“Do you know why you are here?” I default to the question I ask all the girls when they arrive because there’s no possibility of organizing any other sensible thought right now. “Buckle your seatbelt,” I add as a clutch of fear tangles in my gut.
She’s trouble. Women are trouble. More trouble than they’re worth. Why am I having to consciously remind myself of that fact when it comes to her?
She follows my direction, leaning toward me to find the end of the seat belt which is pressing into her right butt cheek, then she tugs it across her thick center, clicking it into place on a long exhale.
If temptation had a scent, it would be Kitty Tennant. She’s sweet like lilacs but with a tang of something savory that’s making my mouth water.
She’s heating up the back seat the way the sunrise does when it spreads across my bed in the mornings. Feeling her up left me wrecked. All the prayers in the world can’t wash away the softness of her melon-sized tit I my hand.
The pebble of her nipple against the pads of my fingers.
Was it an accident I groped my stepsister?
Maybe.
At first.
After that?
No. I mad-ass violated her like a drooling old man in a strip club before I managed a fingerhold of restraint and asked God for strength.
And forgiveness.
I haven’t touched anyone like that in a decade. Or been touched. Even now, I feel the pressure of her hands on my chest as the scent of her breath, a mixture of spearmint gum and a hint of last night’s tequila, fills the back of the car.
Kitty.
What a fucking name. I close my eyes, staring at the tips of my black, patent leather shoes, and pray for guidance as she crosses and uncrosses her legs on the seat next to me.
See? That right there. Trouble, thy name is Kitty.
“Are you thirsty?” I ask, reaching into the console on the floor in front of us and pulling out a bottle of water.
I know she’s hungover and I’m no stranger to the discomfort of that particular sort of dehydration.
“Yeah, thanks.” She offers me a gracious smile as she takes the bottle, cracking open the screw top and tipping it back.
She engulfs the water, her throat moving up and down with each swallow, before she takes a break on a long exhale, dragging the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her plump lips.
The back of the limo feels fucking small. It’s never felt this way when I picked up my other charges from the airport or wherever they came from. Her breathing is soft and steady next to me as the vehicle rumbles down the freeway, the driver accelerating as much as this car is capable of. The ten-year-old Lincoln limo is a throwback from some low budget ‘80’s mafia film, complete with tears in the vinyl seats and A/C that sputters and blows out musty lukewarm air.
“My mom and her new husband think I’m on a bad road,” she starts, shocking me back into the moment as I remember that I asked her a question.
“How did you end up on this bad road?”
She shrugs. “When you transfer schools in your senior year, nobody’s looking to create new bonds. Only the party group, they’ll take anyone, especially if you’ll write their term papers or help them get a passing grade.”
“You don’t think that’s cheating?”
“Doesn’t much matter if it is now. I’m out. Arrested at a house party, underage, drunk and with a pocketful of yummy gummies. Bye bye scholarship. Bye bye to my pet cat.”
My throat strangles around a shaking breath as the desperation in her answer pins my heart in my chest.
I note the different shades of pink on her fingernails as her hands clench the half empty water bottle in her lap.
“I guess Mom and Hoover think my life needs direction and fewer distractions.”
I want to ask her about the cat. I want to find out what’s happened to her and make it all better. But that’s not my job. It’s not. I have to remind myself that I’m here to help her turn her life around, not fix the cruelties already thrown her way.
So why does it feel so wrong to go on with my usual line of questioning? Why am I hesitating before asking the obvious?
“You don’t think that’s the truth?”
She shrugs, the action raising the edge of her cropped hoodie showing off another ball busting swell of under boob. “What’s truth? Everything is perception or speculation until it’s proven beyond a doubt and some things can’t be proven. But, doesn’t matter. I’m here.” She looks out the window, running her tongue along her teeth. “Well, almost here. There.” She fusses with the bottle, squeezing it as the plastic makes crinkling sounds then releasing it, squeezing again. “Wherever it is I’m going. Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Nothing matters.”
In that second, I vow to bury that sorrow in her voice under the stone mortar of the foundation in the rectory.
“It will matter. You matter. It will be my job to make you understand that. I’ll prove it to you.”
Doubtful eyes turn my way, spearing my pounding heart. “Is that what I’m here for? To have a priest give me self-care classes? Boost my woeful self-esteem? Make me see how I’ve been hurting myself with my actions? Teach me that my body is a vessel of purity and I should treat it as such? Just so we’re clear, I don’t believe in God, so…yeah.”
Her tone hardens, her shoulders back, head up. She’s soft and hard. Lustful and innocent. Whip smart and yet oblivious. She’s dressed like a woman but with the heart of a scared little girl.
“I want you to figure out what you are here for. I’ll be your guide, your sounding board. I want what’s best for you, with or without God. I’ll keep you safe while we navigate it together.”
That last part leaves silence hanging between us. I’ve never spoken to a girl that way since college. Caring. Nurturing. Sincerity dripping from every word.
Only, back then there was a dark twist that ended with me losing my post graduate lab and got me ousted from the university.
Her caramel-colored hair flows over her shoulders in unbrushed tendrils like she was rushed out of her bed this morning. Which, knowing my father, is no surprise.
Once a Marine always a Marine.
