Anthea s baby 1
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The TempleChapter 21 free porn video
It was the July 1st long weekend, and all of Gabriel’s friends would be having a blast. His best friend Azeem’s parents were away, and there would be an awesome pool party at his place. Booze aplenty, pot (now legal in Canada so the worst that could happen was being busted for underage use), and most importantly, girls. Girls in bikinis. Gabriel was sixteen, and the things he thought about the most were girls, food, sports and video games, in that order. Yes, it would be a truly epic party, thought Gabriel, as he stared out of the window of the bus that was taking him north, away from Toronto. Away from a party that he would not be attending. Instead, he was on his way to a retreat. A goddamn fucking Catholic retreat organized by the diocese.
He’d tried to get out of it. He’d twisted and turned. He’d shimmied and shaked. He’d played the “I’ve got an important assignment that I have to work on” card, but his mom had blown through that excuse with a call to his English teacher. He’d tried begging next, but that hadn’t worked either. He was making his way through the five stages of grief, but the final stage, that of acceptance, eluded him.
“This is so fucking dumb,” he thought, trapped next to his far too devout mother, listening to her prattle with some of the other parents. His mother had gotten it into her head that Gabriel, the fifth of her children and her only son, should go to a seminary after high school, in the hope that he would be ordained a priest. He hadn’t been able to summon the moral courage to tell her no, and unless and until he did, it was off to a seminary in London, instead of university like his friends.
He’d never been able to say “no” to his mom’s Catholic stuff. He believed in God, kinda, but not in a huge way. Sure, God must exist, but that didn’t mean you had to get all wrapped up in Jesus shit. But that’s not how his mom saw things. Ever since he was a kid, it was church every Sunday, grace at mealtimes, having the priest over for dinner now and again, and getting together for parish shit. And Gabe had never, ever, had the courage to say, “Mom, enough. I’m not doing this anymore.” Gabe wasn’t sure he ever would find the courage. When he did pray, and that was not very often, he prayed for only one thing: that Jesus would give him the moral fortitude, the spine, the chutzpah, to tell his mom that he’d had enough.
But Jesus couldn’t be expected to help out with a request like that, and so Gabriel’s weekend was ruined because he was such a chickenshit. After a three or four hour bus trip to the Muskokas, he’d blow the better part of three days attending prayer sessions, mass every day, and bible study. And the evenings would require him to sit around singing hymns while old Mrs. Balderson played on an out-of-tune piano.
At least Gabriel had his iphone. He turned it on, and opened the app for a new first person shooter game. He plugged in his headphones, and soon was busy running around killing bots. It wasn’t as good as COD at home, but it would help pass the time on the ride to cottage country. A ride that had started late. They were supposed to leave at 7 pm, but there’d been a problem of some kind. It was almost 9 before they finally left, and his phone battery was running low.
“Gabe is such a good kid,” his mother said to her neighbour across the aisle. “His marks are good, and Father tells me he’s a shoe-in for admittance to St. Peter’s Seminary.” She was right, but of course the standards weren’t exactly high. Nowadays any young male would be welcomed with open arms, there being so few that wished to devote themselves to a life of celibacy, or at least, pretended celibacy. “He never causes trouble. Just a good kid all around,” she continued.
“Fuck. FUCK!” said Gabriel.
“What’s wrong?” asked his mother, blushing.
“I forgot my charger cord! My phone’s almost out of power, and I can’t plug it in. Fuck!”
“Keep your voice down!” said his mother. “I’m sorry you’re going to be bored, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Next time, bring a book!” Gabriel turned his sullen face to the window and stared out at the heavy traffic on the DVP. The trip was going to seem even longer than it actually was.
“He can sit with me,” he heard a voice say from behind him. “My notebook’s got lots of power, and I’ve got a charger cord.”
“Don’t put yourself to any trouble,” Gabriel heard his idiot mom say before he nudged her. “Mom, please!” he whispered urgently.
“It’s no trouble,” said the voice. Before his mother could ruin everything, Gabriel slipped past her. He hadn’t seen who had made the offer, but a few rows back was a seat occupied by only one person, a woman who was lifting a backpack to create room. She squeezed the pack under her seat, and then shuffled over to be closer to the window. She looked up at him.
