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Introduction:

The story continues.
Chapter Seventeen

When Jane woke up the next morning her first thought was that Peter must have stuffed a pair of her panties into her mouth after she’d fallen asleep.  At the very least she felt as if her tongue was wearing a sock and her head was throbbing dully.  

She opened her eyes and sat up.  This added nausea to her other complaints and she immediately lay down again.  

At this point she noticed that she was naked—she usually wore at least a shirt or a nightgown— except for her earrings and–oh!–her lovely new bracelet!  She immediately resolved never to take it off.  Then she began trying to remember how she’d wound up this way.  

Her memories of the night before were somewhat hazy.  She remembered taunting Peter in a way that made her blush now, and Peter almost throwing her to the floor and doing naughty things to her, and making her do them, then stopping for some reason.  Oh yes, she’d said the safety word!  

And then the two of them dancing naked out on the patio—practically having sex standing up.  Oh god, that was so romantic and sexy: the sensuous music, the warm air on her skin, his cock against her belly...

Then back in the dining room, barely able to wait while he tore open the pack of condoms and they both fumbled to figure out how to put it on.  The unpleasant, chemical smell of it.  

He had sat back down in his chair to aid his concentration while he placed it over his cock, and as soon as the condom was in place she had pulled his hands away, straddled him and guided him into her with a long, “Ohhhhhh!”  She had then thrown her arms around his neck and whispered, “Peter, I want you so bad!”  

She’d begun to slowly raise and lower herself then, loving being able to control the rhythm, loving the feeling of him moving inside her.

She had felt herself disappearing into sensation, the rhythm taking over.  She remembered whispering “Love me, Peter,” into his ear and then, to her own shock, and, she was sure, to Peter’s, as she felt herself beginning to climax, placing her lips directly against his ear and hissing,  “Fffffuck me!  Oh, Peter!  FUCK ME!”

Peter had groaned and come right away, and she had been only half a minute or so behind, her whole body suddenly still and yet shuddering all over.  She’d thought she might never catch her breath again.

They had both been covered in sweat.  Peter, still inside her, had sat with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, breathing through his mouth, for over a minute.  When he finally opened his eyes, he’d looked at her and smiled as if surprised to see that she was still there. 

 “My god, I’ve created a monster,” he’d said, dazedly.  “Remind me to get you drunk more often.”

Jane remembered that she’d looked down, embarrassed and replied,  “Oh god, I really am turning into a little slut.”  She’d looked up at him and glowered.  “And it’s all your fault.”

He’d raised his eyebrows quizzically and said, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“You jerk,” she’d exclaimed, laughing and pulling his ears with both hands, so that his head wobbled comically back and forth.

“Ow!  All right, all right, you’re not a slut!”  

She’d released him.  Then he’d added, “Not all the time, anyway,” and immediately thrown his arms up in front of his face to protect himself, while making a comic expression of terror.  

When she’d laughed again and shown no signs of tearing his ears off, he’d lowered his arms again, saying seriously,  “Jane, you know you’re not a slut.  We’ve talked about this.  But you like acting like one sometimes, right?” 

Jane had nodded, a little doubtfully, and he’d continued,  “Then don’t worry about it.  I love it that you’re sweet and romantic sometimes and a bad little girl sometimes.  You can be any way you want with me.”

She’d kissed him then, and said, “So it’s all right if I say...certain words, sometimes?”

He’d given her a sideways glance, smiling, and replied, “Well, I don’t know...like what?”

Looking playfully at him from under her eyebrows, she’d said, enunciating clearly, “Cock.”

He’d gasped in mock-horror, and said, “You naughty little girl!”  Then he’d landed a slap on her left buttock—not hard, just enough to sting.  

And she had felt him beginning to get hard again inside her.  She’d leaned closer and spoken again.

“Pussy.”

He’d shaken his head in dismay, making tsking noises, before landing a similar blow on her right buttock.  

He was fully hard again, and as she’d begun to move up and down on him she’d leaned into his ear and whispered, “Fuck.”

Another slap on the behind. 

 “Fuck me.”  

Another slap.  

She’d started to move a little faster.  “Fuck”...slap...”Cock”...slap...Fuck my pussy!”  

Her words, and his slaps, began falling into the rhythm of their motion.  

“You’re fucking me”....slap...”with your cock!”...slap...Your cock”...slap...”is in my pussy!”...slap. 

“Oh, fuck me...fuck me...fuck me...”

...And that was all she could remember.  She must have passed out from the wine somewhere along there.  

She wondered if she’d had another orgasm before that.  If he had.  

She guessed that Peter had carried her upstairs and tucked her in like this.  Well, she couldn’t lie here all day, though it was tempting, especially when she forced herself to stand up and immediately had to sit down on the edge of the bed.  

Oh god, her head ached.

As soon as she felt able, she staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, and followed this by drinking several full glasses.  She turned on the shower and stood under it, dazed, until the hot water was nearly all gone.

When she stepped out she was beginning to feel marginally human again.  After toweling herself off—gently—she went back to her room to dress.  

It wasn’t until then that she noticed her velvet dress hanging from the closet door knob, along with the bra and panties she’d worn last night.  

Well, that was thoughtful, she mused, as she padded over to her bureau.  She pulled open her underwear drawer to begin the process of getting dressed...

And found herself blinking, still a little blearily, at her valentine panties, nicely folded and nestled among her other undies as if they had never been gone.  

There was a scrap of paper sticking out between the folds, which turned out to be a note, which read:

See you Sunday at 11:15.   I love you.

She knew she wouldn’t be seeing Peter that day, and anyway she wanted to save the valentine panties for a special occasion, so she chose other underwear and got dressed.  There wasn’t a lot to do today, other than homework and studying. Thank god, she thought.  She just had to clean up from last night.

And get things ready for tomorrow morning.  

Chrissy.

Now that the day was nearly at hand she was having second thoughts and she mulled things over as she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen…where she discovered all the pans from last night in the sink, where Peter had obviously put them to soak, and the dirty dishes and silverware in the dishwasher.  God, what a sweetheart.  She couldn’t believe he was real, and hers.  

Which brought her back to the scenario she had set up for tomorrow.

For one thing, she felt bad about fooling Chrissy, even if she would be getting what she said she wanted.  Because she wouldn’t be getting it from a stranger, as she believed, but from someone who knew her.  

But Peter wouldn’t tell anyone, she argued to herself as she forced herself to eat some toast and juice before tackling the washing up.  But that led her to the other source of her discomfort: it would be Peter, and though she very much wanted to give him this special experience, she didn’t want to share him with another girl, even if that other girl thought he was someone else.

She thought about calling it off, about calling Chrissy and saying Father Brian had been called away by an emergency and would have to cancel.  

Jane went back and forth about it as she finished the dishes and went to sit in the window-seat.  Her brain was still fuzzy with the aftereffects of the previous night and it was hard to sort out her true feelings.  

