There was no sign whatsoever of Suzy’s father. He must be hiding upstairs, Jane thought.

But she did manage to find Lucia in the kitchen. She was sitting on the lap of a boy Jane recognized but didn’t know by name. Lucia greeted her and complimented her on her dress. Then, in answer to Jane’s inquiry for Suzy, pointed in the general direction of the living room, saying she’d seen her there a little while ago.

Jane managed to squeeze her way in and looked around. She didn’t see Suzy but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there; the room was so crowded that she couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction.

She did, however, see Chrissy, who had managed to grab one of the living room chairs near to where Jane was standing. And, for a wonder, she was wearing a summer dress—a very conservative summer dress that came down well past her knees, but nevertheless something besides her ‘church’ clothes—and she was talking to a boy!

He was sitting on the arm of Chrissy’s chair and the two of them seemed deep in conversation. Jane wanted to rub her eyes. She made her way over to say hello, figuring she might as well be sure Chrissy saw her by herself before Peter arrived.

When Chrissy saw her approaching her face lit up and she smiled brightly at her, saying, "Hi Jane...don’t you look pretty!"

The boy sitting with her turned and nodded politely. He was thin and pale-looking, with lank dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Chrissy introduced him. "This is Francis. I used to go to St. Mary’s with him."

Francis extended a hand and Jane shook it, saying, "Hello. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say hi to Chrissy."

She turned as if to go, but Francis said, "That’s all right, I was just going to find something to drink for us. Do you want anything?"

Jane demurred politely and waited until Francis had disappeared into the crowd before turning back to Chrissy. "He’s..." She was going to say ‘cute’, but he really wasn’t, so she started over. "He seems...nice." Not really true either, but it was the best she could do.

Chrissy nodded. "Yes. We’ve known each other forever."

Jane had to ask. "Are you...um, going out with him?"

Chrissy broke into a smile, and even laughed a little. "No, we’re just friends. He’s studying to be a priest."

"Oh."

Figures, thought Jane.

And she could just about guess what the next words out of Chrissy’s mouth would be.

Sure enough, Chrissy looked quickly around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned forward and asked, "Did you find out anything?"

Jane had had an answer ready almost since the last time she and Chrissy had spoken.

"My, uh, boyfriend called the people at the church, and they said they don’t have a number for him; he just calls a week or so before he’s coming. They said it’s usually at least a couple of months between visits."

That should put a damper on things, thought Jane.

Chrissy did look discouraged. She frowned and seemed to look inward for a moment. Then she looked up at Jane with an almost begging expression and said, "But they’ll let you know when he’s coming?"

Jane stifled a sigh of exasperation, then nodded and replied, "Yes. They’ll call P...my boyfriend and he’ll let me know." When pigs have wings, she added mentally.

Chrissy nodded to show she understood. "Okay"

But she still looked unsatisfied. Then she peered up at Jane and asked, "What’s your boyfriend’s name?"

Jane’s mind of course immediately became empty of every name except Peter’s. She blinked a couple of times trying to come up with another name—any other name. Finally she said, "Uh...P-Paul."

Then Chrissy leaned forward until she was close enough to whisper, her eyes suddenly intense, "And does he still...you know..."

Jane did know, and she also knew that she did not want to get into a discussion of spanking with Chrissy. The expression on her face was entirely too avid—almost hungry, it seemed to Jane.

She was saved from answering by the return of Francis and the simultaneous arrival of Suzy, both of whom fought their way out of different parts of the crowd to stand beside her.

Chrissy immediately sat back, casually, as if she’d just been adjusting her seat, and accepted a glass of soda from Francis.

Suzy greeted her while slipping an arm around Jane’s waist and giving her a quick hug. Then she held Jane away at both arms’ length and exclaimed, "Wow, Janie," (‘Janie’? thought Jane.) "...you look fabulous! Is your boyfriend here too?"

Jane was now heartily sorry she’d ever invented the imaginary boyfriend—especially when she saw Peter’s face for a moment as he struggled to get through the mob in the kitchen. The song on the record player was about love being like a heat wave, and some people nearby were even attempting to dance, even though there wasn’t room enough to do much more than hop up and down.

She watched him working his way through the crowd and it seemed to her that there was a glow around him, though she knew it was just her heart adding special effects. She felt a familiar, goofy smile creeping onto her face...she loved him so much!

"Jane?"

Jane suddenly realized that Suzy was still waiting for an answer to her question. She turned back, noticing as she did so that Chrissy was regarding her curiously.

