Preston The Sanctuary

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-945648-71-7
Verlag: Pink Flamingo Publishers
Format: PDF
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 121 Seiten

In need of sanctuary after a personal trauma, a pretty Catholic woman, Deborah D’Bennedeto, applies to be accepted as a nun at an historic California mission. A year later, a sexually tormented Priest, Father Joseph, passes a love note to her in the chapel, which gives instructions on a plan to escape from the Mission with him that night. Confused and upset, Dorothy shows the note to the Mother Superior. During an investigation a fictitious erotic manuscript written by Father Joseph is discovered. The Bishop of the Mission asks Dorothy to read the manuscript to determine its truth. The story, which includes scenes of bondage, oral and anal sex, and the loss of her virginity, arouses Dorothy’s suppressed desires. She is soon accepted as a nun and given the name Sister Gabrielle. However, late at night she makes a copy of theforbidden manuscript, reads it over and over and then hides it in her room. Plagued by guilt in her role of getting Father Joseph sent away, Gabrielle wakes up the next morning with a high fever and is sent home for a week to recover. After Father Joseph is released from the asylum, Gabrielle secretly follows him to The Sanctuary, a topless downtown nightclub. She has a flirtatious encounter with the handsome owner, Kristoff, and witnesses a performance where Kristoff places a nude model in bondage and suspends her above the stage. Ashamed, Gabrielle leaves the club, however, later she returns to the Sanctuary, having exchanged her nun’s robes for a sexy dress and dyed blonde hair. She wants to be trained to work in his club as a topless waitress and rope model. Kristoff keeps her identity a secret and encourages her to explore her sexuality before committing to a life of celibacy. She easily becomes the most popular waitress and she has several sexual encounters. But as her week away from the Mission ends, Gabrielle must decide whether to confront the cause of her trauma or escape back into the cloistered walls of the abbey.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Preston, Paul

