Lead Us Not Into Temptation [kckolbe and Madam Mim]

Galway
1873

Moans and whines were audible even through the heavy oak door. On the large fourposter a teenage girl was tied to the posts with thick rope, though the person who had tied her there had been considerate enough to line her wrists and ankles with thickly folded cotton. Sweat dripped down her forehead and onto the sheets. The mattress beneath her was soaked, the sheets stained with sweat and filth, and sweat soaked her nightgown, causing it to cling to body. She moaned as she tossed and turned, arching off the bed and falling back down again, crying out at intervals and breathing heavily as though she had been running despite being tied to this bed for the better part of three days.

Downstairs the bell rang. A servant showed the priest into the parlor, where he was met by a distraught older woman who rushed to him and took his hand. Lines of concern creased the corners of her eyes and around your mouth.

"Father, thank God you're here!" Margaret Canton cried, wringing his hand. "She's upstairs in her room. I...I didn't know what else to do..." Chewing on her lip worriedly, she led him upstairs.

"Oooh I see," Moira McGann snarled with a laugh, sounding nothing like her usual self. "Oh Maggie how trite. Did you really think this would work?" Her bright gaze turned to the priest, lips curled in a snarl. "Did you rush right over Father? When you heard of a nubile little girl in need of a firm hand? I know you regret those vows already" She squirmed against the mattress and bent her knees, the nightgown sliding down her thighs nearly to her hips. "Get a look," she invited sinisterly, "send Auntie out and maybe she'll suck your cock while you're at it. Mmmm...she wants to you know, the cockhungry little slut!"

"Help me Father!" Moira's face twisted with pain and her body twisted in painful-looking ways, inasmuch as it could while bound. "Please," she sobbed, "don't let it make me do these things!" Tears and sweat poured down her face. "I don't...I can't...please Father!"

Father Bernard wasn't sweating as much as the girl he'd been summoned to come see to, but beads of sweat were apparent on his forehead, and only the multi-layered robes he wore prevented the sweat from his torso and underarms from being as visible. It was true that he had hurried to prepare, the exertion contributing to his current state, but he had traveled to the estate via carriage.

Bernard had spent a great many years as a man of the cloth, and had, in his time, participated in multiple exorcisms, though this time, so much was different. Normally, he arrived as one of many priests to attend to the situation. One would see to the vessel, and others to various rooms of the house, to prevent an exorcised demon from hiding and reclaiming the vessel years later once it had recovered its strength. Not only did the presence of multiple priests provide more force for the procedure, but it also meant plenty of experience to call upon. And while Bernard was technically an experienced priest, he certainly didn't feel experienced enough to deal with a demon capable of mental and physical control of the vessel. Still, he needed to calm the family, even if he wasn't calm himself.

"Of course, Mrs. Canton. I gathered the necessary materials and came as soon as the courier came by." He gestured for her to lead the way, and followed her upstairs to the girl's room, crossing himself as he saw the condition she was in. He set his papers and Bible on the dresser and grabbed a lamp, approaching the girl to inspect her skin for discoloration. We're...I'm not too late. It wasn't common knowledge, but sometimes cases were serious enough to be taken back to the cathedral for long term care. It was a nice way of saying it was too late. This was not one of those cases, even if the demon did appear to be a potent one, capable of overt control.

"I hurried to help you, Moira." He knew it wasn't Moira that asked, but he wouldn't respond to the demon. That was a mistake that gave it more control. Having inspected her skin, he set the lantern back on the dresser and retrieved his belongings, re-approaching the girl as her center was displayed to him. He took a steadying breath and averted his eyes, walking to her side, his movements quickening as Moira spoke.

"I'm here, Moira! Mrs. Canton, take her hand. Contact with a loved one helps keep the demon subdued." He paged quickly to the relevant section.

"Get your hand off of me slag!" she hissed to Margaret as she took her niece's hand. Margaret teared up but didn't let go. The demon turned its attention back to the priest. "Oh sure send me out," it conceded, "but if you wait a minute we can have a nice little merry-go-round on little chippy here. You were seduced, it wasn't your fault." Using Moira's face it put on a mockery of innocence and shock before snarling and laughing again. "Fuck her or fuck off, Bernard," it spat. "I know you want to. I can see it in your eyes, in your heart."

"Stop it! Stop it!" Margaret cried, holding her nieces hand with both of hers.

"No need to get jealous just coz you want him for yourself," the demon snarled, turning to Mrs. Canton. "Just leave her here and let her die. She makes you feel old and unwanted with the way all the boys look at her, the way they used to look at you. Just let her die you shriveled old hag and you'll be free of the life-sucking little leech!"

"Please Father Bernard," Mrs. Canton begged. "Please get it out of her!"

"Like you could," it laughed before hissing and growling in pain as the crucifix touched Moira's forehead. She writhed and moaned, snarling in pain and yelling obscenities above Father Bernard's rhythmic Latin, trying to get away from the crucifix. His exorcism prayers reached a fever pitch and so did the demon's howls. Moira arched off the bed, bending her back in an unnatural way and screaming and shaking. Finally the demon appeared to release its grip on her and she fell back to the bed, shivering uncontrollably.