Jane quickly began to babble something about a car breaking down, hoping that Chrissy hadn’t been able to tell where she’d been looking. Unfortunately, Peter chose that moment to break free of the kitchen and appear in the doorway to the living room.

Jane consciously avoided looking at him as she continued speaking, but saw Chrissy glance over at where Peter was standing, then look back at Jane, her eyes questioning.

Jane broke off what she was saying and made a business of introducing Suzy to Francis so that Chrissy would have to explain how she knew him. While Chrissy was thus distracted, Jane glanced over at Peter—just as his eyes found her. He smiled and started to make his way over.

Oh no. Jane shook her head slightly and tilted it towards where Chrissy was sitting. She saw him look, see Chrissy, and immediately change direction, finding someone else he knew and saying hello.

Whew.

By then the introductions were over and Suzy was telling Chrissy and Francis about her mother’s store, and how Jane and Suzy would be working together starting Monday.

Jane said, "Oh, that reminds me, I wanted to ask you something about that..." and, nodding to Chrissy and Francis, took Suzy’s arm and steered her away from them.

She then asked Suzy a question about the work schedule that she knew full well Suzy wouldn’t know the answer to, and once that was settled continued to chat with her for a while.

She really liked Suzy, a blue-eyed blonde whose perky cheerleader looks and manner concealed, as Jane remembered from junior high, a brain that had gotten her effortless straight ‘A’ s and awards in a number of mathematics competitions. She had been keeping the books for her mother’s store since she was twelve.

The two of them made an attractive pair, and Jane noticed that they were getting looks from a number of boys in the room. Suzy had obviously noticed as well because she said, "Ever feel like you’re being undressed long-distance?"

Jane smiled and leaned close to reply, "Yes—I kind of like it, though, don’t you?"

Suzy grinned. "As long as they only do it with their eyes." Then her eyes twinkled and she added, "Though there’s one I wouldn’t mind a hands-on approach from."

Jane raised her eyebrows comically. "Oh? And who’s that?"

Suzy wagged a finger at her. "None o’ your beeswax!" Then she gave Jane a sidelong glance. "Maybe if you introduce me to your boyfriend someday..." she drawled, and gave Jane a significant look. "Does he use a hands-on approach?"

Jane really wanted to confide in her, at least partly—and she thought that maybe she would someday when she knew her a little better. But for now she mocked Suzy’s wagging finger, replied, "None of your beeswax!" and stuck her tongue out at her.

This made them both laugh. Then Suzy said, "I’d better see if Mom got back with supplies. The natives are getting restless," and made her way towards the kitchen, calling, "See you Monday!" over her shoulder as she went.

Jane was ready to leave already—it was no fun being at a party with Peter if she couldn’t be with him. Her eyes sought him out and found him not too far away, listening to a girl—Jane recognized her as Peter’s prom date—explaining something. Jane quickly checked to make sure Chrissy wasn’t looking her way, then moved into a position where she could catch Peter’s eye. As soon as she had his attention she tilted her head toward the door, and saw him nod slightly in return.

Jane turned and fought her way through the crowd until she reached the front porch, and waited there until Peter came out. Darkness had almost completely fallen, and besides, Chrissy was still inside, so Jane didn’t worry about being seen with Peter.

As soon they were off the porch she took his hand and they made their way back towards where the car was parked.

"I wish that whole ‘Father Brian’ business had never happened," Jane groused. "We’re never going to be able to go anywhere together without worrying about running into Chrissy."

"Was she asking about him again?" asked Peter.

Jane just nodded her head, sighing. "And she was starting to ask me whether my ‘boyfriend’ still spanks me." She shook her head in exasperation. "She doesn’t really give a hoot about Father Brian, she just wants to be punished again."

Then she gave Peter a sly, sidelong glance and added, "But then again, who doesn’t?"

Peter gave her a crooked smile and said, "Gosh, I’m really in demand around here. I can see I’m going to have to start charging for my services. Let’s see...’Peter’s Punishment Providers’. That has a nice ring to it. Would you care to make an appointment?"

"Well, I don’t know," she replied, smiling in return. "How much do you charge?"

"Hmm...good question."

Peter looked up at the sky as he calculated. Well, there’s your basic spanking, which you can purchase at the hourly rate, or the per-whack rate, if you prefer. Or you can use our handy color-chart to ***** the exact degree of redness you want to achieve."

They had turned the corner and had nearly reached the driveway where the car was parked. The street was deserted; the only sounds other than the ones emanating from Suzy’s house were crickets, peepers and other night creatures. Jane was enjoying Peter’s flight of fancy...

And at the same time was using her left hand to stealthily unbutton the front of her dress.

