A Chamber of Delights (13 page)

As the chapel door squeaked open, she felt a draught waft through the curtains of the box. Gael stiffened.

When the seat next door to her creaked and she heard
harsh breathing, her pulse began to pound. She pulled herself together and spoke in a voice that she had practised – as deep as she could make it.

‘And what might I do for you, my child?’ She knew that the supplicants would know that it was her, but it was important to keep up the theatricality of the occasion.

‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.’ The reply was soft, but the voice was deep. She judged that the man was in his late twenties. Who could that be? Quickly she recalled the guest list. But there were too many men of that description to choose one on such a slight clue.

‘And how have you sinned, my son?’

‘I keep looking at women, Father.’

‘Looking at them?’

‘Yes. In the health club I own.’

‘And how is that a sin?’

‘I watch them stripping themselves after swimming, their skins all glistening with water, the hair between their legs dripping as they rub their pussies dry.’

‘And do they object to you looking at them while they’re naked?’

‘They don’t know that I watch them. As they bend and dry their feet, they don’t realise that I can see every little fold of their quims and every little hair around the fringes.’

Gael took a deep breath. ‘Then how do you watch them in such detail without them knowing?’ She quelled a note of interest in her voice.

‘I have one-way mirrors in the changing rooms. And I use powerful binoculars. I know it’s a sin but I just can’t keep myself from watching.’

‘And is that the whole of your sin?’

‘No, Father. I have a fantasy.’

‘What is your fantasy, my son?’

‘I want the women in my club to be naked as they exercise. I want to see them lying on the benches with
their legs apart as they use the apparatus. I want to see their breasts bouncing freely as they jog on the treadmills. I want to see the lips between their legs open and close with the tension as they bend with the hand weights and touch the floor.’

‘And if you were able to do this, would you be cured of your fantasy?’

There was a pause. ‘If I was able to do that, I’m sure I would be cured, Father.’

‘And what are you willing to do in return for such a boon?’

‘I would give generously to a charity of your choosing.’

Gael smiled. ‘Then perhaps the good Lord will provide for your salvation. But should you not give up your desire once it has been fulfilled, you may be punished severely.’

There was a sigh from the other side. ‘That is another of my sins, Father. I enjoy being chastised. I have a fantasy to be tied hand and foot and to have my bottom whipped by the women when they find me watching them exercising without their clothes.’

‘Then I think you will be punished hard, my son. Is that all you have to confess?’

There was another pause. Gael could hear him breathing deeply through the brass grille of the box.

‘I have another problem, Father.’

‘And what is that?’ Gael’s voice was trembling.

‘I have a tail between my legs which keeps on swelling.’

‘When does it do that?’

‘When I watch the women. The sight of their hairy cracks make it swell up. It goes very stiff.’

‘How large does it swell?’

‘May I show you?’

There was a small wooden door in the partition of the box. Gael presumed it was there to allow the votive
offerings to be passed to the priest. It opened, and, in the dim light, something long and pale appeared.

‘See how it grows, Father.’

Yes – she could see. It was very slim and curved, the glans much larger than most she had seen.

‘The only way to stop it swelling is by rubbing it,’ he said wistfully.

‘I see.’ She did see. The shaft was hardening by the second.

‘Would you heal it to stop it swelling, Father? Please. I would give anything if you would do so. Put a blessing on it so it may be cured.’

Gael touched the web under the glans with the tip of her finger. The shaft did a little spring and swelled further. Now she began to work the foreskin slowly, excitement from the act making her own erectile tissues rise. Her nipples hardened and she felt the leaves of her sex first warm then swell.

Working the organ until it strained, she heard its owner panting. Now she cupped his testes, weighing them carefully, and rubbed her wrist up and down his shaft. She drove her finger deeply into the loose skin of the scrotum so that it pulled the foreskin taut.

‘Oh, Father, that makes it swell even more. Kindly anoint it with your holy oil.’