"Au...Auntie...?" Moira sounded small as her eyelids fluttered and she looked around to her only surviving family. Her breast heaved as she tried to catch her breath and her grip, weak though it was, tightened a little on Margaret's hand. "Auntie I think...I think it's..." She was unable to complete her sentence as she passed out.

"Don't let go! Moira needs to know she is cared for and will be fought for." With the right page marked, he held the book open with his left hand, placing his right hand on her knee. With his unsure gaze he looked Moira in the eyes. "I am here for you, Moira." As before, he didn't address the demon, though this time it was a relief. After all, even though he knew that demons would say hurtful and/or tempting things, but he feared it was right all the same. He had looked at the young girl's exposed legs more than once, and he was very aware of how the nightgown clung to her young body.

At the plea from Mrs. Canton, Bernard focused on his task. He looked back to the page, took a deep breath, and began reading out loud. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immunde spiritus, omni satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomini et virtute Domini nostri Jesu Christi." As he spoke, he clutched the crucifix in his left hand, bringing it to Moira's head.

He repeated the words multiple times, his hand slipping off of her knee as she began to writhe and arch, sliding up her sweaty thigh and clenching it. When the demon finally appeared to let go, he took the crucifix off her forehead, resting it and his hand on the pillow, his hand still resting on her thigh. When she asked for her auntie, Bernard almost doubled over in relief.

Moira was untied and left to rest in bed. Father Bernard was escorted from the house with many thanks, Mrs. Canton still weeping and pressing cash into his hand, a hefty donation to the church. Margaret was at mass the following three weeks, but Moira was kept cloistered and took a private mass while she recovered. Every Sunday Mrs. Canton made sure to come up to Father Bernard after mass to thank him again profusely and give him news of her niece's progress and recovery, regardless of whether he asked for it or not. Nearly a month after the exorcism Father Bernard was alone an hour or two after Wednesday mass when Moira appeared in the aisle. She was fully-dressed and looking radiant when he finally turned to spot her with her hands behind her back and biting her lip excitedly.

"Father Bernard," she said with the air of one trying to keep their composure in a state of excitement. She didn't remember her exorcism and only had flashes of memory of her possession, but she'd heard about what he'd done for her. She hurried up the aisle, stopping to kneel and respectfully cross herself before the altar, before jumping back to her feet and up the steps to Bernard and holding out an envelope. "This is for you," she informed him. "The Conlans have a Christmas party every year. Auntie and I were visiting and you came up and...well...I volunteered to bring your invitation over." Moira beamed as he took it.

"I uh...I heard about what you did for me," she said after a few moments' pause. "I don't remember it, but I just wanted to thank you. For everything." She smiled nervously again and rocked onto the balls of her feet before falling back to her heels. "Um...I'm sorry for anything I might've said that was, ah...inappropriate. You know, I hope, that that wasn't me talking?" She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. There was something behind her eyes, as though there was something she wasn't saying.

It took many hours, and just as many glasses of water, before Bernard had been able to sleep that night. Between the adrenaline of the evening, soreness in his throat from repeating the words so many times, and the rather vivid images in his mind regarding young Moira, no part of his body had been ready for rest. The images, and thoughts associated with them, had been somewhat more persistent than the other issues. Adrenaline had been replaced with fatigue, soreness with relief, but his imagination had found no such remedy.

Once the night passed, however, life began to improve rapidly. Word traveled within the church of his performance, giving him some needed credibility as a new arrival in the town, and the weekly updates from Mrs. Canton cheered him at first, though he began to worry that it was taking longer than normal, though having been unfamiliar with the town, he didn't know how her health had been prior to possession, and did not wish to trouble Mrs. Canton with questions on the matter when her charge seemed to be improving.

"Moira! Thank God you are well!" he said with genuine warmth, walking briskly to her. It was a bit more spirited than intended, but the saving of one of God's children warranted rejoicing. As he neared, he placed a hand on her upper arm, his smile briefly fading as he looked in her eyes for any signs of lingering possession, but found none. His good cheer returned, he took the offered envelope. "Thank you, Moira. This is very kind, and I shall be pleased to attend."

He hesitated as she mentioned the night, other than to stammer out that he was, of course, happy to have helped. "Yes." He wasn't sure how to approach that. In his past exorcisms, he'd witnessed lewd behavior, though never that aggressive. "Perhaps, given the circumstances, we could speak about that in private?"

"I'll let them know," Moira returned when Father Bernard said he would be attending the Christmas party, before thanking him and apologizing for any sort of inappropriate behavior. He suggested that they speak in private about the exorcism and she glanced around. The church was silent but for their low murmurs, and a few worshipers knelt or sat in pews. His hand was warm on her arm as they stood close together...inappropriately close, she knew, but she felt a special connection to him since the exorcism. He was her savior, after all. Well, after their Lord Jesus Christ, of course. As she looked around she chewed her lip, then looked back up at the priest.