As they turned into the driveway, Jane dropped his hand and fell back as if going around to the passenger side of the car. But in fact she continued walking behind him, silently shrugging off her dress and tossing it in through the car window as she did so, followed quickly by her purse—and, when she suddenly remembered it, the wad of tissues that had been in her panties.

Peter was still embroidering on his theme. "Then there’s our more comprehensive Humiliation Package, which is of course more expensive..."

He glanced across the top of the car and saw that Jane wasn’t there, getting in, as he’d expected. He turned around to see where she was...

And found her behind him, wearing only her lacy red bra and panties and her sandals. She was leaning casually against the car with her elbow on the roof, one foot crossed in front of the other and her hand on her hip, grinning impishly at him.

Peter, to his credit, managed to finish his sentence, "...but I think I can arrange a discount for you," before Jane grabbed him and pulled him to her.

She turned so that her back was against the side of the car and her front was against Peter. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Her hands massaged his back and slowly made their way down to his behind, which she grasped tightly and used to hold him in place while she ground her pelvis against him.

Eventually Jane had to stop and take a breath or else faint from asphyxiation. When she removed her mouth from his, Peter, after gasping a couple of times, looked somewhat cross-eyed at her and said, "Actually, I think we’ll pay you."

He stepped back to look at her, but she took his hand and led him around in front of the car. The hedge was good camouflage, but she wanted to be hidden in case someone out for an evening stroll happened to pass by the driveway and look in.

Jane hopped up and sat on the hood of the car, her feet resting on the bumper. Then she slowly lay back, raising her arms to cradle her head in her hands as she did so. She wanted to give Peter a good look.

The metal hood was still faintly warm against her skin. She gazed at him through half-closed eyes...and slowly allowed her knees to fall open. Then, as he watched, she began to sensuously raise and lower her pelvis toward him, feeling deliciously wicked.

"Do you like my new undies?" she said, her voice seductive.

Without removing his fascinated gaze from between her legs he replied, "No—I always drool like this."

He leaned down as if he were about to begin kissing her there. But Jane snapped her legs shut.

"Did you bring the condoms?" she demanded.

Peter looked startled at this change of mood, but replied, "Of course," and dug them out of his front pocket.

When he held them up to show her, Jane suddenly sat up, grabbed them out of his hand and flung them over the side hedge. Peter stared after them, then turned his stare on her, blinking.

Jane burst out laughing and threw her arms around his neck. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "I’m on the Pill."

Then she lay back again, grinning at his astonishment, and continued, "And if you’re not inside me in ten seconds, you’re the one who’s going to get punished, buster."

Peter seemed to take her at her word, because he had his pants down and cock out in record time, and simply pulled aside the crotch of her panties to enter her. Then he grabbed her hips to ease himself all the way in, watching her mouth fall open and gasp with desire as he did so.

Then he leaned his elbows down on either side of her, smiled and said, in a parody of Father Brian’s brogue, "There! Ye’ll not be siccin’ Father Brian on me, by God!"

They both laughed out loud at this.

Which is why neither of them heard the horrified gasp that came from the other side of the hedge.

<span class="underline">Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chrissy ran, her mind in chaos. Sweet Mother of God! Jane had lied to her, had tricked her...and he had...Oh Jesus, no!

She kept running until she reached her car, then yanked the door open and flung herself in, slamming the door behind her. She sat in the darkness, gasping for breath. Trying to think...and not to think. What on earth had made her decide to follow them?

It had started the other day. Chrissy had found Jane’s fumbling explanation of how she’d known about the thigh-highs suspicious, but couldn’t figure out why. And she’d been afraid to pursue it then for fear of offending her only connection with Father Brian. And oh, how she had wanted to see Father Brian again! Well, not see him, exactly...

She had never known such peace, such feelings of grace and release, as she had after that morning in Jane’s basement. It was as if all of the pain and shame she had experienced there had built up inside her and burst like a thunderstorm, washing her clean of the guilt she’d carried for so long. For hours afterwards she seemed to be floating like an angel.

She felt as though she had finally become the good person she thought she should be, that God wanted her to be in order to be worthy of His love: free of the desires that tormented her and kept her earthbound.

Free from thoughts of her teacher, Father Anthony.

But almost before the physical pain had completely vanished the old thoughts had started to drift back, to settle and accumulate in her mind and heart like dust, obscuring and defiling the shining purity she had felt inside.

But she had known how to get clean again! So the next day she had sought out Jane, and when Jane had told her there was no way to contact Father Brian—and given Chrissy only the vague promise of his return at some indefinite time in the future to sustain her—she had been crushed

That night, by herself, in her room with the door locked, she had tried re-enacting her encounter with Father Brian.

