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Sacred Heart Academy for Girls is a beautiful campus, nothing but hills and green fields and trees. It houses two hundred girls total, grades ten through twelve. It’s a great school that looks excellent on any transcript. It has its own shops, its own restaurant, and the most beautiful little chapel with stained glass windows.
Pilar Duarte fucking hates it.
She’s legal, but barely. She developed early and has very large breasts. Cuts her hair off too short, wears her jewelry and attractive little thongs and ruffled boyshorts with the otherwise unflattering uniform for no other reason than to annoy the nuns. The black wool skirt is gross-feeling, but it’s bearable when she rolls it up to show her knees, which are covered by the stupid standard white socks anyway. She’s bold and kind of brash, with a little taste. Her bag is Italian leather, this nice cream colour, and there’s always a book in it along with the verboten makeup and sugar and usual trappings of a late teenage girl. She likes esoteric movies and reads stuff like Hunter S. Thompson and H.P. Lovecraft and James Joyce in her spare time.
Hell, when he knocked, she was lounging on her dorm bed in her rolled-up wool skirt and oxford top, listening to One Direction on her little pink Ipod while reading Portrait of the Author As A Young Man. She was laying very unladylike, as Mother Superior would call it, but it’s comfortable and nobody will see up her skirt anyway. She has an Orange Crush open and balanced on a book beside her and a little yellow wrapper next to it, nearly devoured. She eats Ibarra right out of the plastic, cuts it up into little sandy pieces, and sucks on them until they’re spicy chocolate residue.
“Who’s there?” She called through the closed door. “I don’t feel much like dealing with your pedantic bullshit, Melesinda.” She swears a lot, but it paces naturally with the rest of her speech. You can tell just by listening to her talk comfortably that she started from the bottom but is educated and cultured now. The penguins (her term for the brides of Christ) don’t know what to do with her, and frankly, neither does he, but she’s his problem now.
Enter Cazador Moreno.
The rest of the lot call him “Father.” She calls him Abbe’ in that inflammatory, flippant way. She’s either seen Quills or knows decent French, he thinks, potentially both.
He’s startled her. It’s around five o’clock. Classes ended at three, extracurricular stuff just got out. She was half-expecting a visit from Mother Superior Head Penguin Herself Benigna Bautista. Very likely for her interrogation of Sister Ester about how exactly the tides prove that God exists. She popped out an earbud and sat up a little, careful to not lose her place. But it wasn’t a sky blue habit in the doorway. No, she’d heard about him but never seen him before. Abbe’. Father Moreno.
“May I come in?” he says, voice even and surprisingly pleasant. He can’t be over thirty, she thinks.
“I don’t know why you ask, it’s your room. Your building, you know.” She removes her headphones and pauses the pink postage stamp.
“You pay for it. I just run the circus,” he says. He’s tall, but not imposing. In one hand, he has the worn brown leather bag of legend. The girls said that in extreme cases of bad behavior, he’d take a Bible and beat the offending girl until she cried and gave no more trouble. Pilar didn’t believe it. He just looked too…nice. He had kind eyes, wide like her own, but a much darker blue. He’s slim and his clothes fit him well, she noted. Her eyes drifted to his belt and she wondered what was hiding behind his pants. He had big hands with thick veins. Surely it wasn’t just his hands.
“Please sit, Abbe’. Can I get you an Orange Crush? I think there may be a Sprite in there casino şirketleri somewhere.” She gestures idly to the tiny fridge set up near him. He takes a seat at her hutch desk, which is cluttered with both books for enjoyment and finished homework she hasn’t gotten around to organizing yet. She’s unsure what to do. It’s been months since she’s even seen a man. She looks to the floor, thinking of her shoes tucked under the lip of the bed. Maybe put those on? What does he want? The room is untidy and her cheeks go pink.
“I just wondered if we might have a chat,” he starts, depositing his bag on the floor with a dull thud. “I’ve heard you’ve been having a lot of trouble adjusting.”
Great. This whole thing again.
She’s silent, watching him. Unlike Her Royal Penguinship, he doesn’t even seem ruffled. It’s weird.
“To be honest, Abbe’, this wasn’t my choice. None of it was.”
“Such is life. We do what we can with what we have, though. Is there anything I can do to perhaps make this less difficult?” He stood again, paced around the room, looking at things.
