Punishment

Erotic short. A man takes penance over the priest’s desk.

1.8k, rated E, M/M. Featuring spanking, mild anal play, power dynamics, of course the priest aspect, age difference. Tiernan Borel and Marshall Mullen first appeared in Confession and Penance.

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Tiernan smells the fresh polish on the walnut surface of Father Mullen’s desk, felt the cool weight of the wood under his palms. It’s a nice desk, antique — it had been here for seventy-five years longer than Father Mullen had, and would be here long after he was gone. It’s a comforting thought, the constancy of it, the continuing nature of the church and its contents.

Mullen’s hand makes contact with Tiernan’s backside with a resounding smack that echoes through the room, and Tiernan whimpers into his hands at the sudden heat of the blow and then the stinging pain that accompanies it. These, too, are an enduring and constant set of forces — discipline, punishment, and pain.

His cock is so hard it aches.

“Tell me,” Mullen orders him in his clear, quiet voice, and a burst of hot shame runs through him, shame that makes his balls feel tight and drawn up, makes his cock twitch and bob beneath him.

“Can’t I just — ”

The next blow comes down hard against his other cheek, and Tiernan chokes on air at the amount of strength Mullen manages to pack into the blow — how is it that a priest manages to keep such upper body strength? It’s different, somehow, receiving his punishment with the warmth of Mullen’s palm instead of his belt or some other instrument — it’s more intimate, warmer, and at the same time, so much more shameful.

His mother had never laid a hand on him, but his father had, he thinks — he distantly recalls over-the-knee spankings when he was far too young to understand what they were for and why he was getting them, let alone think about how he should or could change the behaviour that inspired them.

“This is the agreement, Tiernan,” Mullen says, and his hand slides smooth and warm, his fingers calloused, over the meat of Tiernan’s backside. His skin feels tender from the two recent blows, and fuck, but it’s been good going home from his confession with the sting following him, the heat lingering on his skin, sometimes the bruises whenever he takes his seat.

Mr Du Maurier’s been commenting on it, but only enough to make noise as he massages and kneads at the abused flesh, only enough to ask who’s been doing it and then lose any interest in the answer so long as he can make Tiernan whine and moan under his hands.

It’s fitting, Tiernan supposes, that he should bring Tiernan such pleasure only by following after another man’s handiwork.

“Would you like to change it?”

“Change it?” Tiernan repeats.

“Our agreement?”

“No,” says Tiernan, and he thinks about how horny it had made them the first time, how it had made him burn all over with want and need at the idea of it, at giving his confession and then taking further penance over Father Mullen’s desk, from his hand or an implement, as he describes any further encounter he’s had in the course of the week, any sexual encounters.

“Mr Du Maurier’s fucked me over his desk,” Tiernan says, spitting out the words and feeling the buckling shame make his knees weak, feeling the bloom of blood in his cheeks, his cock so hard it’s leaking. His stomach is twisting like a mess of snakes, and he almost feels sick with it, his head spinning. “Twice.”

“And the other?” Mullen presses him. Tiernan can feel the warmth of his hand hovering over his ass cheek, feel the shadow of it before it lands and claps against him.

“I went home with a man,” Tiernan whispers, almost into the wood. “With one of the teachers at — After the fete the other day. He’s a history teacher.” Mullen doesn’t do anything, and Tiernan squirms slightly, wiggles his backside as if it’s going to make a difference, as if Mullen is so easily swayed. His stomach lurches, and then he says, “Mr Baildon.”

Mullen’s hand comes down with a ringing smack, catching the backside of his balls as he does so, and Tiernan whimpers, gripping at the wood beneath him as he feels the pain shoot through him, up his spine, right down his cock, too.

Mullen hits him again and again and then a fourth time, then grabs and squeezes at Tiernan’s cock, giving him one wonderful squeeze before he drops his cock again. Tiernan lets out a sound of loss, and behind him, he hears Mullen chuckle quietly.

“Does Mr Baildon remind you of any of your former teachers?”

“No,” Tiernan says, feeling his mouth go dry, his skin feeling tight and warm. His ass feels empty, and he wishes Mullen would fuck him he aches for the sensation of it, the burn and sudden push of Mullen’s cock spearing him open, just a drizzle of lube over himself and then the force of penetration, the feeling of wonderful fullness.

“A priest, perhaps?” Mullen asks, and before Tiernan can answer, Mullen smacks him again, each time on the underside of his asscheeks, at the tops of his thighs, making both of them wobble. Tiernan’s breath hitches in his throat and his chest burns with the breath that catches in him, and Mullen says, his voice gentle, “I won’t make you answer that.”

Tiernan drops his face into his hands, spreading his thighs wider, feeling his cock bounce underneath him.