"May we speak in the sacristy? Now?" she asked. "I know I oughtn't, but I must show you something. It's...it's very private." Moira blushed and avoided his gaze, but took his hand and, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the handful of worshipers were too busy reflecting or praying to pay attention to them, led him through the sanctuary to the door behind the altar which led to the vestry.

The sacristy was a smallish room where the altar linens and holy vestments were kept in a wardrobe to one side, and the communion chalice on a shelf on the other side. There was a desk in the back of the room, in front of the dark stained glass windows, in which the parish records were kept and which served as Father Bernard's office. The bishop's office was in a quiet outbuilding near the cathedral. Moira locked the door behind them and made sure that the stained glass could absolutely not be seen through before turning to her priest.

"It left its marks on me," she declared, eyes full of fear. A wild notion, one that would not have normally entered her mind, caused her to impulsively pull up her skirts and pull down her bloomers to show him.

Moira was a pretty girl in the blossom of womanhood, a not many months older than fifteen. Her breasts were filling out nicely, with implicit promise of more to come, and she'd grown in height in recent years, giving her long, shapely legs and a firm, round rear. Her garters stretched over creamy thighs to hold up her stockings, but as she pulled her skirts up and turned around it was plain to see that her smooth skin had been marred. She stuck her hips out to keep her skirts gathered on the small of her back and put her hands on the desk to display her rear, where four deep red furrows were still healing and had become mostly scar tissue. Around the insides of her thighs as well were angry red scars which looked like claw marks. At her hip it looked as though some animal had bitten her.

"There are more," she informed him tearfully, hand still on the desk as she held still for his appraisal. "I could show you, but I would have to be...indecent." Moira bit her lip and hung her head. "It's gone, but it feels like it's too late, that it corrupted me. I...I think and do awful, sinful things, Father, that I never used to." Finally she let her skirts fall and turned to face him, a few tears tracking down her cheeks as she stepped back up to him and took his hands tightly in her own. "Am I damned, Father? Am I lost to God?"

He was happy to have made her happy. There was far too much evil in her life, and simple acts of goodness counted for much. However, he could not help but notice that her joy seemed fleeting, and rather quickly into self-consciousness. He realized that his hand had remained on her arm after he had finished looking her over, and he (somewhat correctly) guessed that was causing her anxiety, so he removed it with a nod of finality, hoping that remedied her concerns.

When she requested to speak to him in private, he was a bit caught off guard, but he didn't consider any impropriety. Her question was not one asked casually, and given their first and only prior interaction, Bernard had no reason to suspect her concerns were anything less than serious ones that should not be overheard by others. Even absent such factors, he was an accommodating man, unlikely to rebuff any genuine request. He hastily nodded and gestured to the requested room while offering his other hand to her.

Once inside, he made to quietly shut the door, but the young girl beat him to it, also trying to see through the glass. Bernard attempted to adopt a posture and expression that simultaneously conveyed his desire for her to speak openly about whatever was troubling her and masked his concern that his earlier fears about the exorcism had proven true. She seemed more than scared enough, and he didn't wish to add to that. He stepped closer to her and spoke as softly as he could manage. "Please, Moira, speak freely. You are safe here. What is it you must show me?"

He visibly flinched, near panic, when she answered, confirming the worst of his fears. It didn't make sense. There were no signs on her face, her iris and pupil had been normal, and weeks had now passed since the demon had been cast out. How could any mark still remain? There was only the briefest of impulses to look away, but what he hoped was commitment to duty kept his gaze on Moira as she pulled down her bloomers, his breath caught.

Once her bloomers were pulled down and she turned around, his gaze immediately went downward to the pooled cloth on the ground, then slowly raised along with her skirts. Such was the shock of the young girl exposing herself to him that it took him moments to notice what she needed to reveal. "My poor child. How did this...?" He trailed off as he walked closer, kneeling down behind her. Though he looked more than once, he tried not to keep his mind on her exposed sex as she bent over, instead focusing on the deep wounds on her bottom. He'd never seen such damage to a living creature as a result of a demon. After taking a breath, he shook his head and answered. "Not yet, Moira. I will need to see, but I must record this first. You were right to show me. And no, as long as you have the will to come to me, to seek help and God's love, you are not lost."

He grabbed a sheet of paper and began sketching what he saw, occasionally touching his thumb and forefinger to her bottom to gauge distance. Due to his kneeling and her being so short, he had to hunch to inspect the scarred furrows on her behind. After a moment, he got an idea. He reached over and dragged a stepstool over, touching it to her ankle. "Be careful stepping out of...be careful."

Once the affected area was elevated up closer to the desk and his face, he was able to work easier, though he was also far more aware of his proximity to her sex. He tried to stay focused, sketching as accurately as he could and listing as many details as he could make out. Depth of the wounds, angles of the claws, discoloration. "I am so sorry you have to go though so much, Moira. Is this one...the worst of them?"

When Father Bernard assured her that she hadn't fallen from God's eye, Moira cried and fell to her knees, holding his hands pressed to her lips. When he told her that he would have to record her wounds she looked up at him from her place on her knees in front of him with wide eyes, then nodded and stood. She hoisted her skirts again and turned, her legs shaking a little as he knelt down behind her and occasionally pressed his fingers to her skin. After a few moments he pulled a stepstool over and she stepped up on it and put her hands back on the desk, ass in the air for him to examine her.