“It seems you have everything you need to be quite comfortable here. Your parents send money to your account and everything.”
He stopped by her TV and nightstand, a mess of cases and DVDs. It wasn’t big, but it was nice enough. He picked up a few and looked through them.
“Cartoons. Not a big deal. I quite enjoy Family Guy myself. Haa, that part about the SuperDevil gets me every time.” He put it down and continued idly searching.
She didn’t know what to make of it. A priest who watches Family Guy? Didn’t they all take a vow to surrender any sense of humor?
“I don’t suppose Mother Superior has gotten into that jar of marmalade,” she says, a maddening half-smile covering her face. Despite himself, he smiles. Bautista grates on his last nerve weekly. If it’s not girls supposedly worshipping Satan (Benigna, it’s a pop music star. No, that’s not a real meat dress.), it’s a busted light bulb in the gym’s ceiling or a request for “more modest” uniforms. For the love of God himself, they already had near-ankle-length skirts and oxfords, knee socks, and church-issued underpants that looked more like tea towels than anything. So yes, he tittered a little.
“Pilar, you’re an intelligent girl. Your entrance exam scores left nothing to be desired. You study and you turn in your work and ace your exams. But you bedevil the nuns in the worst kind of way. You ask these uncomfortable questions, you refuse to bow your head in prayer, and at confession…” he was on a roll but had to stop himself. Then he decided better of it. “…I must say, that’s some of the most creative penance I’ve ever had to figure.” Perhaps he could get through to her if he illustrated that neither was he perfect?
“Tell me, what’s going on with you?”
“Abbe’, I’m bored.” She said, simply and honestly. Well, it was true. She had no challenge to her mind here. The more zealous girls were mostly simple anyway, and the studious ones were too prim and closed-minded. She did have but one friend, but that was more a marriage of convenience.
“Bored. Yes. Simple as that. I had no choice to come here. My parents dropped me here like I was unwanted luggage, and I have to fit in with these…” Her brows knitted and she struggled for a good word. “…people, and I have nothing in common with anyone, I am above the coursework, and most of it is tainted rubbish anyway.” It felt good to finally be able to say what she’d wanted to. The nuns never listened. They pulled her aside, dealt punishment, sent her away, and never even cared about anything. It was infuriating. But this wasn’t so with Moreno. He listened. Though at the moment, he had a few books and DVD cases in his casino firmaları hands.
He took a seat at the desk again.
“Why do you have my things?” She said. He sighed, and held them up, one by one.
“Story of O. Exit To Eden. Lolita. I’ve heard of these.”
She blushed crimson.
“And this…what is it? Secretary?”
She was silent, but burning up.
“Pilar, I know you know the rules. This subject matter–“
“Abbe’, I’m eighteen years old. I’m a legal adult. The subject matter is nobody’s business but my own!”
“I beg to differ. Until you graduate, it’s my business, and it’s your parents’ business. Do they know what you read and watch?”
“How do you think I ended up here?” She scoffed.
Moreno was silent for a few beats. He set the items down on the desk.
“Listen…I know more than you think.”
They talked for an hour or so. He understood her better than any human being at this horrible place had so far. He told her what drove him to the sanctuary, what made him choose this life. He told her that it was his mission to guide those that were on the wrong path to the right one. He finished, telling her that he knew she was wrong for this situation and there wasn’t much he could do about that.
“But Father!” She accidentally used his correct title in her shock.
“I thought the entire reason for you becoming a priest was to…you know, guide the misguided.”
“Oh, it is.” He said. “You just don’t seem to understand quite what I mean by that.”
Her eyes scaled the wall behind him. She was genuinely puzzled and he liked it.
“Pilar, let’s be frank. Let us cut the bullshit, as you say.”
She looked shocked once again. A priest that swears?
“I’ve read your file. I know all about your situation at home. Your father is an international arms dealer and too busy globe-trotting to deal with your shenanigans. Your mother is a devout Russian Orthodox who has no idea what to do with you. They sent you here because you were fucking a man twice your age and they found out about it.”
“Father, we weren’t fucking. We’d never had sex.”
That was the truth, he could tell. Her grey eyes were wide and focused. Her gaze didn’t drift like a liar’s did.
“That’s surprising,” he said.
“Well, I was exploring my options,” she said.
“I know about Melesinda besides,” he went on. “If what I’ve heard from the nuns is true.”