You’re just being jealous, and that’s silly, she told herself.  It’s not like they’re going out on a date.  You’ve just found a way to give Chrissy what she wants and give Peter something special at the same time.  

If it works, she thought.

And that was another worry: what if Chrissy somehow found out?  If her blindfold slipped, or if Peter said something to give himself away?  Chrissy would be traumatized at the very least, and probably furious, and rightly so.

Jane looked out the window, remembering, as always, the night Peter had been there.  Rain and humidity had long since washed away the semen Peter had left on the glass, but she could still picture him as clearly as if it had been yesterday: pants down around his knees, rubbing himself with her panties while she stood naked in this very spot and taunted him and touched herself.  How powerful she had felt!  She had become a new person, and Peter had given that to her.

This whole thing with Chrissy was crazy; there were too many things that could go wrong.  

But she was going to do it anyway, she decided.

Chapter Eighteen

She didn’t sleep well Saturday night.  

She had spent the day trying to get her schoolwork done, as well as trying to clean up the house and prepare as much as she could for the next day, but she had found it hard to concentrate.  She would begin a task and find herself, minutes later, fretting over the coming event.  

She convinced herself at least a dozen times to call it off and just as many times that the most that would happen would be Chrissy getting a spanking she wanted, and that maybe not even that would happen.  She thought that Chrissy would back out at the last moment, or that Peter would refuse to go along with the scenario.  Better that than both of them being angry with her, she thought.  

Still, by bedtime she had done nothing to stop it and when she woke on Sunday morning, still tired after her fitful sleep, she was determined to let things play out however they would.

There really wasn’t anything left to do until Chrissy arrived but she was full of nervous energy and after her shower and breakfast she took a long walk in the woods.  The day was already a promise of summer, warm and a little humid, and she wore only a light dress.  As she walked she reviewed what she planned to say to Chrissy, and then to Peter, until she was sure she had it mostly by heart.

When she got back to the house it was nearly 10:30.  Chrissy probably wouldn’t arrive until a little before 11:00, so Jane went down to the basement to make one last inspection.       

The stairs began in the kitchen and led down to a door that opened into the middle of the basement, which was divided in half.  To the right the room was semi-finished and semi-furnished; the floor was covered in yellow and brown tile and decorated with old throw-rugs and older furniture, including a sprung sofa, a small black-and-white TV, a record player with a stack of 78’s next to it, a cabinet full of board games like Parcheesi, and a still functional Ping-Pong table.  Jane and her parents called this area the rec-room, though none of them had done much in the way of recreation there in years.  

To the left was what they usually meant when they referred to the basement: this area had a plain concrete floor and contained the tool-bench, the washer and dryer, and anything else nobody knew what to do with.  There was no door or wall between the two areas; the tiles simply stopped a little more than halfway across the floor, and the stairwell was the only divider.  The whole downstairs was partially lit by a series of small ground-level windows, which gave the room a slightly melancholy twilight feel even on sunny days.

Jane stepped into the basement area and looked at the items she had laid out on the workbench and tried once again to think of anything else that might possibly be needed, but couldn’t concentrate.  She finally just went over to the old couch and sat down, tapping her feet nervously and cracking her knuckles.  

She hoped Chrissy would arrive soon; at least Chrissy would be more nervous than she was.

She got her wish.   She soon heard a car coming up the drive and ran upstairs to open the door.  

Chrissy’s car was an old faded-blue Chevy, rusty in spots and obviously in need of a new muffler.  So when Chrissy got out, wearing her Sunday best, the effect was a little disconcerting, like seeing a princess stepping out of a hay-wagon.

There could be little doubt that Chrissy had just come from church.  She was wearing a white linen dress that came down well past her knees, along with a matching three-quarter sleeved jacket, plus a little white hat with white flowers and a trace of a veil perched on top of her neatly parted and elegantly coiffed hair.   

She also had matching high-heeled shoes, purse and gloves.  Jane couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen anyone under her grandparents’ age who wore gloves to church.  Nevertheless, she smiled and called out, “Hi Chrissy, you look nice!”

And she did, really, until she got closer and Jane saw the dark smudges under her eyes that even carefully applied make-up couldn’t entirely conceal.  Jane guessed that Chrissy had had even less sleep last night than she had, and possibly not much the night before that.  

As Chrissy made her way up the porch steps, Jane saw that her walk was a little unsteady and that her shoulders were again somewhat hunched.  

Chrissy darted a glance around the porch and tried to look past Jane into the house before finally settling on Jane’s face. 

“Is he here yet?” she asked, and her voice was hoarse, as if her throat were very dry.

Jane shook her head and tried to smile encouragingly.  “No, we still have some time.  Come in.”  

She held the screen-door open to let Chrissy enter, then followed her in, saying, “Let’s go downstairs, it’s cooler.  Would you like something to drink?”  

Chrissy asked for a glass of water, and after receiving it and taking a large gulp, clutched it tightly in her gloved hand to keep it from shaking as she followed Jane downstairs.

Chrissy put down her glass, took off her jacket and laid it on a nearby chair, along with her purse, then sat down next to Jane on the couch.  She was fidgety and looked as if what she really wanted to do was get up and pace back and forth.  

Jane gave her a moment to settle, and took a deep breath or two herself.  She had a speech prepared: her friend Lucia came from a Catholic family and Jane had asked her a few casual questions by way of research.  

She began by asking Chrissy if she was sure she still wanted to go through with the meeting.  

Chrissy looked backed at her, eyes wide with nervousness, both hands tight around the glass, and said nothing for several seconds.  Then, finally, she made the barest of nods and quickly looked away and down at the floor in front of her.

“All right, then,” said Jane, in what she hoped was a calm voice.  “I’m supposed to tell you a few things before he gets here.  You know, so you’ll be ready.”  

Chrissy didn’t look up, but nodded to show that she had heard.  

“Okay.  First of all,” Jane continued, “when he arrives, before he comes in you’ll need to put this on.”  

She held up a blue satin sleep-mask, which she’d borrowed from her mother’s bedside table.  “Remember? We talked about this?”  

Chrissy nodded again.  

Jane went on, “...And you have to keep it on until after he’s gone.That’s really important.”  

Chrissy said nothing, but reached over to take the mask, immediately beginning to twist it nervously in her hands as she returned her gaze to the floor in front of her.

Jane went on to her next point.  “Now, when I bring him in, there’s something you have to say, and he wants me here to witness it.”  

This statement caused Chrissy to suddenly sit up straight and turn towards Jane, staring.

“Witness?  What do you mean?”

“It’s just to show that you’re not being forced into this,” explained Jane.  “You have to say, ‘ I submit myself to you for judgment and punishment’.  

Chrissy thought this over, then said, “Kind of like...going to confession and getting a penance?”