"I...it...it touched me there," she said shakily as he sketched and made notes. "It...it bit me...and licked me..." Moira sniffled and hung her head, ashamed of how she had enjoyed the touching and licking, though had vague memories of how she'd screamed at the pain of its fangs and claws. "It told me things...the ways of men and women...defiled me in all but deed."

"I am so sorry you have to go through so much, Moira," Father Bernard sympathized. "Is this one...the worst of them?"

She sobbed and shook her head. Straightening, she unbuttoned her frock and let it pool around the stepstool and stood in her corset and stockings. With her back turned a healed-over, livid white scar in the shape of some sort of demonic glyph on her spine, centered between her shoulder blades, amongst other angry red scratches. She turned, averting her gaze and blushing furiously and covering her sex though not her decolletage which had been bitten badly by whatever had bitten her hip. Near her sex, along the front of her thigh, was an acrid burn where the demon's forked tongue had slid along her flesh.

"Please help me, Father," she begged, tears dripping from her chin to her breasts as she stood covering her most delicate parts. "Save me from this sin." Still protecting her modesty, she stepped off the stool and knelt at his feet again, grabbing his hand with her free hand and pressing it to her lips again. "Tell me what to do to recover fully from this demon, to cast off the cloak of sin it left around my shoulders." She sobbed and hung her head, leaning her forehead against his hip. "I'm so afraid of it coming back. Please tell me what prayers to say, what penance to do, I'll come to mass three times a week, every day services are held. Just please Father...don't let it do this to me again." She bit her trembling lip and sniffled before looking up at him again with wide, watery eyes. "Please."

"It only touched you here? Moira, the scar here seems worse than where it bit you." He went back and forth inspecting the claw marks on her rear and the bite marks on her hip, occasionally bringing his hand to her hip as he would begin to twist her before realizing what he was doing and pulling his hand away. He didn't have a response for her being told the ways of women and men. He wanted to ask what she knew, how it made her feel, but he knew such questions were unwise. Instead he had simply expressed sympathy, and asked what had seemed to be a simple question. Surely the one on her rear would have been the worst. But instead she shook her head.

As she began unbuttoning her frock, he stood up with her, looking her sadly in the eyes. The thought of there being not just other scars, but scars worse than this? He watched her disrobe in a combination of fear and excitement, filling the silence with what he hoped was a reassuring "you're safe, Moira." When she showed him the glyph-shaped scar on her back, he actually sighed in relief. That was the kind of scar he expected, the brand of a demon that had once been in control but was no longer. "This isn't bad, Moira. These are common in victims of possession. All it needs is a little more time and blotting with cloth dipped in holy water."

Then she turned to face him, revealing her cleavage. Seemingly smaller bite marks littered the area. He went to the paper where he had sketched the claw marks and made a quick note. "All right," he began, preparing another explanation of how the bite marks appeared to be healing well and supressing a comment about how she seemed to be developing well, when something about her posture indicated he should look down. Thankfully/regretfully, her sex was covered by her hand. What wasn't covered, though, was a burn adjacent to her sex. Once again, he knelt down, this time in front of her. It was such a long scar, from almost all her knee to her hipbone. His mind alternated between considering how to treat it and whether he could move her other hand.

Her plea broke him out of his mind and he watched her face as she knelt by him, looking up at him. He squeezed her hand, using the other to run through her hair as he stood, not wanting to admit that he didn't know what to do. He felt her forehead against his hip and looked down, only to discover that he was visibly aroused. He hastily reached down and helped lift her to her feet. "We just need to treat your scars, Moira. We can do it. Here." Sounding and acting decisive, he gestured back to the step stool and had her face away, adjusting himself once she'd done so. "Okay, let's start with the scars on your inner thighs and we'll work from there." He began rolling down her stockings.

Moira did as she was told, stepping up onto the stool and turning so she was no longer completely indecent in front of him. He began rolling down her stockings and they were to her knees when she was overtaken with an unaccountable shyness. This was a man of the cloth and she trusted him implicitly, but the idea that he might be touching her there...where the demon had touched her...

"Wait!" she blurted, clenching her hands into fists. Moira took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes, then shook her head and slowly bent over again to grip the desk. "I'm sorry Father. I'm just...nervous. Please go on."

The girl jumped when she felt Father Bernard's fingers touch her skin. The holy oil made his fingers slide smoothly over her marred skin and she shivered. Goosebumps raised on her arms and she gripped the edge of the desk more tightly, closing her eyes against the feeling of a man touching her thighs. This was sin. These feelings were sinful and it was made all the worse by the fact that he was a holy man, a man who had given himself to God. Even so, his fingers traced the same paths the demon had in its least agonizing moments, the ones she had allowed herself to remember...the ones that had made her touch herself in the dark of night when no one would hear her moan. Moira bit her lip and tried to stop wishing his fingers would slide higher to touch her.