“Over here,” she said, patting the seat next to her.
Gabriel gaped at the woman. She had to be under thirty. Maybe not even twenty-five. A knockout blonde that Gabriel had noticed getting on the bus, but whom he didn’t know. “Thanks!” he said, sitting next to her. There was only just enough room for the two of them on the bench seat of the old converted school bus that their church used for trips. The woman stuck out her hand.
“I’m Michelle.”
“Gabriel,” he said. “My friends call me Gabe. The bus is pretty crowded. Why isn’t anyone sitting with you?”
“The lady who was coming up here with me had to cancel, so I’ve got a bus seat all to myself, and when we get to the retreat, the cabin’s all mine, too. But glad to have someone to share it with. The bus seat, I mean,” she added with a laugh. She opened her purse, and pulled out a cord. “Will this do?”
“For sure!” said Gabriel, attaching it to his iphone. Michelle plugged the other end into her notebook, and Gabriel could see that his phone was now charging. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be able to use it again. “This is really nice of you,” he said. “But aren’t you afraid it will take away too much power? Suppose you run out?”
“Not a problem,” said Michelle. “It’s a Lenova, and my husband got it for me for when I’m travelling. It’s got an insane amount of battery life.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.” Michelle opened the notebook and logged in. Her screen jumped into life, the image bright, the resolution exceptional.
“Wow! Does it have a gaming card?”
Michelle laughed. “I have no idea. If I had boys, maybe I could tell you, but I only have daughters, and they’re not into computer games.”
“They’re probably a bit too young for video games,” said Gabriel.
“I doubt it. Liz is almost seventeen; Anna is fifteen.”
Gabriel was surprised, and almost blurted out, “just how old are you anyways,” but managed to restrain himself.
“I turn thirty-five this year,” said Michelle in response to his unspoken question.
“Wow! You sure don’t look it.” But he was still skeptical.
“I’ll prove it. Let me show you some pictures of my girls.” Michelle clicked her touchpad, and her screen began to cycle through photos of Liz and Anna, some of them together, some individually, photos taken at family functions, school outings, Anna’s latest swim meet, Liz in a formal gown.
“Your girls are really, really beautiful. Just like--I mean, they’re really nice.” Gabriel stirred slightly in his seat as if he were a trifle uncomfortable. Michelle suspected the reason for this was the last of the shots of Anna. Her husband had taken that at their cottage two weeks earlier as Anna had lifted herself up onto the cottage dock, the shot taken from above as she smiled up at the camera, revealing her ample cleavage.
“I don’t suppose your girls are coming to this retreat thing,” said Gabriel. Michelle laughed. “Not a chance,” she said. Her girls were both at the Temple for the weekend, and for all Michelle knew, were giving blowjobs at that very moment. “How did you get roped into coming on this trip, anyways?” she asked, her voice low.
“It’s my mom. She wants me to be a priest.” His tone was that of someone announcing his terminal cancer diagnosis.
“And what do you think?”
A shadow passed over his face. “I try not to think about it,” said Gabriel. “My phone’s powered up now. Thanks.” He lifted the phone up to his face, put in his earphones, and started to play.
Michelle had been an Opus Dei member for a month now, but her real initiation had taken place only a week earlier. She’d arrived exactly at 11:50 p.m. as instructed, the door opening before she’d even knocked. It was her baker friend, Rosa, who had answered the door, this apparently being a regular part of her duties. Rosa held a finger to her lips, and Michelle entered silently. Rosa led her into Lancemore’s main room.
Mother Valencia was seated in her usual place, a comfy armchair. Only she sat. Rosa joined the others, completing a row of six women standing along one side of the room. Michelle knew all of them now, particularly Bree, who was Valencia’s de facto second in command. Michelle entered the room, and needed no prompting to drop to both knees and bow. Her forehead touched the floor, where she remained until Mother Valencia gave her permission to stand.