“I guess,” replied Jane, shrugging slightly.  “I’m not Catholic.  But you wanted this because it’s not like what happens in church, right?”  

Chrissy nodded, but looked doubtful, and Jane went on.  “You can change your mind about doing this anytime...until you say that.”

Chrissy’s nervousness shot up a couple of notches.  “What do you mean?”

Jane gave her a concentrated look and said,  “That’s part of what I’m trying to explain to you.  After you say it, I’m leaving the room.  So whatever happens will just be between you and P- ...and Father Brian.”

Chrissy’s breath was becoming ragged.   She swallowed.  “But...but what if I...”

“Listen,” Jane cut her off.  “Father Brian wanted me to be sure you understood that this is serious.  That’s why you have to say that while I’m here.  After I leave, you tell him whatever you need to tell him, and he’ll decide on your punishment.  He said to tell you that no matter what your punishment is, you must do as you’re told—without hesitation, is what he said.”

“Oh my God.”

“He said that if you show that you aren’t fully committed to what you’re doing he‘ll walk out without completing the process and never come back.”

Oh my God.”

Jane pulled her feet up onto the couch and turned and sat cross-legged facing Chrissy.  

God, she thought, this is an awful lot of trouble to go through for someone who just wants a spanking. 



 “It’s okay, Chrissy, really.  Listen:  he said to tell you there’s a safety valve.”

“A what?”

“A safety valve.  It’s like this.  He said to tell you that a lot of people he’s done this with need to cry and yell and beg forgiveness while it’s going on.  And he said sometimes people beg him to stop when they don’t really want him to—it’s just part of the...’purification’ was the word he used.  Does this make sense?”

Chrissy now looked stunned with fear.  “I...guess so...” she said, in a tiny voice.

“Good,” said Jane.  “But what you need to know is, what happens if you really want it to stop, right?” 

 A slight nod.  

“Well, that’s where the safety valve comes in.  If you say, ‘In the name of God’, he’ll stop.  Otherwise he’ll keep going until he’s finished, no matter what.”

Chrissy had dropped the mask into her lap and her hands were now so tightly clasped that Jane could see sweat-marks on her gloves.  

“I-In the n-name of God?”

“That’s right,” replied Jane, “but he said that if you stop it, that’s the end, and you won’t get…  I forget the word, it sounds like ‘absolutely’?”

“A-absolution?”

“Yes, that’s it.  You won’t get absolution from him.”

“Oh...”

Jane sat quietly, waiting for Chrissy to mentally digest everything she’d said.  

But time was running out.  Peter would be arriving any minute.  She knew that this was the final threshold; if Chrissy were going to back out she would do it now.  Jane glanced at her, trying to guess which way she would go.  

Chrissy was again staring at the floor, hands still knotted together.  Her mouth hung open, and she was breathing heavily.  

Jane thought, No—she’s too scared.  It was a nice idea, but it’s probably for the best...

Chrissy suddenly turned to face her.  “What is it I’m supposed to say?” she asked, her eyes feverish.   “You know, when he comes in?”

Jane couldn’t remember for a moment, then said, “’I submit myself to you for judgment and punishment’.”  Chrissy repeated the phrase several times, staring worriedly into Jane’s eyes the whole time.  Jane nodded each time to show that it was correct.

“And if I want him to stop, I say, ‘In the name of God’?”  Jane nodded again, and Chrissy again turned her gaze to the floor.  

A moment later they heard the sound of a car coming up the driveway.

They both jumped to their feet, the sleep-mask falling unnoticed to the floor from Chrissy’s lap.  Instinctively they turned to look at each other.  

Chrissy’s fear was so palpable and contagious that Jane had to remind herself that it was only Peter who was arriving and not some scary church-weirdo.  

She looked a question at Chrissy, who looked desperately back and forth between Jane and the basement door as if she were expecting an ogre with a huge club to burst through any second.  Her hands were still twisted together and Jane had the feeling that Chrissy’s knees were knocking under her long dress.

Chrissy finally focused her gaze on Jane...and nodded.  

Jane nodded back—a stiff, single ducking of the chin, almost like a salute—and headed for the stairs.  

As she opened the door she turned around to look back, caught Chrissy’s eye and pointed at the sleep-mask on the floor.  Chrissy started and quickly bent down to retrieve it.  The last thing Jane saw before closing the door behind her and heading up the stairs was Chrissy attempting to stretch the mask’s elastic band over her hat and hair.

She took the stairs two at a time, wanting to reach Peter before he got to the porch.  She crashed through the screen door just as he was climbing out of his car.  

He started to call out a greeting to her, but subsided, looking extremely puzzled, when she made frantic shushing signs at him.  

When she reached him she gave him a quick hug to let him know everything was okay, then looked up at him and stage-whispered, “I have a surprise for you.”

Peter blinked at her a few times and then whispered back,  “Great.  What is it, nitroglycerin?   Why are we whispering?”

“Listen,” Jane whispered back, “There’s someone you know waiting downstairs, but you have to pretend you don’t know her, okay?”

“Uh...sure,” replied Peter, uncertainly, still whispering.  “But if I know her, won’t she know me?”

“She’s blindfolded.”

“Oh.  Of course.  I should have guessed.”  Peter’s eyebrows were raised so high that they looked like question marks.  “So...you’ve taken up kidnapping, is that the surprise?  You want help writing the ransom note?”

Jane pounded him lightly on the chest to shut him up.  “No, you idiot!”  She smiled in spite of her nervousness.  “You’ll see.  Now listen: She thinks you’re a priest named Father Brian.”

Peter looked blankly at her.  “Well, why didn’t you say so?  That makes everything so much clearer.  Let’s see if I’ve got this straight: I know her, except that I don’t know her because I’m not me, I’m Father Byron.”

Brian!

“Brian, right.  And she knows me, but she doesn’t know me because she’s blindfolded and thinks I’m Father Brian.  Have I got it right so far?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I do declare, Miz Jane,” he whispered, affecting a southern drawl, “this is surely the nicest surprise anyone’s ever given me. I’m sure I don’t know how to thank you.”  

His expression as he said this was so comically bewildered that Jane had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.  

Peter continued, lapsing back into his normal whisper,  “I suppose you’ve got her nicely tied up, as well?”

Jane gave him her most innocent look.  “Not yet...” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him toward the door.

Chapter Nineteen

She led him down the basement stairs and knocked discreetly at the door, even though she was sure Chrissy had heard them coming.  Then she opened it and led the way in.

Peter advanced a few steps before coming to a dead halt.  

Jane turned around to watch his reaction to the sight of Chrissy Hurlin, who was still standing in front of the couch where Jane had left her.  She had managed to get the sleep-mask on, although her hat had been knocked a little off-center in the process, and the effect of all that white clothing, along with her pale complexion, against her dark hair, red lipstick and the shiny blue satin mask, was arresting—and more than a little spooky.  She stood as if at attention, her arms at her sides, the gloved hands heightening the impression.