"And this...this will make them go away?" she asked to distract herself, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

Bernard was starting to shake as he rolled down her stockings one leg at a time, going slowly so as not to aggravate the wound. He knew he was doing what needed to be done, but also that he was seeing far more of Moira's body than he or any man should be seeing, and now he would be touching it. He'd already become aroused at some point, and had had to adjust himself once she'd turned her back to him. He told himself that he needed to be strong for her sake. He could see she was scared as well, terrified of being too far gone. She needed him to be confident.

He'd finished the first stocking and had started on the second when she stopped him. He jerked his hands away, his heart beating faster, suddenly afraid. He stopped breathing for a moment, frozen, eyes wide, waiting for it all to end. It wasn't until she said to go on that he resumed breathing, deep, heaving breaths as his body caught up. "Yes," he said in between breaths. "Of course, my child."

His hands were less steady unrolling the second stocking, his mind more aware of what was being exposed, but her being bent over the desk meant she wasn't looking at him. "That's better," he said as she bent over. "Thank you." The second stocking was rolled down now, and he dipped two fingers from each hand into a jar of anointing oil, which he'd read could counter the unholy infection of a demon's claw. He felt and saw her shiver, thinking her flinching from his touch. "You are safe, Moira. I am not going to hurt you. I am here to help. Please do not fear me...I come in the name of the Lord, and my cause is His own." He ended by quoting a passage, hoping to relax her with His word.

"That's right, my child." His breathing had normalized, the scripture succeeding in centering him, if not her. "I want to rid you of the demon's marks, of its unholy influence. I know you are scared, but you need to accept this help, to want to be rid of it as well. I need you to want this, Moira. I know you do, because you sought me out. Your heart is good, and God knows it. The oil will help, but it is your heart that must allow His grace. Do not be afraid to accept it. Say to me, to the heavens, you want it."

Some deep, dark, unconscious part of Moira, the part where the demon sat, knew that every word they exchanged was laden with innuendo and lust. But to her conscious self she saw only the failing in herself and tried to hide it. As his fingers slid over her skin she chewed her tongue gently, trying to think purer thoughts than how handsome the priest was and how his fingers felt on her thighs.

"I'm not afraid," she declared, her voice quavering nonetheless. She wasn't afraid, although she knew she should be...she was in the grips of sin. Taking a deep breath, she crossed herself and pushed her hips back slightly, spreading her legs an inch or so to allow him better access to her wounds. "I'm not afraid, Father. I want this. I want God's grace and His forgiveness, I want to be healed. I want no trace of this pestilence upon my flesh. Please Father give me His grace! Make me new and whole again!" Her voice raised in her religious fervor, but the walls and door of the sacristy were thick enough to assure that no one in the chapel beyond heard. "O Lord be gracious to me; heal me, for I have sinned against you," she quoted Psalms, finding that focusing on her words gave her no time to focus upon her thoughts.

But she couldn't sustain that for long. Moira quickly ran out of Bible passages about healing to mull over and again her mind returned to his fingers, which were drawing dangerously close to her warm, wet center. "Our Father, who art in Heaven," Moira said shakily, for once her heart not truly on her prayers, "hallowed be Thy Name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory are yours, now and forever. Amen." She knew that this wasn't proof that the demon no longer had a grip on her; demons, she'd found, knew scripture better than almost any priest she'd ever met. But it had often given her comfort...until now. Lead us not into temptation. Was this what true temptation felt like?

"Yes, my child!" He praised her vehemently when she asked for His grace. "Your faith is strong and your heart good. I can feel your goodness...your warmth." The last part was truer than he wished. As she pushed back her hips and spread her legs to aid him in his task, he could feel a warmth from her. Choking back a combination of guilt and lust, he began sliding his fingers back up her inner thighs. He joined her in saying the "Our Father," taking small comfort in the words as it became impossible to look at his fingers without looking at so much more.

Finally, the prayer ended, and Bernard reluctantly pulled his fingers away, lowering his head in shame. "Well done, Moira. You did well." He meant it. She had given herself over to God's love, had occupied her mind with virtuous thoughts, and led him, Father Bernard, in prayer. She deserved his praise as much as he deserved his shame. He had finished the task, but he would need to confess his sinful thoughts.

He stood up, the best way to rid himself of the impure view. "We will need to treat the burn on the front of your leg, but I think it would be best to attend to it on another day." He hated how weak he was, but he needed to not look there any more until he had prayed and confessed. He tried to adopt a business-like tone. "I will need you to keep a log of the scars, and note if they recede or...not. When I visit you again, I shall look them over. Can you do that?"

Moira sighed when it was over. Her need wet her thighs and glistened in the lamplight along with the oil on her skin. Although she basked in his praise she still didn't think she deserved it. Her lips had been virtuous but her thoughts were sinful. She felt Father Bernard raise and step away, but she didn't step off the stool. Instead she straightened herself, then turned and covered her sex once more. Her eyes were full of tears once more, feeling for all the world as though he were wrong...she was already damned to Hell. But still she could try her very best to strive for salvation.

"And my back?" she asked. "Can...can you fix that? Or try?" She stood, shivering from her nerves. "Or shall I go to confession and come tomorrow?"