Her pulse ticks at the juncture of her neck and jaw, and I bite back a groan at the thought of my lips there, feeling the thump thump thump of her blood moving through her body, knowing that it’s touched her everywhere.
I haven’t masturbated since I took my vows. I’ve metaphorically flagellated myself for any feelings of attraction and lust for so many years, I wasn’t sure I would ever feel anything again.
Not because the bible or the church—or my grandmother, but that’s a conversation for another time—tells me that’s what I should do, but because I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
Love. Women. Sex. Romance.
It was my downfall more than once, and re-building myself has become a battle of will I refuse to concede.
She is the trebuchet. I am the wall. No matter what she throws at me, I will not waver.
A wall with a hard-on that’s about to make a fucking mess inside my pants while a vision of my stepsister on all fours barrels through me with the devil riding shotgun on my shoulder.
“You know I’m eighteen. I can just leave.”
“Yes. Such a big girl.” The words burn my lips.
“It’s just…” Her bravado slumps along with her shoulders. “…my new stepfather…” She inhales and exhales before finishing. “I don’t think he wants me around. So, here I am, lucky you.”
Yes, sweet girl, he’s an asshole. I know too well his fathering skills are that of a carnivorous plant. And yes, lucky, lucky me.
I would get a unanimous yes from the rest of my brothers on that count, step or otherwise, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s met any of them. If she knows how many wives there have been. How many of my brothers even know about her? I barely knew. If I hadn’t talked to Darius, my youngest stepbrother, when he needed advice on whether or not to dump his girlfriend after he found her profile on Tinder, I wouldn’t have known.
“In life, there will be people that test us. Some of those tests seem…useless, but I assure you, there is an invisible path leading you where you belong, Kitty.” I taste her name on my tongue for the first time and it makes my balls ache.
“I’ve always done well on tests.” She pushes a smile to her pink lips. “I just guess I didn’t know how to study for this one.”
I reach over and rest my hand on her forearm, the smooth warmth of her skin on my palm making blood flow into my erection as shame hollows in my belly.
“You’re in good hands.” I offer a soft squeeze for emphasis, then bite the inside of my cheek. The tang of blood spreads over my tongue as I swallow it down, along with the lustful words barreling up my throat.
My father is pushing into his late sixties and having an eighteen-year-old at his house would be unpleasant for her at best. The last time I was there, I moved a pen on his desk and you would have thought I torched his fucking balls.
“There will be rules here. With me.” I revert back to my customary introduction to Saint Margaret’s. “They will be clear and when you break them, there will be consequences of my choosing. But, I assure you, everything I do, everything I say, has a purpose. I think only of your well-being, current and future. If I seem harsh, understand, it is for your benefit. I will praise you and reward you when you do well, but I will correct and punish you when you do not.”
A blush creeps over her cheeks as the words I’ve said dozens of times take on new meaning. Bringing back old demons as I withdraw my hand from her sin-inspiring flesh to grip my face, my hand covering my lips as the car takes a left onto the bumps of the brick driveway of the church compound.
“If you hit me, I’ll hit you back.” She straightens her spine, steeling her jaw and the juxtaposition of toughness and insecurity forces the waves of my protective instincts to crest.
I answer with a grin and a nod. I welcome her challenge. Teaching her the difference between violence and discipline will be my pleasure.
She’s the test I knew would come someday. Sooner than I expected and in the form of a stepsister.
My fists ball at my sides, ready to do battle with myself.
I push away the filth that flashes behind my lids as I blink at the sun streaming through the back window. As the century-old bricks of the driveway make the car bounce and vibrate, I mutter a prayer; asking for forgiveness and strength as the vehicle comes to a stop outside the ten-foot tall, carved walnut dormitory doors with the inscription across the front…
Per has iportas salus exspectat.
“How many other girls stay here?”
“Right now, none.”
“It’s just me? And you?”
My stomach twists. My cock pressing on my zipper.
“Just us. And Sister Nathalia. You’ll meet her when we arrive. You, my child, will receive all of my attention. Whether you like it or not. But, I’m betting that you will like it. You deserve to be guided by someone dedicated to you. Someone that will do what is necessary and difficult to ensure you are happy.”
Our eyes connect, one second, two, three, four…I lose count as the limo comes to a stop and the driver appears outside my window, clicking open the door.
“Creepy.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was being punked.” Releasing a long breath, she presses her hands, still holding the water bottle between her knees, making it crinkle again. “But, since I have nowhere else to go, and from what I remember, I get three meals and a place to sleep, I’m in. I could use a lot of sleep. So, let’s see what you’ve got. I hope you’re up for a challenge.”
“I welcome it, Kitty. I welcome you, at your best and your worst.”
The driver walks over to open her door. She pushes up, bending forward, as sunlight streams in around her. The curves of her ass cheeks hang out the back of her shorts as a fist barrels into my gut as the unexpected peek-a-boo of a smooth vaginal lip makes an appearance. My eyes lock onto the tempting flesh as she scoots across the vinyl seat.
The orgasm I’ve been holding back for ten years takes me like a category five hurricane. I double over on a groan, cum bursting from the tip of my cock like liquid fire, blinding me as my legs cramp. I grip the edges of the seat until the vinyl tears in my hands.
I drop my chin, gasping, waiting for my vision to return.
There were seven deadly sins. Now, there are eight. And the one that will kill me is named Kitty.