Peter stared at her, and might have gone on doing so for a lot longer, if Jane hadn’t nudged him with her elbow while saying to Chrissy, “Here’s Father Brian.”

To his credit, Peter didn’t miss a beat, and when he spoke he had added at least twenty years and a hint of an Irish brogue to his voice as he said, “Good morning, child.”  

Jane was impressed.  Thank goodness for the Drama Club, she thought.

Chrissy had cocked her head a little, listening, as if trying to get an impression of him just from the way he spoke.  For one panicked moment, Jane was afraid that Chrissy had recognized Peter’s voice, but then she remembered that Chrissy hardly knew him.  

And then Chrissy straightened, turned towards where she thought ‘Father Brian’ was standing, and said, enunciating clearly,  “I submit myself to you for judgment and...”  She faltered just for a moment before saying, “...p-punishment.”

Jane was proud of her: Chrissy had made up her mind to be brave.  

Peter, on the other hand, was completely bewildered by this last statement, and was looking wildly at Jane for direction.  

She said to Chrissy, but speaking for Peter’s benefit,  “All right, I’m leaving now.  Father Brian will listen to your...confession and decide if you should be punished.”  

She gave Peter a significant look as she said that last part and Peter made a silent ‘Ohhh’ of comprehension.

Then she turned and made a show of walking noisily to the basement door and opening it as if she were leaving.  Instead of leaving, however, she merely slipped out of her rubber sandals and closed the door again.  

She’d originally planned to actually leave them alone, but had finally decided there were too many things that might go wrong if she did.  So, feeling more than a little guilty, she stood quietly by the door.  

Peter, who had done a double-take when she had closed the door without leaving, was now looking questioningly at her.  She just shook her head and nodded towards Chrissy, indicating that he was to take it from there.

Peter gave her an ‘okay, here goes...’ look before turning back to Chrissy and saying, as Father Brian, “Umm…  Now, uh, what’s troubling you, child?”

Chrissy had obviously had a lot of time to plan what she was going to say.  “Father, I’ve done something terrible.  You see, there was this teacher at the school I used to go to, and I thought I was in love with him.  He was really handsome a-and nice, and he seemed to like me too.”

“Go on...”

“I had...impure thoughts about him.”  She stopped.  “I...still do, Father.”

Peter, apparently feeling that ‘Father Brian’ should say something, commented, “Well, it’s not unusual for a girl to get a crush on her teach–”

“You don’t understand, Father,” she interjected.  “This was a Catholic school.  He was a priest!”

“Ahh,” said ‘Father Brian’, with a quick look back at Jane.  “That is a slightly different kettle of fish.  Still...”

“There’s more, Father.  I wanted to make him fall in love with me.  So one day I stayed after class, to ask for help with something, you know?”

“Yes, go on.”

“And all the time we’d be looking at each other, and I…  I just knew he loved me.  So when we were done I thanked him, and then I asked if I could give him a hug.  At first I thought he was going to say no, ‘cause it’s totally against the rules, but then he smiled and said okay.  So he let me hug him, and I...hugged him as long as I could...and as close as I could.  I guess it was too close.”  

Her voice, which had so far been fairly steady, began to show signs of strain.  “I guess it made him uncomfortable, and he was trying to kind of push me away, but then I...I tried to kiss him, Father.  I did kiss him, for a second...and I thought...” 

She hesitated for a moment.  

“I thought...he kissed me back, just a little.  But then he pushed me away. He pushed me so hard I almost fell over.”  Her breath was beginning to sob.  “He yelled at me, Father, and told me to get out of there.  He had me transferred to a different class the next day..” 

A tear was trickling down her cheek from under the mask.  “And he never spoke to me again.  If he saw me he’d pretend I wasn’t there.  But I still think about him all the time.”

She spread her hands beseechingly and said, “Do you see why I couldn’t go to regular confession with this, Father?”

“Uh...yes.  I...I do indeed, child.”  Peter looked back at Jane with a helpless expression.   

Jane’s mind was completely blank.  In all her planning she had never considered what it might be that Chrissy wanted to be punished for.  And now that she knew Jane had no idea how to react.  

Peter saw her confusion, realized he was on his own, and turned back to deal with Chrissy as best he could.  

“You...you tried to...seduce a priest, a person whose life you knew was already dedicated to God.  That is very serious.  Let me think for a moment.”

And though his back was to her, Jane could tell that he was genuinely—desperately, even—trying to think of an appropriate answer.  And when, after several minutes had gone by, during which Chrissy had clenched her hands into fists, he raised his head to speak, Jane held her breath.

“You said at the beginning that you thought you were in love with this man,” said ‘Father Brian’.  “Do you understand now that you weren’t?”

There was silence.  Then Chrissy said, “Y-yes, Father.  I do.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between love and...attraction,” he continued.  “But from what you’ve told me it seems as if in this case you really did know.  Before you went to him.”

Silence.

“If you had really acted out of love I would have nothing to say, other than that you made a poor choice.  But if that was the case I doubt that you would be standing here today.”

Silence.

Jane was astonished.  This wasn’t just acting; this was an entire aspect of Peter’s personality she had never seen.  She had known he was perceptive, but...  

She wished she could see his face from where she was standing, but didn’t dare move for fear of distracting him.  Chrissy appeared to be frozen in place as she listened.

“You’re a very attractive g... uh, young lady and I think you know it.  Furthermore, I think you were out to prove it when you went after this teacher.  What you did was far from an act of love.  It was an act of pride.”  ‘Father Brian’ spoke calmly, explaining rather than castigating.   “You told yourself it was love, but what you were really doing was testing your…beauty against his beliefs.  Against his sworn vows.  Weren’t you?”

Chrissy made no reply, but her shoulders were shaking, and tears were again running down her cheeks from under the mask.  

‘Father Brian’ went on.  “You tried to tempt a priest from his devotion to God, just to see if you could.”  

Chrissy was crying openly now, her mouth hanging open, tears falling off the end of her chin.  

‘Father Brian’ waited a moment, then asked, gently, “Am I right?”

Her sobbing grew more intense.  “Yessss… Yes, Father!  Oh god, I’m so sorry...” She simply stood there crying, arms at her sides.

“I know you are, child,” said ‘Father Brian’.  

There was a box of tissues next to the couch and he stepped forward long enough to pick it up and put it in Chrissy’s hands.  She whispered, “Thank you, Father,” and began to wipe her face.  

There was silence again, except for Chrissy’s crying, and Jane could tell Peter was thinking about what to do next.  

After a moment ‘Father Brian’ spoke again.  “Does this priest still teach at the same school?”

Chrissy drew several sobbing breaths and reached under her mask with a tissue to wipe her nose before replying.  “I don’t know.  I...I think so, Father.”