Bernard nodded to her and let out a sigh. Her back. He knew she meant more than that. The glyph between her shoulder blades was a simple enough task. He could wet a cloth in holy water and apply it to the mark. It would fade from that. The other scar, the lower one, that would be a different matter. That would require holding a crucifix against it, which Moira, with the lingering influence of the demon, would try to escape. He would have to hold her close to prevent it, and keep his hand on the crucifix, keep his hand on her rear. "Yes," he said at last.

He stepped back closer to her, his eyes solemn. "Moira, the next step will be difficult, and I fear I have asked too much of you already." Seeing the tears in her eyes he grabbed a cloth and handed it to her, for a moment not thinking of desire. There was some fear in his mind, namely the thought of her confessing and admitting that he left such dire wounds unattended. Failing to combat the influence of Satan was unacceptable.

He took a breath and continued. "I am going to need to touch a crucifix to the wound. The demon's influence will compel you to avoid it, to run, to push me away. You will have to fight that. I...I think it will be easiest to deal with both at the same time. I can hold you against me so you won't be able to feel, but I have to ask you not to fight me. I know this is a lot to ask of you."

Moira took the cloth in her free hand and dabbed at her eyes, trying to put on a brave face. "Nothing is too much in service of the Lord," she said solemnly. Father Bernard explained what was going to happen and that it would compel her to try and flee and she nodded. "I can do it," she promised. "I want this, all of it, gone. I can do it to return to God's grace."

She waited patiently for him to prepare the cloth and select the appropriate crucifix, holding the cloth she had taken from him over her most intimate areas. Finally he held his arms open to her and she embraced him as he pressed the holy artifacts against her skin. She hissed in pain as they burned her and she gripped his vestments as she clenched her fists. With a whimper she leaned her forehead against his shoulder and tried not to pull away.

"It hurts, Father," she whimpered. "It burns like the flames of Hell. God preserve me..." Moira pressed her slender body closer to his, every part of their bodies touching as she stood on the first step of the stool so that they were chest-to-chest. "Heal me, Father," she whispered in his ear, pleading sincerely with him. "Make my body whole again and cast out the lingering remnants of the serpent." Moira clung to the priest as though her life depended upon it--and it did, really--and buried her face in his neck, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain and trying to ignore the pleasure of their bodies pressed together.

"Well spoken, my child." Nothing is too much. He thought of the tests that the Lord had placed upon others in the Bible, such as the near-sacrifice of Isaac, or how Satan had brought such grief to Job. He must keep his faith, his willingness to serve. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a crucifix about the size of his palm. He wiped the lint off of it with his thumbs, then closed his eyes, standing before Moira a moment in silent prayer. He crossed himself and placed the crucifix on the desk behind her, reaching around her to do so. He then walked across the room, grabbing a small basin of holy water and placed that on the desk as well, the cloth he intended to use beside it.

"Are you ready, my child?" He waited for acknowledgement and stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching and his arms on either side of her. His right hand grabbed the crucifix, his left dipping the cloth into the water. "The pain will be cleansing. Believe in His grace, His love." With that, he leaned in against her, leading with his left hand to place the soaked cloth between her shoulder blades. That one would sting, but would not be the truly painful one. With the crucifix in the palm of his dominant hand, he brought it to the swell of her behind, pressing the symbol into the furrows, his fingers splayed across her flesh. His body was ready to receive hers, his arms closed tightly around her, the bulge she pressed against impossibly firm.

"Lord, I ask of you to remove Satan's influence from this child. She has come here today, sought out your aid, your glory. She surrenders herself body and soul for your love. She wishes only to be made whole in your image, and will give whatever service is required. Please, let her be your servant." As he spoke, he pressed in with both hands, pushing her body against his, and arching his back to meet her body with his own.

Moira clung to his body as he pulled her tightly to him. The bulge she had noticed while kneeling at his feet pressed insistently against her pubic mound and she pressed herself more firmly against it, finding something strangely comforting in it. His hands pressed against the flesh of her back and rear, raising goosebumps on her arms as he prayed over her.

"I surrender my body," she murmured near his ear in agreement as he prayed. Her breath was warm against Bernard's neck and ear even as her tears dropped to his shoulder. "Let me serve you as my Lord and master. Take me and make me whole." He arched his back to press his body against hers and she responded in kind, leaving no room between them.

Eventually he finished and they both murmured "Amen" before she stepped off of the stool and pulled her stockings back up and her bloomers back on. She was still indecent, but at least she was no longer half-naked in front of a respectable man of the cloth. Finally she turned to face him as he instructed her to keep a log of the scars.

"Will you come to call on me at home, or shall I visit you here? I...shall I confess to Bishop Abernathay?" Moira offered as pulled on her petticoats then her frock, straightening out the fabric and folding her wool coat over her arm. Once she had her answers, a wild impulse seized her and she launched herself across the gap between them and threw her arms around the priest. "Thank you, Father Bernard! Thank you! I would fear for my soul if I hadn't known such capable hands as yours." She gripped his arm briefly and gave him a small smile. "I'll come tomorrow shall I?"

