In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen.

My child, your sins are indeed grave today. No, you aren’t wholly to blame, what your Tutor did to you was wrong, but you enjoyed it my child, you encouraged it, you moaned like a harlot for him and made him need you, didn’t you?

You obeyed him when he told you to sit on his knee. You were so excited that you rubbed yourself on him, didn’t you Jezabel, just like you are rubbing yourself with your hand now? Never imagine that I don’t notice what is done in my confessional. Don’t think I’m blind to the fact that you aren’t truly contrite for your sexual debauchery, that you even enjoyed telling me.

These my child are the very lascivious and perverted appetites that led you to take up his offer of extra tuition at his house in the first place. That inspired you to wear that little pleated skirt, white blouse, and cotton panties on his sofa, and accept his offer of alcoholic drink even though you had seen him put a little pill into it.

This my little one is an intrinsic moral disorder. In my experience, though prayer can do much, and we will pray together daily from now on in my private chambers, there is only one way to resolve this problem, and caste out this demon from within you. That is the way of discipline and mortification.

A firm hand is the way to resolve this. God Himself said to the people of Moses: “Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who loves their children is careful to discipline them.” Girls need discipline my child. They crave it, like water from a pure stream. They need to feel and see their discipline on their skin and deep in their body at the time, and for days afterwards. They need reminders. Welts and bruises are God’s message to girls not to stray again.

Look up my child. See what you have done to me? You see how your sin has infected even my holy and well-trained parts? You are wrong little one – deeply sinful – in need of help and guidance and rectification. Put it in your mouth child. Taste what you’ve fucking done. Open up slut. Don’t make me slap you again. See how your whoring has defiled God’s house in my presence. Good girl, suck hard for your sins.

Now stand up and bend over. Father Ben needs to give you your penance. And trust me, it won’t be merciful. Lift up that skirt. Pull down those cotton panties my lamb. God knows you in all your nakedness – He created you fearfully and wonderfully; He knit you together in your mother’s womb. There is nothing that shocks him to see. He only wants you to be better – to stop being a dirty little whore and serve him. Show your Holy Father. Let my belt kiss that pure white skin to mark it for your playing the Harlot.

Good girl. Now serve Him. Serve me. Don’t move. Open up those legs for Father Ben. Let me show that Demonic influence inside you what the true love of Jesus looks like. Shh. This is a place of worship slut. Don’t make me gag you with my robe. Take it. Good. Be contrite for your sins. Cry for them. Cry silent tears for what you’ve made me do. How you’ve made me and your tutor react and do wrong in God’s sight. You’re doing so good kitten. You’ll feel it drip out of you soon and know you’re absolved.