“Can you find out?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.  And if he’s not there I want you to find out where he is.  Then I want you to write him a letter telling him everything we’ve been through here this morning and asking him to forgive you.  If he’s as good a man as you say, I’m sure he will.  Now, will you do that?”

Chrissy, although still crying, seemed calmer.  “Yes, Father.  I-I will.  Thank you.”  

Oh, Jane was so proud of him!  She wanted to hug him, she wanted to jump up and down.But she forced herself to remain still, even though she couldn’t restrain a big grin from creeping across her face.

Chrissy wiped her cheeks with another tissue.  Then she stood silently, as if waiting for something.  Finally she spoke.  “F-father?  What about my...punishment?”

“Well,” said ‘Father Brian’, slowly,  “you’ve done someone a serious wrong, it’s true.  On the other hand, I can see that you’ve already tortured yourself with it for some time.  Now that you’ve confessed it, and you’ve promised to make amends, I don’t really see the need for any further–”

“No, Father, I need to be punished! “  

She dropped the wad of used tissues and the box to the floor.  Her voice was shaking, but resolved.  “I want to be punished!  Father, I told you—I still think about him!  I still...daydream about kissing him.  I...pretend...that he’s kissing me back!   That he’s...” She took a deep, quavering breath.  “...touching me!”  She fell silent, breathing heavily.

Peter looked back at Jane again and shrugged as if to say, ‘What can I do?’ then returned his attention to Chrissy. 

“These daydreams.  Do you have them often?”

“Sometimes, Father.”

“And do you resist them, try to think about something else?  Or do you...indulge them?  Or even encourage them?”

Chrissy lowered her head, and said in a low voice,  “Sometimes I encourage them, Father.”

“I see,” replied ‘Father Brian’, his voice now slightly ominous.  “And do you ever touch yourself during these daydreams?”

Chrissy gasped slightly when she heard the question, and lowered her head even further.  And when she spoke her voice was not even a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Very well,” said ‘Father Brian’.  “I suppose you’re right, then.”  

He paused, thoughtfully, and then said,  “That looks like a fairly expensive dress.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Well then,” said ‘Father Brian’, with a glance back at Jane, “You had better take it off.”

Chapter Twenty

Jane couldn’t believe what was happening.  

Here was Chrissy, who had been so terrified all along about what might happen, insisting on being punished.  And now Peter, who had tried so hard to be kind to Chrissy and let her off the hook, was telling her to take off her dress.  ‘Prissy Chrissy’, who had been so worried that he might want her to lift up her skirt!  What would she do?  Would she remember what Jane had told her about obeying orders?

Chrissy had gasped again and stiffened when ‘Father Brian’ had made his suggestion.  And she’d stood stock-still for several seconds, her face seeming even paler than before. 

But finally she said, “Yes, Father,” in a meek little voice, and began to fumble with the slender cloth cord at her waist, her gloved fingers clumsy.  When she managed to get it untied, she reached up behind her neck and struggled to unfasten the clasp, then pulled the collar up to unzip the dress as far as possible before reaching behind her to complete the job.  

When it was done, she hesitated, then resolutely pulled, first one arm out of its sleeve, then the other.  She then took the waistline of the dress in her hands and, bending over, slowly lowered her dress until it was far enough down to step out of.  Then she straightened, still holding the dress in her hands.

“You can put it on the couch behind you,” said ‘Father Brian’.

“Yes, Father.”

She turned and blindly patted the air until she found the couch, then carefully laid the dress out lengthwise on it.  Then she turned back and stood with her arms at her sides, waiting.

“The slip as well.”

“Ye-yes, Father.”  

She was wearing a white half-slip, which she now eased down over her hips, stepped out of, and placed on top of her dress.  Then she turned back and again simply stood, waiting.

She was the sexiest-looking girl Jane had ever seen.  

Aside from the slip, Chrissy had been wearing only a bra and panties under her dress.  These were white (No surprise there, thought Jane) and without decoration, other than a little lace trim, but were made of some pearly, satin-like fabric that looked as though they would be a sensuous treat to wear.  Or touch.  

Her long, slim legs, made even longer by her high-heels, were encased in what Jane realized were the “thigh-highs” Chrissy had been referring to that day: white nylons that came three-quarters of the way up her thighs before ending in bands of lace-covered elastic.  Seeing how sexy they looked on Chrissy—and imagining their effect on Peter—Jane resolved to get a pair (or several) for herself as soon as possible.

All of that, plus the fact that Chrissy was still wearing her little white hat—and her gloves—made her look more undressed, as Peter would have said, then Jane would have thought possible.  

She could only see his back, of course, but Jane would have bet anything that right now there was a noticeable bulge in the front of his cut-off jeans.  She looked down at the simple summer dress she was wearing and felt very plain...and wondered again if she had made a big mistake in setting this up.  

If he tells her to put her hands behind her head, she thought grimly, I’ll kill him.

But ‘Father Brian’, after swallowing a couple of times, simply said, “I...I’ll need a few minutes to prepare.  In the meantime, say, um.... ten ‘Hail Marys’ ...and ten ‘Our Fathers’.”

“Yes, Father,” replied Chrissy, sinking to her knees.  She put her hands in the prayer position and began to speak softly.

“So I can hear you, please,” said ‘Father Brian’.

“Yes, Father,” answered Chrissy, and began again in a louder voice.

As soon as she started, Peter turned around, took Jane by the hand and led her quickly to the far end of the room.  

“Well,” he whispered, “you were right.  This is certainly a surprise.”

“Oh god, Peter, I’m sorry,” she whispered back.  “I had no idea it would be like that.  You were wonderful, though.”

“Yeah, I deserve an Oscar for ‘Best Impersonation of a Priest in Front of a Blindfolded Person’,” he replied, somewhat sourly.  “The question is, now what do I do with her?”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to punish her, won’t you?  Look.”  She led him into the other side of the basement and showed him the workbench.  “There’s some rope, if you need it.”

He looked slowly around the basement, thinking.  Then without saying anything he took her by the hand again and led her back to where they’d been standing.  He stood facing her and whispered, “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

Jane thought a moment before speaking. Then she said,  “It’s not that I want you to do it, Peter.  But I thought you’d like it...” she glanced significantly down at the still-prominent bulge in his shorts and continued, “...and I think I was right.  Anyway, it’s what she wants, obviously.  And I...I just wanted to do something special for you.  Because I really, really love you.”  She stood on her toes and kissed him quickly, then waited.

He frowned for a moment and then his face cleared, and he smiled.  “Well, I guess you do.  You’re certainly the only girl I know who would give me another girl to play with as a present.  And I thought I was weird.”  He leaned down and returned the kiss.

Jane then turned to look at Chrissy, who was still praying out loud on her knees.  Peter stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.  Jane looked back at him and whispered, “Do you think she’s sexy?”