Gael thought for a moment and then smiled. She took a small hip flask of brandy liqueur she had carried beneath her habit for Dutch courage, and wetted the tip of the phallus rearing beside her.

There was a gasp from next door. She knew that the liqueur would sting him.

‘Oh, Father, I must be wicked. That’s the heat of the devil. Please cool it with a soothing balm.’

She knelt and slipped her lips over the shaft, savouring the brandy which made her mouth warm nicely. It was such a stimulating taste that she began to suck on it steadily, licking up the drops of brandy which had run
down to his scrotum. She rubbed more in, sure that this would bring such stinging heat to the wrinkled skin that he would beg for her to cool it.

‘Ah – I have been wicked and this is my penance,’ he moaned. ‘Kindly cool the devil’s heat and make this tail go limp.’

She knelt and licked between his balls, tonguing him with long strokes. Now she was exhilarated, both with the brandy and the act of pleasuring the man in such a secret way. She didn’t even know who he was.

She closed his foreskin over the glans and held it, knowing that the brandy would warm it. As she held it she licked his sac, sucking on his balls. But when she felt him tense and shudder, she slipped both her hands over the spouting head and enclosed it so that it filled her palms with a copious gush. He let out a sigh of relief. As she held him, bathing him in his own fluid, the shaft went limp.

‘That’s a miracle,’ he sighed. ‘You’ve cured me of my affliction, Father. How may I repay you?’

‘You may leave your offering on the plate, my son. I shall make certain it reaches those who need it.’

‘And may I come again?’

‘Come?’

‘May I confess my sins to you again?’

‘You may.’ She opened her habit and anointed her breasts with the thick cream from his spurt, making the nipples rise. ‘But first you have to overcome your fantasy.’

‘And how might I do that?’

‘Leave your card with the hostess of the party. She’ll give you a time and date when your fantasy may be fulfilled and you may be rid of it for ever. But, be warned, you will be chastised soundly by the naked women should they catch you. So take great care.’

‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.’

Gael took a deep breath. Some time had passed since
the first confessant had left. She had sat in the box wondering whether anyone else would come. Twice she had thought that she heard someone in the chapel. But when she had peeked out of the box, the place had been empty, the door closed tight.

Now the slight Scottish brogue of a woman on the other side of the box was quite plain to her. Lady Jannine Wellington-Moncrief was quite a catch. She had a reputation for prudishness. Now, Gael thought, she would perhaps find out just what made Lady Jannine tick.

‘And what is your sin, my child?’ Gael said, again in as masculine a voice as she could manage.

‘I have a fantasy that I cannot rid myself of, Father. What shall I do?’

‘What is your fantasy, my child?’

‘I’m fascinated by the . . .’

‘By the what?’

‘By what hangs between a man’s legs.’

‘And where is the sin in that?’

‘I have lustful impulses.’ There was a little sigh which told Gael that the supplicant was indulging herself in picturing her fantasy.

‘And what are the lustful impulses which bother you?’

‘I desire to experience a man.’

‘Many women have that same desire, my child. The Lord has enjoined that desire in us in order to . . .’

‘Yes, I know, Father. But I don’t want the man. I only want his . . .’

‘His?’

‘His thing. I want to toy with it and make it rise up stiff and put it between my legs and feel it as it spurts. I want to put my mouth over it and suck on it. I want to lick the eggs that hang in the bag beneath it. But I don’t want him. Just his thing.’

Gael frowned to herself. This was a tall order. Of course Lady Jannine might use the same kind of rubber
replica she and Boo had used. She might do whatever she liked with that kind of toy. But Gael knew that was not what the lady needed. Sometimes she had had thoughts herself about having those attributes of a man to her heart’s desire without his ego or his impetuousness to take control over her. She thought about how she might meet the lady’s wishes and her own.

‘Can you help me, Father? I’m desperate to live my fantasy out and feel what I need to feel.’

‘I’m sure that can be arranged, my child. And now that you have confessed your desire, I’m sure that the Lord will provide a solution to your problem. What penance are you prepared to do to have your sin absolved?’