“Mr Baildon’s a strong man,” Mullen muses out loud. Tiernan can’t see his face — Mullen had threatened him with that, had threatened to open the cupboard door where his vestments are stored so that the mirror was out. With that door open, Tiernan can see Mullen behind him as well as himself over the desk, see the whole scene reflected in the glass, and Mullen would make him make eye contact, too. Tiernan doesn’t know that he could take that. “He runs marathons, he lifts weights. Did he lift you easily?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, Father.”

“As much as I like watching you now?”

Tiernan whimpers, feeling his prick jump, feeling wetness at the head of his cock as a dribble of pre slides out of him, and he digs his nails into the wood beneath him. There’s something purifying in the sensation of Mullen’s gaze on him, his touch on him — Tiernan’s always felt quite confident in his desires, in his wants, but it’s been a long time since he had sex with a priest, and this dynamic, the two of them together, it’s so excruciatingly similar to his experiences as a child. Glorious, ecstatic, and at the same time, sanctifying, cleansing. Mullen has the same impact on him as, he should imagine, those UV lights that kill bacteria, or very powerful chemicals on a filthy service — it’s as painful as it is effective in making him feel newly pure.

“Yes, Father,” he murmurs, and Mullen gently scrapes his fingernails over what Tiernan knows must be the bright red skin of his buttocks, making Mullen squirm and arch his back.

“I find that hard to believe,” Mullen says mildly, and taps his backside without spanking it properly. “Go on.”

“He took me home,” Tiernan says. “Stripped my clothes off, threw me back on the bed.”

“Was he quick about it?”

“Yes, Father. Nearly ripped my shirt off my back, and I was — I was so hard, I was trembling, I craved it. He shoved me on my back on the edge of the bed, my legs together, banded one hand around my knees to keep them together, and then fucked me.”

“Did he use a condom?”

“No, Father.”

“I see,” says Mullen, and makes no effort to hide the disapproval in his voice — the next flurry of spanks goes on for what feels like forever, and Tiernan sobs into his hands at the excruciating pain of it, the layering of those little sharp agonies as blow after blow lands against his cheeks and makes them bounce. “How did that feel?”

“Goo-ood,” Tiernan moans. “Good, good, I liked — ” Mullen keeps hitting him, and it’s tipping off his rhythm, makes him feel like a metronome in an earthquake, “I liked the feeling of him in me, feel the skin to skin, feel him pump in me.”

“Feel it drip, afterwards?” Mullen asks — his voice is a little bit louder, so that Tiernan can hear him over the blows. “Feel it slide down your inner thighs, warm and wet and white? Feel yourself left open in the wake of him?”

Tiernan shudders, his thighs quaking, and he nods his head.

“This hole here?” Mullen asks, hooking a finger into Tiernan’s ass and pulling upward, and Tiernan muffles his responding scream into his hands as the other man presses down on his prostate and he comes, spilling ropes of white over Father Mullen’s desk, his whole body shuddering like he’s been shocked.

He heaves in a gasp, then shudders out the exhalation.

“Are you going to fuck me now, Father?” he asks.

Mullen’s hand smooths down the centre of his back. “Not today,” he says softly. “Your next confession, young man, I’m going to sit back in my chair and ease you down onto my cock. You’ll confess from your position there — and you won’t come until your confession is through.”

Tiernan feels dizzy and warm, and he wishes for a moment that he could just stay here, that he could settle in Father Mullen’s armchair and just linger here like any other part of his office equipment, any other piece of the surroundings that the priest might use at will.

“Tiernan,” Mullen says, and Tiernan turns from the desk and immediately closes his eyes when Father Mullen gently cups his cheek, sliding his thumb delicately under Tiernan’s eye and stroking the skin there. “Good boy,” he whispers, and Tiernan exhales and reaches for his sleeve, then cups his hand in both of his own.

“May I — stay?” he asks. “For a few more minutes?”

“Where else but here to offer you sanctuary?” Mullen asks lowly, his eyebrows raising when Tiernan opens his eyes to look at him. “And — Tiernan?”

“Father?”

“There’s an STI kit in the left hand of my desk drawer. You’ll be completing it before you go.”

Tiernan feels warmer, and he can’t keep the smile off his face. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I won’t — I won’t do it again.”

“Of course you will,” Father Mullen says. “We’ll just start you on PReP before you do so again. Keep you safe.”

Tiernan leans back on the desk as he takes the cloth Mullen offers him, wiping up the mess he’s made. “You like it, don’t you, Father?” he asks in an undertone, feeling so incredibly aroused that his spent cock actually surges with want, twitching noticeably against his thigh. “The idea of other men coming in me?”

“Swabs,” Father Mullen orders him crisply, but he’s smiling thinly. “Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Tiernan says, and reaches for the drawer.