Peter gazed at Chrissy for several moments, then back down at Jane.  “Well...yeah,” he drawled.  “Looking at her in her undies like that kinda makes me wanna...” 

He bent down and kissed the back of Jane’s neck, simultaneously lifting up the back of her dress and slipping his hands underneath to reach up and cup her breasts.  He pulled her tightly against him, and Jane could feel his erection pressing between her buttocks.  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.  Now he was massaging her breasts, his breath hot in her ear.  Ohhhh...

Then his hands were gone, and he was…  Oh god, he’s unzipping my dress, she thought, and tried to remember what underwear she had on.  Did they even match?

They didn’t, as she found out when her dress slid to the floor.  Her bra was white, and her panties were light blue with thin green stripes.  But this turned out not to matter when she felt her bra being unclasped and allowed to fall to the floor as well.  

What was Peter doing?

Chrissy had finished and fallen silent.  

“Wait here,” whispered Peter, and headed across the room to where Chrissy was kneeling.  

Fine, thought Jane.  He strips me down to my panties then goes to play with Chrissy.  

Again she wondered what he was up to.

She heard ‘Father Brian’ say, “Are you ready?”  

And Chrissy replying, “I-I think so, Father.”  

She watched him help her to stand, and then lead her over towards the basement side of the room.  As he did so he gestured to Jane with his free hand, indicating that she should come around the other way.  

Wow, she thought to herself as she started walking, now he’s got two girls in their underwear, all to himself.  I sure hope he’s happy.

As she came around the stairwell she saw Peter leading Chrissy towards the workbench.  When they arrived, Peter held up his hand to tell her to wait where she was, so Jane stopped.  

‘Father Brian’ then said to Chrissy, “Stand with your feet apart, please,” and waited while Chrissy complied, saying, “Yes, Father,” as she did so.  

Jane thought, why, it’s just like that first time in the bathroom.  She wished she could send Chrissy home right now and take her place.

But meanwhile Peter had picked up a wooden sawhorse that stood near the workbench and was placing one end of it between Chrissy’s legs.  

What in the world... thought Jane.  

The sawhorse had been there for several years but still looked fairly new, as Jane’s father had never been all that much of a Mr. Fix-it.  It was about six feet long, stood about two and a half feet high, and its crossbar was only about an inch wide.  

Jane watched, fascinated, as Peter found an old, stained blanket under the workbench and placed it over the crossbar, then took two pieces of the rope Jane had supplied and began fastening Chrissy’s ankles to the two sawhorse legs which stood between her own.  

Ohhhh, thought Jane.

Chrissy was facing Jane, and though the mask covered most of her features, Jane could tell she was beginning to be afraid again—was probably dying to ask what was happening but didn’t dare.  Jane could see that she was beginning to breathe in gasps.

When Peter had finished tying her ankles he stood up and walked to the other end of the sawhorse.  He picked up two more pieces of rope, then took Chrissy’s gloved hands in his own, and slowly began drawing her forward and down.  

Chrissy gasped, “Oh!”, but otherwise remained silent as he drew her down until her chest was resting on the blanket, her breasts hanging down on either side of the crossbar.  Peter quickly knelt and secured her wrists to the sawhorse’s remaining legs.  

Oh god, thought Jane, looking at Chrissy’s terrified face...the shiny blue mask...the silly little hat...

Peter had finished.  He stood up, and began walking towards Jane.  Walked right past her, back out into the other side of the basement.  

He returned quickly, carrying something in his hand.  As he drew closer, Jane saw that it was one of the paddles from the Ping-Pong table.  

Well, she thought, Chrissy’s getting off pretty easy.  

Jane considered herself something of a spanking connoisseur by now.

Peter took Jane by the hand and led her around the sawhorse to stand behind Chrissy.  Jane saw that because the sawhorse was shorter than Chrissy’s legs she had to keep them straight—unless she preferred having a one-inch piece of wood with two sharp edges pressing between her legs—which meant that her lovely, satiny behind was held invitingly in the air.  

Jane stared at it–at the rosy flesh between the tops of Chrissy’s stockings and her panties–and felt her nipples getting hard.

‘Father Brian’ spoke as if pronouncing a sentence, which he was.  “Young lady, you are about to be punished for allowing—and encouraging—unwholesome thoughts about a man of God.  I hope that if these thoughts come to you again, you will remember this day and act accordingly.  Are you prepared?”

Her voice was a squeak.  “Y...Ye-yes, F-f-father...”

“Very well,” replied ‘Father Brian’.  “I want you to keep track of the number of strokes.  And with each stroke you will beg God’s forgiveness—is that clear?”

“Yes...I’m sorry.  Oh god...”

Peter turned...and held out the paddle to Jane.

What?  

Jane started to back away, shaking her head…  And then stopped as she realized: this is what he’d had in mind all along!  That’s why he had stripped her down to her panties: he wanted to watch her punish Chrissy!  Oh god, this was definitely not turning out the way she’d planned it.  Still...

Peter had caught her by the arm and was pulling her back towards him.  He pushed the paddle into her hand and turned her so she was again facing Chrissy’s upraised behind.  

He looked at Jane and then pointed between Chrissy’s legs, indicating that Jane should look.  

Jane leaned forward...and there, right where Chrissy’s sex made a bulge in her panties was a small, but unmistakable wet spot.

Jane looked back at Peter, smiled, and gently pushed him out of the way.  

He moved silently to her right and stood where he would have a good view of them both.

Jane’s nipples were fully erect now and she was sure there was some moisture gathering in her own panties.  She was already breathing hard and would have worried about being heard if Chrissy weren’t breathing so much harder.  

She moved to stand by Chrissy’s hip, facing Peter across her.  

Peter was staring at Jane with total concentration, his eyes bright, trying to breathe quietly through his mouth.  She could see that the erection pressing against his zipper was now huge.

Oh god, she couldn’t believe what was happening: that she was standing in the basement of her house, in her panties, and was about to spank a tied-up, half-undressed girl while her own boyfriend looked on.  

She thought she might have an orgasm while just standing there.

But Chrissy was beginning to writhe on the sawhorse, saying, “Please, Father...oh please...” 

It was incredibly sexy to watch, but Jane didn’t want to make her wait any longer.  

She raised the paddle, took one final glance at Peter, and struck.

The paddle made a loud whooshing sound as it cut through the air and hit Chrissy’s behind with a loud smack that echoed through the basement.  

Chrissy’s head jerked up and her hat flew completely off as she uttered a loud, “Oh!”  A few seconds later Jane heard her say, faintly, “...Ohhh...one.  Forgive me...”

Jane looked over at Peter, who was staring at Chrissy as if hypnotized.  

Jane wanted him looking at her.  She quickly walked around to where he was standing and kissed him quickly but passionately, simultaneously reaching down to stroke his erection for a moment while she did so.  Then she hurried back to her position, confident that she had his attention.  She did.  