Moira hurried home, brushing off Aunt Margaret's questions about how her meeting with the priest had gone, and shut herself up in her room. Tossing off her shoes and her coat, she threw herself onto the bed and stared up at the canopy. She closed her eyes and tried not to remember the way Bernard--Father Bernard--had touched her, the way his fingers had left burning trails on her skin as he anointed her thighs with oil. It didn't work...that was all she could think of. She didn't want to do this; the demon had done this, and she had done it since, but she knew that it was sinful...but it was the only way to make this aching in her loins go away.

She slid down her bloomers and kicked them to the corner of the mattress. Moira's fingers, cold from her walk home, slid down her nubile body and pulled her skirts up the way she had for the priest. Her hands shook as they slid to her clit, touching and rubbing the way the demon had shown her how. She bit her lip as she rubbed her clit and arched her hips up against her hand. With her fingers numb from the cold it was easy to imagine that it was the priest touching her as he healed her wounds. She breathed in sharply as she found that spot that the demon had always found without problem.

"Father..." she whispered as she climbed to that precipice of pleasure. "Bernard!" Moira's breath caught as she came with his name on her lips, crying out softly then whimpering as she became sensitive and remembered that not only was this a sin, but she had been thinking about the priest. In that moment she thought he had been wrong, and that she was already damned to Hell.

Bernard closed his eyes as he embraced Moira, very aware of the sensation of her mound against his bulge. He knew that it felt good and that he did not want it to end, but he tried not to focus on it, instead he prayed over her as best as he could while distracted, though he clenched as he considered some of his hasty phrasing. It wasn't until she responded, her words as charged as his own, that Bernard have suffered the first real weakness he'd realized, clenching her more firmly and grinding his bulge against her center. "Don't try to flee. I know it hurts," he said, feeling he needed to justify the increased pressure.

Letting go had been difficult, but having stalled for words and having been too cloudy to think of more that added to it...he awkwardly added an "Amen" to the end, which she had regretfully repeated as well. He reluctantly relaxed his grip, standing close and maintaining some contact as she stepped down. There was a small amount of moisture on the front of his robes.

As Bernard tried to decide whether it was better for him to visit or for her, a third choice appeared and was immediately ruled out. "Not Bishop Abernathay!" he said hurriedly. "Forgive me, child. The bishop is a good man, but his health has not been well. I would not wish to trouble him with such things as his strength may not be sufficient for." He took a breath, centering himself (somewhat) and continued. "I think it would be best if I were to call on you. I've asked much of you so far, and I fear further treatment may be even more demanding-" What do I mean by that? -"and I do not wish upon you the added burden of travel."

He caught her as she launched herself at him, pulling her into a tight, though less sensual, embrace. "I shall do whatever I can for you, my child. You have my word. And yes, I shall visit you tomorrow." He smiled back sadly.

Once she was gone, Bernard took out pen and paper and began writing a cardinal a few days ride away. He wrote describing each of the wounds on Moira's body, including the sketches he had made of each, all the relevant information her family had given him, and how she'd actively avoided physical contact while possessed and still seemed nervous when he had to touch her. He mentioned the annointing oil, holy water and crucifix, but left out some of the finer details as to how such treatments were administered. He mentioned the salve he had yet to apply to the burn as well, but only as a consideration.

He sealed the letter and handed it off to a courier. He knew he would not hear back soon, but he had to reach out to someone knowledgeable. For some reason, though, he'd neglected to write other, closer authorities for advice. After checking that everything was put away, he went home.

Once in bed, he couldn't shake the images of Moira from his mind, and while many involved what he'd previously seen of her, he also found himself imagining her breasts, and taking scenes from their earlier treatment and reconstructing them to make them more sexually charged. He imagined the scars on her inner thighs going closer to her center, the small bite marks on her breasts needing to be treated as well. He imagined himself inside her, something he'd yet to experience with any woman. Despite not being aware of when he'd started touching himself, he soon came.

Still unable to sleep, though now due to guilt more than overactive imagination, he prayed for both forgiveness and a sign as to whether or not he was doing the right thing.

***

Bernard hadn't slept long that night, nor very well, visited by multiple dreams involving demons. Bringing the holy water, salve, and oil in a small bag, he rode back to the house where he'd first met Moira, possibly more nervous than the first time. He knocked loudly, awaiting what he expected would be a difficult conversation with Mrs. Canton.

Father Bernard was shown into the parlor where Mrs. Canton waited with Moira. They both smiled at his appearance, and Mrs. Canton rose and crossed to greet the priest, shaking his hand warmly. It was altogether a more cheerful meeting than their first one.

"Thank you for coming, Father," Mrs. Canton said sincerely. "Moira told me that you're helping her to recover further from her ordeal and I can't tell you how grateful we are for you. We ask the Lord every day to bless you, you know. The righteous shall have their reward, and God bless the day you take your rightful place in the canon, I say." She knew that it would be blasphemy to call him Saint Bernard already, but Margaret practically glowed as she heaped praise upon him. "My niece says that your work is best done in solitude, so please..." She gestured toward the stairs, entirely trusting of the priest alone with Moira in her bedroom.