“You got me there,” she rolled her eyes. “What else am I supposed to do in this place? I can’t very well date the nuns.”
He had to chuckle at this. He knew as well as anyone places like this bred homosexuality, usually the harmless experimental kind. Sometimes a girl would find her true calling, but most of them just got a taste for it and then abandoned it for traditional roles when they inevitably left school behind.
“What I mean to say is that you completely misunderstand why I’m here.”
He stood up and walked to the door, removed a large keychain from his pocket to lock the door, and then deposited the keys on her desk.
“I guide the misguided. You do not belong here. You’re too bright, too experienced, too much of a thinker. And I don’t mean this building, though that’s part of it. You don’t belong in the church.”
She watched him carefully, going over and bringing his bag up to the chair he had occupied. He undid the various zippers on it as he spoke.
“Your personal affects confirmed my suspicions. Now, Mother Superior sent me here, true. She told me to deal with you because she didn’t know how. I knew exactly how to deal with you when I saw your file. I’m here to offer you a deal, Pilar.”
He began setting down objects that were familiar to her on the desk on her things. The güvenilir casino first was an obscene shade of pink and studded, with many falls like so many cats’ tails.
“You’ve been wonderful to talk to. You have been intelligent and respectful in the time I’ve spent here. Then again, I was engaging your brain. Based on your choice of literature and entertainment, I’d say you have a healthy appetite for the non-pedestrian.”
One was flat, wooden, and huge. You could have mistook it for a cricket bat. One was long and thin and yellow, very phallic. Two pink balls on a string. Three golden balls on another string.
“Pilar, I’m giving you a choice. I will entertain you the best I can. I’ll let you out of your spiritual counseling hour and see you in my office and we’ll talk. Movies, books, anything you want to talk about. I’ll get you access to the staff library. And once a week, I’ll come to your room for private counseling like we’ve had today…”
One more, this one nearly ten feet and black. Another, a spiky silver wheel. Another, a studded leather belt that looked worn.
“…and the opportunity to explore your other curiosities in a safe and controlled environment. This is what I’ll do for you…all I ask of you is to behave yourself in class, stop causing upset with the other girls, and stop giving the sisters a hard time.”
She didn’t have to think twice. He cared about her stagnating brain, he wanted to nurture it. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was handsome and near-about the age she liked in men. She saw the implements on her desk and realized how much the space between her legs ached. She became acutely aware of both the moisture building there and the scent that must be wafting. She thought about it for a minute, and almost laughed. A priest bribing her with conversation and sex to act better? Ha! But the more she thought about it, the better it sounded. It would give her everything she really wanted to be comfortable here.
“You’ve got a deal, Abbe’. Do we start the rest now?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, I do. Very much so.”
He stepped to her and unceremoniously slid his hand up her skirt. She should have been outraged, she should have been anything but turned on and curious. But really, she didn’t care about propriety. Someone had tickled her mind and obviously wanted more than that. God, she hadn’t even laid eyes on anything male since August when school started, and it was February now…
She just had one errant thought.
“Father, aren’t you celibate?”
He pushed her panties aside, twisted his fingers in her slippery folds, and smiled.
The morning sun peeked through her blinds. The room was a bigger wreck than it had been before, but it’s okay. She had the most glorious post-sex hair possible…all poofy and wavy and stupid. Her new bruises all ached, from her shoulders down to her pert ass, to her thighs. Both holes were sore. Her school uniform laid forgotten on the floor with his tab collar and shirt. He was so fucking gorgeous asleep. Naked, uncovered by the blankets. She checked her phone.
“Hey, wake up. We have stuff to do today.” She said.
“Sir, wake up.”
“DANE. WAKE UP. WE’RE LATE.”
“Felix, you kept me up too fucking late. I need some rest.”
“Suit yourself. I’m showering, picking up in here, and doing the dishes. We really do need to start packing, though.”
He made an upset noise and turned over.
“I love you. Thank you. That’s probably the best, most intense scene I’ve ever done. You totes get the Oscar for Best Roleplay Evar.”
“Love you too. Fuck off and let me sleep, dear.”
Felix smiled to herself as she picked up the clothes and last night’s toys for cleaning. Sir Dane really did think of everything. Maybe he ought to be an actor someday? It’s clear he wasn’t cut out to be a man of the cloth.
She, however, was the perfect schoolgirl.
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