She raised her arm and struck again.

Smack!  

“Oh—ow!  Two.  I’m sorry...” 

Chrissy was wriggling her behind as if trying to cool it off and Jane could see that the wet spot between her legs had gotten much larger already.  

Oh god, she was so wet herself!  She had never felt so aroused.  

Peter was still looking at her, and his hand was now rubbing the front of his pants.  Jane couldn’t help herself: she slipped her left hand between her legs and began to stroke herself too as she raised her right arm again...

Smack!  “Oh!  Oh God!  Three!  Oh!  Forgive me!”

Smack! “Uh!  Ah!....  Oh please...  Four!  I’m so sorry!”

Smack!...   Smack!...   Smack!

Suddenly Peter came around and pulled Jane aside.  

Jane felt as if she’d been snapped out of a trance.  What was he doing?

Peter reached over and picked up a long piece of rope from the workbench.  He folded it in two and stood holding the ends in his hand. 

 He stood behind Chrissy, and then  ‘Father Brian’ said,  “You’re not convincing me, young lady.”  

Then he reached out with both hands and jerked her panties down as far as they would go.

Chrissy cried out, “No!  Oh!  Please...please don’t!”  

Her buttocks were uniformly red from being paddled and Jane could see the moisture glistening in the cleft between her legs.  

‘Father Brian’ said only, “Keep counting!” and brought the rope whistling down on her naked cheeks.

The crack as it struck her was much sharper and nastier than the slap of the paddle. 

Chrissy screamed, and Jane wondered how much of it was from pain and how much from sheer mortification.  

Being spanked in your underwear was shameful enough, as she could well recall, but for someone like Chrissy being exposed like that must be completely humiliating.  She wondered if Chrissy would remember the safety valve and whether she’d use it now.  If she did, it would be up to Jane to stop things, since Peter didn’t know about it.

Chrissy was practically howling now.  “Ow!   God, no!  Stop!”

“Count!” said ‘Father Brian’, bringing the rope down again.

CRACK!

“OW!  Oh God—eight!  No—nine!  Oh, stop!  Please!  I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry!”

Jane thought that the rope was too thick and too soft to be all that painful—certainly not compared with a wooden baton or a metal ruler, for instance.  Nevertheless she could now see faint welts beginning to rise on Chrissy’s previously smooth, if reddened, bottom.  

And even though she had never seen her own welts after being spanked, the sight of Chrissy’s stirred her memories, and she was sure that Chrissy, consciously or not, was experiencing a great deal of pleasure with her pain.  

She wasn’t using her safety valve, at any rate.

CRACK!  

“Oh! Owwww!  Ten…  Oh please...” 

There was a pause, during which Chrissy gasped for breath several times.  

And then Jane heard her say, so softly that she must have hardly been moving her lips:

“Faster...”

Startled, Jane looked at Peter to see if he’d heard.  

He had, and quickly began to wield his rope with greater vigor.  

Jane watched as the two of them quickly fell into a rhythm, with Chrissy raising her hips to meet each downstroke, giving up all pretense of keeping track and simply crying out wordlessly. 

It was powerfully arousing to see her like that: panties down around her thighs, hips thrusting up and down, making it look as though she were having sex with the sawhorse.  And suddenly Jane could no longer stand being a mere spectator.

She quickly moved behind Peter and, careful not to break his rhythm, put both arms around his waist and began to massage his cock through his shorts.  Then, not content with this, she unfastened, unzipped and pulled down his shorts and then his underwear so she could actually wrap her hands around his cock.  She began to pump it in rhythm with his strokes...

But it was too late.  Chrissy had been moving faster and faster, and crying louder and louder, and now she suddenly arched her back, uttered one final, drawn-out cry—“AHHHHHHHhhhhh!”—and collapsed onto the sawhorse.

The sudden quiet was startling.  

Now there was nothing but the sound of three people breathing heavily.  

Jane quickly backed away, not wanting Chrissy to hear her.  Not that there was much chance of that, Jane thought.  

She walked quietly around to the front of the sawhorse, covering her mouth with her hand just in case.  

Chrissy lay with her head turned to the side.  Her hair was in disarray, and the sleep-mask was soaked with tears and sweat. The lower half of her face was smeared with make-up.  Her hat still lay on the floor.

And although she was still breathing very hard, it seemed to Jane that she was smiling.

Peter had quickly pulled up and refastened his pants and was in the process of untying Chrissy’s bonds.  When he was done he stood up. He picked up the paddle and handed it to Jane, then bent down close to Chrissy’s ear, and said softly, “Your punishment is complete, child.  You did very well.  I’ll be on my way now.   I’ll send J...your friend down to you in a moment.”

Chrissy stirred slightly, murmured, “Thank you, Father,” and slipped back into her apparently blissful coma.

Peter started to head for the stairs, but Jane signaled him to wait while she quickly returned the Ping-Pong paddle and retrieved the rest of her clothes.  

At the stairwell she picked up her sandals, then followed Peter up the stairs, trying to match her steps to his so that Chrissy, if by any chance she were paying attention, would hear only one person leaving the basement.

When they reached the kitchen and closed the door behind them, they both fell back against it, limbs slack, and said, “Whew!”  

Then, slowly they turned their heads to look at each other.  Jane watched him taking in her near-nakedness.  She glanced down and saw that he still had an erection...and knew that it wasn’t over yet.

Peter turned and stood in front of her, pushed the clothes and sandals she was carrying out of her hands so that they fell to the floor, and took her in his arms, pressing himself against her, smiling down at her and saying in a harsh whisper,  “Only very bad little girls wet their panties.”

Jane didn’t bother to look down.  She knew they were wet; wet nearly to the waistline, it felt like.  Instead, defiantly holding his gaze, she pulled her panties down and let them fall to the floor.  

She stepped out of them and, without breaking eye contact, crouched down to pick them up.  

She held them out in front of his face with both hands, letting him see just how wet they were.  

Then she said, her voice matching his, “You’d better spank me, then,” and, wadding her panties into a ball, stuffed them into her mouth.

Peter’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t waste a second.  He quickly bent and heaved her onto his shoulder, then turned and made for the stairs as fast as he could go.  

Jane was glad he’d had the presence of mind to take her upstairs.  It wouldn’t do for Chrissy to wander up and find them playing in the kitchen, though Jane suspected it would be a while before Chrissy was sufficiently recovered to walk anywhere.

She was already regretting the gesture of putting her panties into her mouth, even though she’d known it would drive Peter crazy.  The taste of her own juices was not pleasant and of course it was much more difficult to breathe.  

Still, she had a good idea of what was coming and thought she might need help keeping quiet.

She was right.  

When Peter, still carrying Jane, had climbed the stairs, he dashed into her room and pushed the door shut with his foot, but didn’t bother to put her down.  Instead, he quickly sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled her legs sideways so that she fell face down over his lap.   