Moira led the way up the stairs, glancing shyly over her shoulder back at Bernard before turning and showing him to her room. With the door closed and his tools laid out, she stood in front of the bed and slowly, shyly, unlaced her dress as she had the day before and let it pool at her feet so that she once again stood in her bloomers, stockings, and corset.

"How would you have me, Father?" she asked innocently, standing and waiting for him to instruct her on what to do.

Bernard walked inside with as much dignity as he could muster despite his trip over being racked with guilt and attempts at rationalization. He managed an awkward attempt at a comforting smile to Mrs. Canton, taking her hand gently. His smile to Moira was a bit less confident.

He nodded at her thanks, inserting a quick word on the importance of doing one's duty, before she turned up her praise considerably. The words made him feel even more ashamed of his weak thoughts the previous day and night, as well as the occasional flight of fancy this morning. The guilt was replaced by a genuine shy discomfort at the boldness of her praise. "Thank you, Mrs. Canton. You are very kind." He was actually relieved when she gestured for him to see to Moira, the anxiety of facing the young girl's temptations temporarily less stressful than hearing the continued praise of Mrs. Canton.

With a final nod, Bernard followed Moira up the stairs, responding to each glance back with a nod confirming their continued ascent. Once the door was closed, he took a deep breath and began going through his bag, largely to avoid staring as she undressed. Her question, or perhaps the specific way it is worded, left him speechless a moment. "Yes," he said eventually, not answering her question at all. "We have much to tend to. There were some areas neglected yesterday, and I will wish to see how...the other areas responded to treatment. We should, perhaps, attend to that first. I apologize for asking, but I nee...will require you to...render the affected areas viewable."

He took another breath and stepped toward a lantern. "Did you measure the wounds this morning?"

Moira took a shuddering nod when Father Bernard asked her to make her wounds viewable to him. They both knew what this meant, and she turned around to face the bed so that he wouldn't see her half-naked form from the front. Slowly, nervously, she pulled down her bloomers and bent over as she guided them to the floor. Next were her stockings, first one then the other, slowly rolled down and carefully placed with the bloomers. The back of her corset dipped low enough that he would be able to see the glyph without her removing it. In an attempt to make things go more smoothly and to be helpful, Moira climbed up on the bed and knelt on all fours with her knees at the edge of the bed, slightly spread, to present her scars to him.

"I measured them as best I could," she replied, "but these ones--" she gestured vaguely toward her rear, unable to name the body part aloud, "were difficult to get and I couldn't get my back at all. The ones on my...on my thighs," she said the word very quietly, "are somewhat smaller it seems. But the long one that looks like a burn, the one you didn't treat yesterday, seems a little longer than before. It's almost to my knee now."

She waited patiently for him, trying very hard not to sin as she presented herself her wounds to him. She flinched slightly at his touch, but took deep breaths and relaxed as he went about the same business he had yesterday. In an effort to break the silence she glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Do you think they'll ever go away, Father Bernard?"

As before, Bernard noticed that Moira kept her back to him whenever she disrobed. He felt conflicted about it. On one hand, he was grateful that she couldn't see the combination of shame and rapt attention on his face. He was also relieved she was spared the sight of the shameless rapt attention that would inevitably follow below, but her unwillingness to show him her mound only made him feel both guilty and insulted, as though he couldn't be trusted.

He stared without any form of disguise as she climbed up the bed, presented with the clearest view of her young flower possible. It took him a moment to even think to say anything. "I am glad we are doing this here. This looks...more comfortable for you than in the sacristy."

He stepped closer, setting his bag on the bed next to one of her knees, and listened, idly noting that the wounds on her ass appeared the same as yesterday, possibly paler in color, but that could be attributed to lighting or poor memory. It was darker in this room, after all. The next piece of news, however, changed everything. "Truly?" He stepped even closer and crouched down, for the moment not even caring about their proximity to one another. "Let me see!" He began to laugh as his eyes confirmed her words. "Dear Moira, this is the sign!" He closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the back of her thigh, only raising it when she asked if the scars would be permanent.

"They will go away, Moira. You were right to bring them to me, to show me, to overcome the teachings of modesty. Your body belongs only to God, and He is rewarding us for being strong enough to fight Satan despite the social norms that would have forbidden it. And we will keep fighting, ever more fervently."

Moira squeaked, scandalized when he leaned his head against her thigh, but didn't say anything. She tried to breathe in relief when Father Bernard informed her that her scars would all eventually go away, but could only quiver as he praised her for being strong enough to fight Satan. Wasn't God the source of authority on modesty? Were they not defying Him by ignoring the teachings of modesty in the Bible? She wanted to ask him these questions, but something stopped her voice. Instead she glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Then shall we fight together?" she asked timidly. "We...we can work on these...and then maybe on the big ones?" The salve and the holy water were both cool on her skin and she tried not to squirm. They burned on her marred flesh. "Have I been a wicked girl, Father?" she asked as his hands slid from her rear to the insides of her thighs. "Is that why this is happening to me? You've said that Bishop Abernathay is ill but...but may I make my confession to you? I feel as though confessing my sins might help."