Leseproben

Chapter Two
The Nun
  Dorothy D’Bennedeto… What a lovely name. Just the sound of it brings a sense of peace to my soul, like a wave breaking upon the shore. I pace the Mission grounds, looking forward to the meeting and whispering her name just under my breath over and over: Dorothy D’Bennedeto, Dorothy D’Bennedeto… At the appointed time, I walk down the corridor to where the meeting is scheduled to be held. The door to the Fellowship Room is half open and I look in. The young woman is already inside, kneeling on the floor in quiet contemplation below a statute of Jesus. I pause in the doorway and look around the edge of the door to drink in her beauty. Her eyes are shut and her hands are clasped tightly together in her lap. Her pink cheeks, painted lips and light blue eye shadow bring a much needed burst of color and life into the musty old room. Her long brown hair is very thick and pretty, sweeping over her arms and covering her shoulders and breasts like a prayer shawl. She is well endowed and… strikingly attractive. It’s as if the fantasy woman I’ve tried so hard to repress has somehow burst out of my mind and come vividly to life, right before my astonished eyes. In her kneeling position, the hem of her short skirt has slipped all the way up her legs, revealing her pale upper thighs. She bends forward in fervent prayer, a Madonna in the flesh. When I see her breasts between the buttons of her blouse, I stand absolutely still. I try to cast my gaze discretely downward, but my eyes inevitably creep back up to her bosom. Through the material of the blouse I notice she isn’t wearing a bra. My lips part and I breathe out a quiet sigh. Not only is her cleavage showing, but I can see a portion of the light brown rings of her areolas as well. Her swollen nipples are clearly protruding through the thin material, standing proudly erect and pointing heavenward. My eyes drift up her elegant neck to her pretty face and I watch as her red lips move in silent prayer. I assume no one noticed Ms. D’Bennedeto when she entered the cathedral. Sucked dry of life, with receding hairlines and shuffling gaits, the Priests of the Mission greet tourists with sad, half-smiles and look out at the manicured gardens through sad, sunken eyes. I suppose my sexuality will be gone soon as well, whisked away in the smoke of devotional candles and incense. But at this moment at least, in the presence of such a lovely creature, my heart pounds in my chest, blood courses through my veins. Like the earthquake which toppled this Mission many years ago, her beauty shakes me to the core. I feel a weakness in the knees, a slight dizziness and… God help me… I become physically aroused. Mortified by my reaction, there is nothing whatsoever I can do to stop it from happening. There I stand, like the cliché of a sexually deviant priest, a laughable figure, peering through the crack in the doorway at the young woman’s breasts, my erection creating a perverse tent under my cloak. One glance at the comely young woman and twenty nine years of Hail Mary’s, a Theology and Divinity Degree as well as a lifetime of homilies and bible study are forgotten. Even the cold marble eyes of Jesus seem to admire her beauty. I don’t know how long I stood there gawking at her. It could’ve been less than a minute or more than five, I have no way of knowing. Suddenly, the Mission bells begin to ring loudly. The woman opens her eyes and glances up at me. She doesn’t appear in the least bit startled by my presence; as if she knew I was there the whole time. Even after she catches me peering in at her I continue to stand in the doorway. What’s wrong with me? Have I lost all sense of morality? The thought crosses my mind I should ask one of the nuns to conduct the tour of the Mission, but it’s too late. I don’t want to leave her now. After the ringing fades, I immediately intertwine my fingers and push the disobedient thing under my robe back into place. Hopefully, she didn’t see it pointing at her like the barrel of a gun. I have never felt more embarrassed or alive in my life. “Hello,” she says, rather sweetly. “I didn’t see you standing there.” Her voice is lovely, like the sound of bird landing on the branch of a tree. She stands, pulling down on the hem of her shirt. “I’m Dorothy D’Bennedeto…” “Good afternoon,” I manage to say. I breathe out. Her voice soothes me, quiets my tormented thoughts. She holds her soft, small hand out and I gladly take it in mine. I hold it gently for a short, blissful moment, feeling her skin against my fingertips, until it slips out of my grasp. “Are you here for the tour of St. Sebastian?” I ask, stupidly. “Yes…” she says. A long awkward silence passes between us. I stand there, knuckles dragging on the ground, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “I’m sorry if I disturbed your prayers,” I say. She looks me directly in the eyes in a disarming manner, as if she can read my mind, peer into my soul. A slight smile creases her lips. “Oh, you didn’t disturb me, Father. I was only… pretending to pray,” she says. Pretending to pray? What an odd, insightful thing to say. Why would she say that? Are the first words out of her sensuous lips some kind of veiled spiritual message to me? Is that not what I’ve been doing all my life, pretending to pray? “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” I say. “You see, I’ve done something… very bad. No one can forgive the sins I’ve committed,” she says. I try to give an appropriate priestly response. “All sins are forgiven by the Grace of God.” My words come out flat and hollow. What exactly is meant by the concept of sin? Lately, I seem to be questioning all my former beliefs. “Not my sins. Some sins can never be forgiven…” she says. What in the world did she do? This was obviously way beyond my level of expertise. With my recent crisis of faith, I was the absolutely worst person for her to talk to. “Do you wish to talk to talk to someone, Ms. D’Bennedeto? If you’d like, I could arrange a confession with one of the elder Priests, perhaps?” I suggest. “Whatever you say will be strictly confidential.” “No thank you,” she says. “I’d rather confess my sins to you, Father. Perhaps later, if you don’t mind…” She cocks her head slightly to one side and there is a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Is she flirting with me or is my fevered brain just imagining it? In the silence, she breathes in and arches her back, making her lovely breasts stand out even more prominently then before. Despite how inappropriate it is, my eyes drift down to her cleavage, just for a brief instant. My cheeks flush with shame when she catches me looking at her breasts. I immediately glance away. “I’m sorry, Father…” she says. “For what?” I ask. “For…the inappropriate way I’m dressed.” I haven’t spoken, really spoken to a woman for so long. I realize how much I enjoy being in her company. The depressed feelings I’ve carried for several years seem to lift off my chest like a heavy weight and I feel much lighter without it. I imagine Jesus carrying the heavy crucifix up a hill and suddenly deciding to toss it to the ground and walk away from it all, Mary Magdalene by his side. “Nothing whatsoever is wrong with the way you’re dressed. The blouse looks… pretty on you, if you don’t mind my saying.” “No, I don’t mind, Father…” Was I flirting now? With a prospective nun? In this sacred Mission? Rather than being insulted, she smiles. “That’s very kind of you to say, but even I know this top is not suitable for church. You see, my Mother wishes to embarrass me in front of the nuns,” she says. “Why would she want to do that?” I ask. “Well… it’s a little personal, Father.” I look down, knowing I had crossed the line. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry… Forgive me.” “That’s OK, Father,” she says. When I look up she gives me another warm smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you all about it later… in confession.” “I’m not officially ordained as a priest yet, so I’m unable to hear your confession,” I say. We continue to look at each other through the half open door. Despite the way she’s dressed, something about the innocence and purity of the young woman makes me open up and share my innermost thoughts with her. The truth I’m too afraid to admit, even to myself, spills out of my mouth unbidden, just as the precious pale flesh of her lovely breasts spills so tenderly out of the opening of her blouse. “Actually, I’m not at all sure if I’ll be ordained,” I confess. “I’ve performed all the prerequisites, finished my degree in Theology and my Masters in Divinity and completed my year of parish service, but… I still don’t know whether I have the calling to enter the priesthood…” An embarrassing silence follows after I share such private details of my life. It is too much information to share with a complete stranger. Once again I’ve crossed the bounds of propriety with her. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have told you that…” I say. “It’s just… there’s no one really for me to talk to about these matters and… I’m sorry, Ms. D’Bennedeto. If you’d rather be given the tour by someone else, I can see if one of the nuns would be available.” Again, her smile brings a fleeting sense of joy to my heart, like the bright colors that sometimes shine through stained glass windows....