‘I’ll give anything, Father, if only I can rid myself of these desires.’

‘Then contact the hostess of the party in the morning and I’m sure she will be able to guide you towards your salvation.’

As Lady Jannine left the box, Gael began to form a plan. Only ten minutes passed before the door creaked again. The idea of confessions seemed to be catching on. Gael wondered how many more there might be before the party ended.

‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.’ The voice was cultured and mellow. Gael thought of two possible identities.

‘And what is your sin, my son?’

‘I have recurring dreams.’

‘And why is that a sin?’

‘The dreams are of carnal lust. I wake up sweating in the night with my cock as hard as iron.’

‘And why is that a problem?’

‘It won’t spurt when I rub it.’

‘Do you ever have a woman in your bed?’

‘Oh yes – sometimes a different one each night. But it won’t spurt when I fuck them, either.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because of the dream.’

‘What happens in the dream?’

There was a pause. Gael could hear him breathing heavily.

‘In the dream I meet a wise old man dressed in white. He tells me that if I want to spurt I must take six women at once.’

‘That’s quite a lot.’ Immediately, Gael started thinking of six women who might want to play this game.

The breathing on the other side of the screen became more laboured. ‘The old man leads me into a room where six women sit around. I’m naked and they’re dressed in short skirts and tight tops. I can almost see the hairs of their quims through their flimsy panties as their skirts ride up about their thighs. And their nipples poke out hard through the material of their tops.’

He stopped.

‘What happens next in your dream?’

‘The old man says I must show what a man I am by fucking each one in a different way. Only when I get to the sixth will I spurt. Then I must make her suck me as I pump into her mouth.’

Gael took a long, deep breath.

‘The problem is the women take no notice of me when I walk into that room. They carry on talking and sipping tea as if I were not there.’

‘So what do you do?’

‘I wrestle them one at a time while the others continue to talk and eat cucumber sandwiches. I strip their knickers off and take each one in a different way.’

Gael could imagine the scene quite vividly. But who would want to play his game?

‘Go on, my son,’ she prompted.

‘After I’ve done the fifth one, I’m so horny it’s almost painful. But when I turn to take the sixth one, I find she’s gone. I chase after her but she always evades me.
The old man says that if I can catch her and rip her knickers off, I will be able to fuck her properly and then come. But I don’t ever catch her. Then I wake up sweating. What should I do, Father?’

Gael thought carefully before she spoke. ‘So your problem would be solved once you’d caught and had the sixth woman?’

‘The old man says it would.’

‘And there must be six?’

‘It wouldn’t work with less.’

‘And if your fantasy is resolved, what are you prepared to do for penance?’

‘Anything you say, Father. I’m a man of considerable wealth. If only I could find six women who would serve my need, I would be eternally grateful.’

When the last confessant had left, Gael decided to take a break. She needed to see how things were going at the party. She stretched and took a long, deep breath.

She closed the black curtains and was about to leave when there was a sound behind her. She tried to turn but was not quick enough. Someone took her from behind and encircled her in strong arms.

‘Get off me,’ she rasped as the arms tightened across her chest, stopping her from breathing. She struggled, but could not free herself. Her hands groped behind her and felt something loose and soft. The material of a tracksuit?

A wide mouth bit her neck. ‘I’ve come to confess,
Father,
’ a deep voice growled.

She threw her head back. ‘You’re too late, whoever you are. Confession’s over.’

‘But I have a fantasy.’ He whispered the words so she couldn’t recognise his voice.

She tried to turn but could not. ‘I said you’re too late. You should’ve come when the others came.’

‘I did come.’

Now she drove her elbows into his ribs and managed to get free. But the light was very dim and all she could see was a black silhouette against the greyness of a window.

‘Then if you did come, I’ve heard your confession already. Who are you?’

He placed his hands on his hips and stood with his legs apart. ‘I didn’t come into the box.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was here before you came, sitting on the floor behind the confessional all the time.’

‘You were waiting in here before I arrived?’