The Retaliation: Episode 3 - The Pleasure Dome

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.  ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.  

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

Tuesday 25^th November – The Curial Offices 10.37am

Tartuffo’s PC pinged and awoke him from his reverie. An e-mail flashed up on the screen reminding him that his latest order from Hard‘N’Up.com was being despatched. Two dozen Viagra and an extra large box of condoms were winging their way to him. And not before time. Tartuffo had plans for the weekend.  And wasn’t it a boon to have an Archdiocesan credit card at his disposal – one of the perks of being Archbishop – to pay for all his little “extras”. “Can this job get any better?” he chuckled. Still, he’d have to sort out how to take delivery of this little box of fun. He was having an away day tomorrow......

He smiled indulgently at the black leather framed photo adorning his blue leather inlaid desk. A little boy, no more than 5 years old, beamed out at him, wearing a tiny mitre. “Ah, my son, my son” thought Tartuffo proudly.

The child’s mum, Sister Euphemia of the Sisters of Discipline & Chastity, looking a little fierce, stood behind him in the photo, dressed in riding boots and carrying a whip. Tartuffo felt a ripple of pleasure course through him as he recalled that weekend retreat at Lintoul almost 6 years ago.

He had an idea. He pressed the intercom button which connected his office to the reception.

“Miss Titloch. Can you come in here for a minute please?”

“Why yes, Your Grace” came back the husky reply.

Virginia Titloch left her rather cluttered and disorganised desk and sashayed into the Archbishop’s office, her tight leather skirt squeaking and rubbing as she teetered on her black patent six inch, spike heeled, studded ankle boots and handed him her latest attempt at word processing.

“Yes Stiffi? What can I do to you, sorry, for you... ” she purred, breathlessly, bending over his desk, a stray curl of platinum hair bouncing over her piercing blue eyes.  He gulped audibly. He forced himself to look at the letter, sighed and shook his head.  He had seen no improvement in her office skills in the three months she’d been working for him, although he saw it as his Christian duty to overlook, and in fact, indulge her shortcomings as a secretary in favour of her other obvious gifts.

Noticing the look of disdain on his face, Virginia slid her ample bottom onto his desk and whimpered, “Oh Your Grace! Are you not happy with my work? Are you going to chastise me.....?” She batted her eyelashes and leaned towards him.

Tartuffo closed his eyes to compose himself.  He swallowed hard. After a few seconds he said “Actually no, my dear.  It is I who have been a bad boy and I need a favour from you.....”

“Yes?” she whispered, crossing her legs rather theatrically.

“I am expecting a delivery tomorrow of a rather personal nature and unfortunately I will not be here to sign for it.  I’m going to Lochgelly for a seminar. It’s called “The History of Obedience and Chastisement in the Church”. He shuddered momentarily.

“If I gave you the keys to my desk, would you oblige...?  I know I can trust you to be discreet...” he continued.

“Oh” she demurred. “I don’t know.  It sounds like you’ve been very naughty and I might have to punish you for that......” She gave him a playful shove, digging her scarlet polished nails into his shoulder.

“Well, you know I’m a firm believer in discipline my dear” his voice sounded raspy now.

Virginia pulled up her tight skirt to reveal the tops of her fishnet stockings, from where she removed a police-style baton. She opened it with a deft flick of her wrist and as if by magic, it lengthened to three times it original size. 

She was now kneeling on the desk. She threw her head back triumphantly, causing her tightly wound french roll to loosen. 

“Hello Stiffi! Come to Mama!” she cried. 

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.