She had put on all of the same clothing and made a blindfold out of her pillowcase, though she’d worn it in such a way that she could peek out from under it, and stood in front of the mirror.

She had recalled his questions and remarks as well as she could and murmured her responses out loud ("Yes, Father." "I’m sorry, Father.") as if he were actually there.

She had confessed again to having impure thoughts and then said: "I need to be punished, Father Brian."

She had pretended to listen to his response and answered, "Yes, Father."

And then she had slowly taken off her dress and her slip, peeking at herself in the mirror and imagining Father Brian standing in place of her reflection, watching. She had experienced a small thrill of shame as she did so; an echo of what she had originally felt. Of course she had no idea what Father Brian looked like, and the vague image that she had conjured up using only her memory of his voice had shown a disturbing tendency to resemble Father Anthony.

She had pushed that image away, though it continued to hover at the edge of her awareness, and fallen to her knees in front of the mirror. She had clasped her hands and begun reciting Hail Marys and Our Fathers as she had before. She had tried to give her full attention to the task but her eyes had kept opening to peek under the blindfold at her reflection to see how she must have looked then.

Oh, Father Brian had been so right; she was vain, vain, vain! She needed to be purified again!

She had grabbed the straight-back chair from in front of her desk and placed it sideways in front of the mirror. Then she had, with great difficulty, tied her ankles to the back legs of the chair using a pair of knee-socks. Finally she had draped herself over the back of the chair, holding a large wooden hairbrush in one hand and gripping the edge of the seat with the other.

She had turned her head and again peeked at her reflection. She’d stared at the image: the long, dark hair falling around her seemingly blindfolded face; the profile of her breasts, shaped strangely by hanging upside down and nearly spilling out of their brassiere; the pale flesh over her ribs tapering to the swell of her behind, bent over the top of the chair; the long, long legs in white stockings and high heels, set off by the red knee-socks with which they were tied to the chair. She’d imagined Father Anthony—No! Father Brian! —looking at her, and had felt herself flush with shame.

Better.

She had raised the hairbrush and held it awkwardly over her behind, imagining it in Father...Brian’s hand. Had stared at its reflection for several moments before lowering it again and placing it on the chair seat. Had then reached back with both hands and slowly pulled her panties down to the top of her thighs.

Picked up and raised the brush again. Stared.

Then lowered it and burst into tears.

In the days after that she had resigned herself to waiting until Father Brian’s return, and to the creeping daydreams that filled her with desire and then with self-disgust.

She had written the letter that Father Brian had suggested, trying as hard as she could to be sincerely repentant, and sent it off to Father Anthony. There had been no reply as yet. But she had found herself fantasizing that he would write back and not only forgive her but say that he had been wrong; that he missed her and wanted to see her—which only led her back into the same torturing thoughts as before.

She had tried desperately to fend them off, to think of other things. She’d lain in bed, fists clenched, willing herself to go to sleep, to slip past the unclean thoughts and be safe for another night. And when they came anyway she would vow not to indulge them and pray for the strength to resist—only to find herself ‘accidentally’ rolling over onto her hand and adding another to the growing list of sins she couldn’t bear to bring up in confession.

And even though she hated her after-school and summer job as a filing clerk in the police station where her father worked, she was grateful to have something to do, however boring. She was sure she’d go crazy if left alone with her thoughts for too long.

As it was the sheer mindlessness of the work all too often allowed her mind to drift in directions where she didn’t want it to go, and she would sometimes find herself standing in front of an open file drawer, folder in hand, her face burning with shame at the pictures which had taken over her mind.

Oh, she would do anything to be free of this!

That was the only reason she had attended the party: the chance that Jane would be there and have some news for her, however slim that chance was. And when her childhood friend Francis had called to say hello earlier that day, she’d dragged him along for company. And to carefully pump him for information about Father Anthony.

As it turned out he could only tell her that Father Anthony hadn’t been at St. Mary’s recently, though Francis had heard he’d gone on a sabbatical. Chrissy had wondered if her letter had been forwarded to him.

When Jane had shown up at the party, Chrissy had had to force herself to stay calm and wait for the opportunity to question her.

And then when it came...to be disappointed again!

She’d had no idea why she’d started asking Jane about her boyfriend, unless it was from a desperate desire to hear about anybody getting the punishment she wanted for herself.

She’d had a sudden vision of Jane—so pretty and cheerful, and looking so attractive in her red dress—bent over her mysterious boyfriend’s knees, the red dress pulled up to her waist, a hand poised over her, ready to strike. And Chrissy had felt her mouth go dry.