“I’m told you’ve done well,” said Valencia, looking down at a sheet of paper in her hand. As she spoke it became apparent to Michelle that Valencia was reading from a list. “Knowledge of the Catechism: good. Devotion to good works: clearly demonstrated by your charitable contributions, both monetary and in labour. Personal Appearance--so important to our founder--very, very good; you are clearly a credit to your husband. Cleaning and other household tasks: these you performed with unstinting and unflagging effort. And lastly and most importantly, obedience to commands: peerless. The best we’ve ever seen in a novitiate. No one would ever guess that you weren’t a veteran member of Opus Dei.”
“Thank you, Mother Valencia,” said Michelle.
“Although you are now a member of our Order, there is one more thing that is required, if you are to be permitted to join the inner circle at Lancemore, and become a supernumerary. It’s a ritual that you needn’t partake in, if you’re content to be a numerary, and confine yourself to cooking, cleaning and so on. We have a number of such women in our ranks, performing essential tasks for the rest of us. It would be an honour for you to join them. But if you aspire to more, you must give more, and suffer more, the way we all have suffered. You must suffer the way our Lord suffered as a sign of your gratitude for His sacrifice.”
“What must I do, Mother?”asked Michelle, although from the briefings at the Temple she thought she already had a pretty good notion.
“You need do nothing at all. But you must endure much. Rather than tell you, we will show you. Bree, which of us most recently underwent the ordeal?”
“I canvassed all of those present before your arrival, Mother Valencia, and it’s Rosa.”
“Rosa,” said Valencia, “when were you last chastised?”
“This morning, Mother Valencia.”
“Did you inflict it on yourself? Or did you have assistance?”
“Julia helped me,” said Rosa.
“I know from personal experience that Julia knows what she is about. Show Michelle your back, so that she will know what she is getting into.”
Rosa turned her back on Michelle, and undid her bra under her blouse. Then she unbuttoned the blouse and let it drop to the floor. Rosa stood, her arms crossed and her back fully exposed. Her back was criss-crossed with bright red welts. Underneath the welts were older marks, scars from previous beatings.
“And that is what is required to join the inner circle,” said Mother Valencia as Rosa put her clothes back on. “Chastisement is an essential part of Opus Dei. Father Escriva mandated that any member above the level of numerary must submit to regular chastisement at least once a week, and where no one is available to administer the punishment, she must wield the whip herself, and self-flagellate to the best of her ability.
“Michelle, I stress that you need not do this. I will be frank. You are young. You are beautiful. I doubt you have more than the odd stretch mark, if that. Few women willingly mar their looks, even when the scarring is in a place where none can see. You can leave now with honour, and none of us will think the less of you. Nor do you need to decide tonight. You can think about it for a week. You can consult your husband or Father Mahoney.”
“I don’t need a week, or a day, or an hour,” said Michelle, her hands at the buttons of her blouse. “I’m ready. I’m ready right now.”
“You’re sure?” said Mother Valencia. “Your consent, once given, is irrevocable. You must endure a dozen hard strokes of the lash. And if you call out for the whipping to stop, it will do you no good. The punishment will continue to its end. But the fact you called out, that you sought to cease the chastisement, will show that you are unfit for this group. Thus you will have experienced the pain and scarring, without any of the benefits.”
“I’m sure.” said Michelle. She passed her blouse to Rosa, and then removed her bra, releasing her absurdly beautiful breasts, twin orbs capped by pale pink nipples.
“Upstairs, everyone,” said Valencia, and a few minutes later Michelle found her wrists cuffed to the cross on Lancemore’s second floor.
“Mother Valencia, there’s no need to fix me to the cross,” Michelle said as Rosa began confining her feet with another set of cuffs. “I won’t try to get out of this, I promise you. And isn’t there more honour in submitting to the punishment, when you could attempt to flee?”
“We’ve tried that,” said Valencia, “but I find that women bear it better, when they know they can’t escape. Giving them an out can make it simply harder to deal with, and so the cuffs are more of a mercy than anything else. But a small one, as you are now to find out. Julia! Step forward.” Michelle turned her head, and saw Valencia pass Julia a rope. Half way down its length a number of smaller ropes branched off, each ending in a knot. It was similar to the cat o’ nine tails occasionally used on her at the Temple. Worse than the flagella, but far less than the lash, and compared to the knout, it was nothing at all.
Elissa
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