Then, holding her in place with his left hand, he gave ten hard, open-palmed slaps to her naked behind with his right.  He gave them quickly and without speaking, the silence broken only the slap of his hand striking her cheeks and Jane’s well muffled screams.

Then he pushed her left leg off his lap and, reaching between her legs, stroked her there—delicately, sensuously—with his middle finger for about ten seconds.  

Then he withdrew his hand...and gave her another vicious slap on the behind.  

This was followed by another ten seconds of delicious pleasure...and another slap.  

More stroking and another slap.

Jane, although finding it now extremely difficult to breathe, was very glad to have something in her mouth, as she wanted to shriek with both pain and uncontrollable lust.

 Oh god, she was burning, from the outside in and from the inside out.  She couldn’t stand it!  

She put a hand against his chest and pushed herself off his lap, falling to the floor in a heap.  

She yanked the panties out of her mouth, scrambled to her feet, and said, hoarsely, “Oh god, Peter—fuck me!” before throwing herself past him onto the bed.  

Peter said, “I didn’t bring any condoms!” and Jane quickly got onto her hands and knees, grabbed a bottle of skin lotion from her bedside table and tossed it to him, saying, “Good!”  

Then she put her face down on a pillow, raised her behind in the air and spread her knees apart as far as they would go.

With her face still buried in the pillow she heard him hurriedly shed his shorts and underwear.  Heard the bottle of skin lotion make a farting sound as he squirted some into his hand.  Heard the small squishy noises as he lubricated his cock.

Another farty sound...and then his finger, deliciously cool and slippery, anointing the area between her buttocks and then quickly tunneling up her passage, taking only long enough to coat it before withdrawing.  

She felt the bed bouncing slightly as he knelt behind her and positioned himself. 

 His hands, warm—one of them slippery with lotion—on her hips.  

Then, at last, the head of his cock, pushing urgently into her.

He must have been as uncontrollably aroused as she was because he buried his cock to its full length in her with his first thrust.  

Jane pressed her face into her pillow and screamed...and came.  And screamed again with the tidal force of her coming.  

Peter only managed to withdraw and thrust into her a few more times before he too climaxed, with a long groan of pleasure and release.  Then he quickly withdrew, and fell onto the bed beside her. 

Jane let her knees slide out from under her and fell beside him.

She wanted nothing more than to put her arms around Peter and drift off into sweet oblivion.  But she knew it wasn’t to be.  

She allowed herself a moment to snuggle up, however, and when she thought they were both somewhat recovered, she kissed him gently, knowing he must feel as sated and drowsy as she did.  Then she shook his shoulder a little and said, “Peter, wake up.  You have to go before Chrissy comes up.”

Peter looked at her, slightly cross-eyed, and said, “Why?   Can’t I just hide up here until she leaves?”

“No,” said Jane sitting up and tugging on his arm, “She has to hear you leave.  She can’t take off her mask until you’re gone.”

“Oh. “  He swung his feet to the floor and started to rise.  

“Jane?” he said, his back still to her.

“Yes?”

“One of these days...will you explain to me what just happened?”  

He reached down for his shorts.

As the door closed on a confused but quizzically smiling Peter, sent on his way with kisses and promises of explanation in the near future, Jane hurried to the kitchen.  She had hurriedly cleaned herself, snatched a fresh pair of panties from her bureau and put them on before coming downstairs with Peter, and now she hastened to don the clothes she had left by the cellar door.

When she was satisfied that she looked more or less as she had the last time Chrissy had seen her, she quietly opened the door and made her way downstairs.  

She wondered whether she would find Chrissy still passed out on the sawhorse or, worse yet, curled up in a ball somewhere, sobbing from her traumatic experience.  She opened the downstairs door as softly as she could, and was just about to call out Chrissy’s name when she saw her standing by the couch.

She was fully dressed.  Her hair—and hat—were neatly back in place.  Her face was clear and serene, and she was looking into the mirror of a compact as she retouched her lipstick.  

She looked up when she heard Jane come in, gave her a big smile and said, “There you are!  I was wondering what had become of you.”

“I went out for a walk so you and Father Brian could have some privacy,” Jane improvised. As she drew closer she could see that Chrissy’s eyes were still a little puffy from crying, but other than that she looked just as she had when she came in.  

Amazing.

Chrissy’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a moment at Jane’s statement.  Then she said, with a casualness that was belied by her anxious expression “Oh?  So you didn’t...hear anything?”

Jane feigned puzzlement.  “Like what?”

“Oh, nothing.  I...I just was worried that we might have been talking too loudly, that’s all.”

Jane shook her head to indicate that she’d heard nothing and saw the anxiety fade from Chrissy’s face.  “So...how did you like Father Brian?” she asked cautiously.

Chrissy’s smile brightened as she replied, “Oh, he was just wonderful!  He talked to me for a long time, and gave me lots of good advice.”

Talked? thought Jane.  O-kay.  

“So he helped you?”

“Oh yes, I feel so much better now.”

“That’s great.”  Jane thought she should just let it go, but she had to ask.  “And he didn’t...punish you at all?”

Chrissy’s smile dimmed, and she colored slightly and looked away before she replied, “Oh...a little.” Then, with an effort, she quickly put her smile back in place, returned her gaze to Jane and continued.  “But it wasn’t bad, really.  I don’t know what I was so afraid of.”  

She nervously reached up to re-adjust her hat, and Jane could see the red chafe-marks the ropes had left on her wrists. 

I guess she doesn’t know how loud she was screaming, mused Jane.  I would have heard her even if I had been out in the woods.



She looked around and saw that all the used tissues had been cleaned up and that the tissue-box was back in its usual place.  

But where’s the mask, she wondered. Still in the other room, maybe.

Chrissy checked herself one last time before closing the compact.  Then she turned to Jane, still smiling, and said,  “Thanks so much for helping me.  I’m glad I got to meet Father Brian.”

“Well, I’m glad he made a good impression on you,” said Jane, smiling, somewhat viciously, in turn.  “Do you have to run off?  You could stay for lunch...or maybe a quick game of Ping-Pong?  I’m pretty good with a paddle.” This was pure mischief on her part.

Chrissy looked across the room at the Ping-Pong table and a look of confusion passed briefly across her face.  Then she brightened again and, turning back to Jane, said, “I’ll bet you are.  But I really can’t stay.  I’m dying to get out of these clothes.”

I don’t know why—you just got back into them, thought Jane as Chrissy turned away and bent down to put her compact back in her purse, which was still on the chair.  As she did so, Jane noticed something strange about Chrissy’s behind: there was an oddly shaped bulge, barely discernible, protruding from the middle of it under her skirt.  There was something familiar about it...  

Jane suddenly put her hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter: Chrissy was using the mask to cushion her behind!
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