She had been sincerely relieved when Francis and Suzy had interrupted her before she could further embarrass herself by begging for details.

But then there had been that moment when the change had come over Jane, when Chrissy had seen her staring off towards the kitchen, her eyes glowing and her face suffused with happiness.

Chrissy had assumed that Jane was looking at her boyfriend; that he had accompanied her to the party. But then Jane had said something about her boyfriend having car trouble and Chrissy’s suspicions were aroused…

And confirmed when she saw Peter McIlvray, the same boy she’d seen Jane with the other day, emerge from the kitchen a moment later, even though Jane was pretending not to notice.

Chrissy had been sure she knew what was going on:

Jane was cheating on her boyfriend with Peter.

It was none of her business, of course, and she should have just let it go. How she wished now that she had! But when she’d noticed Jane sneaking off, followed closely by Peter, her imagination had flared up again: maybe Peter spanked her too! Maybe that’s what they were going off to do right now!

In the grip of her compulsion she had murmured something to Francis about finding the bathroom. Then she’d followed them outside.

It had been easy to follow them. It was dark except for the circles of illumination made by the streetlights, and Jane and Peter had walked right through them, hand in hand, talking quietly, while Chrissy had been careful to remain hidden.

She had wanted desperately to get close enough to overhear them but hadn’t dared, for fear of being given away by her footsteps, until she saw them turning into the driveway of a house surrounded by hedges. Then she had darted into the yard of the house next door and crept up close to the hedge near where their voices were coming from.

She had searched quickly for a gap in the thick hedge through which she could see them, but to no avail. Then she had stood absolutely still and listened.

At first she’d heard nothing, but after a moment she’d heard Jane’s voice saying, "Do you like my new undies?"

Mother of God, she was showing him her underwear! Chrissy knew she’d been right—oh, if only she could see! Was Jane pulling up her dress in front of him? Or was she bent over, waiting for a spanking? She’d had to see!

She’d looked around frantically, ignoring Jane and Peter’s conversation for the moment, and had noticed that the hedge ended flush with the front corner of the house.

She had just started making her way over there when she’d been startled by something flying over the hedge and landing in the grass behind her, followed by the sound of Jane’s laughter. But she’d ignored it and hurried to the end of the hedge.

As she’d hoped, there was a small gap between the hedge and the house. It was too small to put her head through but she’d used her arm to quietly push enough of the hedge aside so that, by leaning forward and holding her head at an awkward angle she had been just barely able to see into the driveway.

At first all she’d been able to make out was that someone was standing facing the front of the car that was parked there.

Then she’d heard Jane’s voice, still full of laughter, saying, "...And if you’re not inside me in ten seconds, you’re the one who’s going to get punished, buster," and Chrissy, looking more closely, had seen the white shapes on either side of the standing figure resolve into legs and knees and feet.

Sweet Jesus, she was lying on the car with her legs spread in front of him, the little whore! And telling him to...to...fornicate with her!

Chrissy had been horrified…

And unable to look away, even when she saw Peter lowering his pants...saw his naked buttocks and watched them clench as he’d leaned forward to enter Jane...heard her little cries of pleasure and longing as he did so.

And then the thunderbolt: "There! Ye’ll not be siccin’ Father Brian on me, by God!"

That voice! Oh my God, that voice!

And then running, blindly.

Chrissy continued to sit in the darkness of her car, hands clenched into fists on her knees, tears running down her face.

And now…what should she do, what could she do? The two of them knew all her secrets—she could hardly have her father arrest them! But to go about her daily life knowing that at any moment she might run into one of them and see their knowledge of her in their faces...

Especially him… Sweet Jesus, she’d taken her dress off in front of him, had let him...no, no, no! She wouldn’t think about that! And it wasn’t her fault anyway, she’d thought it was Father Brian!

And it was only then that the worst blow of all struck her. She fell back against the seat, hand to her mouth to muffle her sobs as a voice in her head seemed to shriek, There is no Father Brian! He’s never coming back...because he doesn’t exist!

She had no idea how much time had passed when she finally became aware of herself again. It was as though a black cloud had filled her head, blotting out all thoughts and all feelings other than sheer desolation. Even now it had lifted only slightly.

She remembered, idly, that Francis was still at the party and doubtless wondering what had become of her. She knew she should go find him, make some excuse—a long line for the bathroom—and give him a ride home.

But she felt unable to move, exhausted. Could think of no reason for doing anything, ever again. There is no Father Brian, she thought dully. There never was a Father Brian.

There was only...

She stopped.

Peter McIlvray.

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