed to leave, but he just sat in the chair staring at the glass of water in his hand, indifferent to the consequences of his actions.

"That's right. You're the one who came here this afternoon," said the old man, his voice growing hostile. "Didn't the priestess tell you not to come back? Hurry up and get out of here before I report you to the Confessor!"

"...My wife...," Samuel mumbled.

"What was that, boy?"

"...I want to see my wife...My Delilah... In the church...," the voice in his mind was still trying to reason with Samuel, but the memory of the recording was too loud for him to hear it.

The old man was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with mockery and condescension.

"Ah, you mean the brunette with the big tits? Better give up on that one, boy. I was cleaning outside the Confessor's room earlier and it sounded like they were fucking the daylights out of each other. I don't know what you were hoping for by coming here, but your wife doesn't seem too interested in going back home just yet."

Samuel clenched his teeth. The shock of hearing a member of the church swear was completely overwhelmed by the hot anger he felt at his words. But the old man had more to say.

"If she ever comes home, that is. I've seen it a few times; some sad fool's wife gets a good pounding at the wedding consultation and, next thing you know, the wedding is annulled and she runs off with the Confessor never to be heard from again."

Samuel thought about Edward's story and felt his grip tighten on the glass of water in his hand.

"But even if she does come home," said the old man, his voice growing darker as he leaned towards Samuel, invading his personal space, "you can rest assured that she'll be bringing the Confessor with her. Your marriage will become their marriage, your home will become their home, and your bed will become their bed."

"Your place as their 'husband'," the old man continued as he began jabbing his finger into Samuel's chest, "is to keep working for them; ensure that their needs are provided for and that they have a roof over their heads. If you can do that, then maybe the Confessor will be kind enough to let you have sex with your wife from time to time. Hell, she might even let you name your child."

Samuel could feel his rage building as he struggled against the urge to strike the old man.

"But that's only if your wife actually decides to come back," the old man said as he rose to his feet, "and there's nothing you can do to make that happen any faster, so run along home, boy."

Then he leaned down again and added in a taunting tone, "Or you could stick around. They're probably still fucking right now. I know this spot on the grounds that gives a clear view into their room. We could go there and watch the Confessor make your wife into her personal bitch. Come on, what do you say, boy?"

The old man had finally said too much.

Samuel lunged at him, the glass of water smashing on the ground as he slammed the old man against the wall of the shed. He pulled his right arm back, preparing to hit him with all his strength when he froze.

Oh, Goddess, he thought in despair, realizing that he'd just assaulted a member of the Church. What have I done?

Samuel quickly released the old man.

"I'm sorry. Please, I just drank too much. I'll leave. I swear I'll leave and never come back. Just please—"

Samuel froze and stared at the old man dumbly. He'd expected anger or some kind of retaliation from him, but the old man just stood there with a big grin spreading across his face.

"Good," said the old man, making Samuel flinch when he reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "Very good, boy. Come on, sit. Sit."

Samuel, unsure of what to make of the old man's response but grateful that he didn't appear to be angry, did as he was told and sat back down.

The old man sat on the bucket again and gave Samuel the same appraising look that he'd given him after the wedding consultation.

"What's your name, boy?" the old man asked in an almost gentle tone.

"Sam-Samuel Cantor, sir," Samuel said shakily, still not knowing what to make of the old man's sudden change in attitude.

The old man nodded and extended his gnarled hand.

"Archibald Fletcher."

Samuel reached out and shook Archibald's hand, but when he tried to let go he found that the old man refused to loosen his grip. In fact, it grew even tighter.