Invisible Girl - An Erotic Romance Pt. 05

She had turned her head and again peeked at her reflection. She'd stared at the image: the long, dark hair falling around her seemingly blindfolded face; the profile of her breasts, shaped strangely by hanging upside down and nearly spilling out of their brassiere; the pale flesh over her ribs tapering to the swell of her behind, bent over the top of the chair; the long, long legs in white stockings and high heels, set off by the red knee-socks with which they were tied to the chair. She'd imagined Father Anthony—No! Father Brian! —looking at her, and had felt herself flush with shame.

Better.

She had raised the hairbrush and held it awkwardly over her behind, imagining it in Father...Brian's hand. Had stared at its reflection for several moments before lowering it again and placing it on the chair seat. Had then reached back with both hands and slowly pulled her panties down to the top of her thighs.

Picked up and raised the brush again. Stared.

Then lowered it and burst into tears.

In the days after that she had resigned herself to waiting until Father Brian's return, and to the creeping daydreams that filled her with desire and then with self-disgust.

She had written the letter that Father Brian had suggested, trying as hard as she could to be sincerely repentant, and sent it off to Father Anthony. There had been no reply as yet. But she had found herself fantasizing that he would write back and not only forgive her but say that he had been wrong; that he missed her and wanted to see her—which only led her back into the same torturing thoughts as before.

She had tried desperately to fend them off, to think of other things. She'd lain in bed, fists clenched, willing herself to go to sleep, to slip past the unclean thoughts and be safe for another night. And when they came anyway she would vow not to indulge them and pray for the strength to resist—only to find herself 'accidentally' rolling over onto her hand and adding another to the growing list of sins she couldn't bear to bring up in confession.

And even though she hated her after-school and summer job as a filing clerk in the police station where her father worked, she was grateful to have something to do, however boring. She was sure she'd go crazy if left alone with her thoughts for too long.

As it was the sheer mindlessness of the work all too often allowed her mind to drift in directions where she didn't want it to go, and she would sometimes find herself standing in front of an open file drawer, folder in hand, her face burning with shame at the pictures which had taken over her mind.

Oh, she would do anything to be free of this!

That was the only reason she had attended the party: the chance that Jane would be there and have some news for her, however slim that chance was. And when her childhood friend Francis had called to say hello earlier that day, she'd dragged him along for company. And to carefully pump him for information about Father Anthony.

As it turned out he could only tell her that Father Anthony hadn't been at St. Mary's recently, though Francis had heard he'd gone on a sabbatical. Chrissy had wondered if her letter had been forwarded to him.

When Jane had shown up at the party, Chrissy had had to force herself to stay calm and wait for the opportunity to question her.

And then when it came...to be disappointed again!

She'd had no idea why she'd started asking Jane about her boyfriend, unless it was from a desperate desire to hear about anybody getting the punishment she wanted for herself.

She'd had a sudden vision of Jane—so pretty and cheerful, and looking so attractive in her red dress—bent over her mysterious boyfriend's knees, the red dress pulled up to her waist, a hand poised over her, ready to strike. And Chrissy had felt her mouth go dry.

She had been sincerely relieved when Francis and Suzy had interrupted her before she could further embarrass herself by begging for details.

But then there had been that moment when the change had come over Jane, when Chrissy had seen her staring off towards the kitchen, her eyes glowing and her face suffused with happiness.

Chrissy had assumed that Jane was looking at her boyfriend; that he had accompanied her to the party. But then Jane had said something about her boyfriend having car trouble and Chrissy's suspicions were aroused...

And confirmed when she saw Peter McIlvray, the same boy she'd seen Jane with the other day, emerge from the kitchen a moment later, even though Jane was pretending not to notice.

Chrissy had been sure she knew what was going on:

Jane was cheating on her boyfriend with Peter.

It was none of her business, of course, and she should have just let it go. How she wished now that she had! But when she'd noticed Jane sneaking off, followed closely by Peter, her imagination had flared up again: maybe Peter spanked her too! Maybe that's what they were going off to do right now!

In the grip of her compulsion she had murmured something to Francis about finding the bathroom. Then she'd followed them outside.

It had been easy to follow them. It was dark except for the circles of illumination made by the streetlights, and Jane and Peter had walked right through them, hand in hand, talking quietly, while Chrissy had been careful to remain hidden.

She had wanted desperately to get close enough to overhear them but hadn't dared, for fear of being given away by her footsteps, until she saw them turning into the driveway of a house surrounded by hedges. Then she had darted into the yard of the house next door and crept up close to the hedge near where their voices were coming from.

She had searched quickly for a gap in the thick hedge through which she could see them, but to no avail. Then she had stood absolutely still and listened.

At first she'd heard nothing, but after a moment she'd heard Jane's voice saying, "Do you like my new undies?"

Mother of God, she was showing him her underwear! Chrissy knew she'd been right—oh, if only she could see! Was Jane pulling up her dress in front of him? Or was she bent over, waiting for a spanking? She'd had to see!

She'd looked around frantically, ignoring Jane and Peter's conversation for the moment, and had noticed that the hedge ended flush with the front corner of the house.

She had just started making her way over there when she'd been startled by something flying over the hedge and landing in the grass behind her, followed by the sound of Jane's laughter. But she'd ignored it and hurried to the end of the hedge.

As she'd hoped, there was a small gap between the hedge and the house. It was too small to put her head through but she'd used her arm to quietly push enough of the hedge aside so that, by leaning forward and holding her head at an awkward angle she had been just barely able to see into the driveway.

At first all she'd been able to make out was that someone was standing facing the front of the car that was parked there.

Then she'd heard Jane's voice, still full of laughter, saying, "...And if you're not inside me in ten seconds, you're the one who's going to get punished, buster," and Chrissy, looking more closely, had seen the white shapes on either side of the standing figure resolve into legs and knees and feet.

Sweet Jesus, she was lying on the car with her legs spread in front of him, the little whore! And telling him to...to...fornicate with her!

Chrissy had been horrified...

And unable to look away, even when she saw Peter lowering his pants...saw his naked buttocks and watched them clench as he'd leaned forward to enter Jane...heard her little cries of pleasure and longing as he did so.

And then the thunderbolt: "There! Ye'll not be siccin' Father Brian on me, by God!"

That voice! Oh my God, that voice!

­­

And then running, blindly.

Chrissy continued to sit in the darkness of her car, hands clenched into fists on her knees, tears running down her face.

And now...what should she do, what could she do? The two of them knew all her secrets—she could hardly have her father arrest them! But to go about her daily life knowing that at any moment she might run into one of them and see their knowledge of her in their faces...

Especially him... Sweet Jesus, she'd taken her dress off in front of him, had let him...no, no, no! She wouldn't think about that! And it wasn't her fault anyway, she'd thought it was Father Brian!

And it was only then that the worst blow of all struck her. She fell back against the seat, hand to her mouth to muffle her sobs as a voice in her head seemed to shriek, There is no Father Brian! He's never coming back...because he doesn't exist!

She had no idea how much time had passed when she finally became aware of herself again. It was as though a black cloud had filled her head, blotting out all thoughts and all feelings other than sheer desolation. Even now it had lifted only slightly.

She remembered, idly, that Francis was still at the party and doubtless wondering what had become of her. She knew she should go find him, make some excuse—a long line for the bathroom—and give him a ride home.

But she felt unable to move, exhausted. Could think of no reason for doing anything, ever again. There is no Father Brian, she thought dully. There never was a Father Brian.

There was only...

She stopped.

Peter McIlvray.