Confirmation

by Leslie Schmidt

“I don't know, Mom, I'm really nervous,” Martha said from the back seat.

“I know you are, honey,” her mother replied. “It's a big step you're taking today.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” her father said from behind the wheel. “Only a few girls still go through with it...it's not mandatory or anything.”

“Well, I never regretted being part of the 'Holy Sisterhood',” her Mom said.

“Yeah,” Jim said, glancing at his wife, “but when we were kids every girl joined.”

“Not everyone...my cousin didn't...but I think she felt kind of left out later on.”

“These days...I don't know, maybe one in ten join,” he responded.

“Father Jack said that eight girls from the church have joined in the past two years,” Martha chimed in.

“Eight out of how many...20?...25?”

“There are 12 in my class and, I don't know, about the same in the seventh and eighth grade class.”

“How many in that class have joined, dear?” Joan asked, looking at her husband with a little annoyance in her face.

“I don't know, maybe three have.”

“And those girls are older, probably only a couple who haven't joined even can now.”

“Well...yeah...I guess so,” Martha said.

“And, we've talked about it,” her mother went on. “If you wait much longer your chance will pass, even though your only in the fifth grade...you're growing up fast...you don't want to lose the chance that you can't get later.”

“I know,...but I'm still kind a scared,” she paused. “All those people...”

“Honey, your God Parents drove down over night just to be here with you, the way they were for your baptism,” Jim said (without a whole lot of conviction).

“We had you baptized into the order so, now, you can continue on and become a Sister. I've always loved being part of it and, after this morning, you can come with me on the retreats.”

“I wish you were on the Training Team,” Martha said.

“Well, I have to work honey, I can't afford a week off from work.”

“What will I be doing?”

“I can't tell you, you know that!”her mother said. “But it'll be a lot of fun. You'll be there with all the other girls from the diocese who've joined this week and their teams from their churches. You'll have a great time.”

“OK.” Martha looked at the small suitcase next to her on the seat, again wondering why her mother had only let her pack just a few things—certainly not enough clothes for a week.

“Will Father Jack come and visit?” she asked.

“I don't know, hon,” her father said. “The priest is supposed to but since Jack isn't here today...”

“What!” Martha said, “Father isn't here?”

“Oh, I guess you don't know,” her mom said. “Jack's on a retreat this weekend, we have a supply priest.”

“Who?” Martha's voice was strained.

“I heard it's Father Benevedez, you know, he was here a couple of months ago,” Jim said.

“He's a really nice man,” Joan said, trying to sound assuring. “You remember, he has a real pretty wife, you played with their little girl out in the courtyard after church.”

They pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. Families, groups of nicely dressed parents with their children in party dresses and little suits, were moving through the lot and up the walk way to the door. Older couples were mixed in, gray haired couples, arm-in-arm, people that it was a surprise to see separated if you met them at the store. The greeters were at the door, shaking hands and handing out service programs, trying to remember faces and put them together with names—always keeping a sharp lookout for a new face.

“We have to go find Sister Ruth,” Martha's mother said to her as they approached, “she's one of your team members.”

“Good morning!” the greeter said, holding the door open. “Big day today.”

“Thank you,” Martha said, trying not to blush. Jim shook the man's hand, “Thank you, we're very proud of her.”

They went on through the narthex and when they reached the big doors into the nave, Joan spotted her friend, Rose. “Oh, there she is!” she said, waving to get her attention. Rose saw them and hurried over.

“Hello dear,” she said as she reached them, straightening her white habit. At the same time, Joan had lifted hers, a white linen cloth that covered her head and shoulders, up onto her head. “You must be very happy that Martha has decided to join us.”

“Oh yes, I think it's wonderful.”

Jim broke away from the men he was talking to and came up to the three. “We need to find seats near the front,” he said.

“Honey,” Joan said, “they've reserved the second pew for us.”

Joan turned to her daughter and gave her a hug. “Rose will prepare you and tell you what to do hon.”

Martha looked up at the older woman with a nervous expression.

“There's nothing to be worried about, dear,” she patted the youngsters arm. “You've seen the services before and I know you'll do just fine.”

“Yes ma'am,” Martha said.

“You go with her and we'll see you after the service,” Joan said to her daughter.

“You'll do great, dear,” her father said.

She hugged him, then went with the older woman.

“Let's get seats,” Joan said. The organ started to play softly and, from outside, the ringing of the bell started, calling the faithful to worship.

John and Rita Putser, Martha's God Parents, were already seated in the second pew. Jim and John shook hands, Rita and Joan hugged, as they greeted each other, then sat down. The music died away for a moment, then swelled as the congregation stood and the Processional began.

First came the Censer, carrying the silver thurible on a chain that contained incense, it's smoke flowing out the vented lid to trail behind him. Three paces behind, in dark blue robes, came the choir, first 25 women, followed by 15 men, carrying their hymnals....

'Holy, holy, holy,...Lord God Almighty...Early in the morning my songs shall rise to thee!'

'Holy, holy, holy,...Merciful and Mighty,...God in three persons...blessed Trinity....'

Following the choir came two nuns of the Order of the Virgin Sacrifice, followed by one more, smaller, figure, also in white but in a simple robe rather than a full habit. Martha was covered head to toe in the white linen, the hood and veil hid her face, her hands did not extend out from the long sleeves, only occasionally did one get a glimpse of a bare foot extending out from under the hem. Joan noticed, approvingly, that her toenails, which had been painted a bright pink, were now unpainted, their natural tone. She was allowed no jewelry or anything other sorts of decorations during the confirmation ceremony, just the simple white robe.

Behind Martha came two torch bearers also dressed in white robes, their candles flickered and smoked from the movement, then the Crucifer, holding the long pole vertically, with his palms out, balancing the heavy bronze crucifix eight feet over his head. He was followed by the Deacon who stood out in his plain black cassock. Lastly came Father Benevedez, a young but portly man, prematurely balding, dressed in colorful vestments and carrying a silver-covered bible over his head.

The choir filed into the three rows of pews that flanked the sides of the sanctuary, the nuns, with Martha between them, sat down in the first pew, in front of her parents, as the censer, torch bearers, Deacon, and Priest took their places around the altar.

After all five verses, the music died away.

Standing behind the altar, Father started the service with the familiar words:

“Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid, cleans our hearts and our minds...”

For Martha, standing in the front pew looking through a gauze vale, the church took on a distant form. Although she heard the prayers and spoke the responses it all seemed to be a half-conscious dream. For a moment, the words of the Old Testament reading reached her ears...

“A reading from the Song of Solomon:

Look! It is Solomon's carriage, escorted by sixty warriors, the noblest of Israel,

all of them wearing the sword, all experienced in battle, each with his sword at his side, prepared for the terrors of the night.

King Solomon made for himself the carriage; he made it of wood from Lebanon.

Its posts he made of silver, its base of gold. Its seat was upholstered with purple, its interior lovingly inlaid by the daughters of Jerusalem.

Come out, you daughters of Zion, and look at King Solomon wearing the crown, the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, the day his heart rejoiced.

She slipped back into her revelry, hearing the words but not really taking part, her stomach was tight, she occasionally took deep breaths, thinking she had forgotten to breathe.

She came too again, as the Priest and Acolytes came down from the sanctuary to proclaim the Gospel:

As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him—you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

For in Scripture it says: "See, I lay a stone in Zion, a chosen and precious cornerstone, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame."

Now to you who believe, this stone is precious. But to those who do not believe, "The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone,^”

"A stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall." They stumble because they disobey the message—which is also what they were destined for.

Martha didn't follow the sermon closely, although she knew she should. She knew that the Priest was talking to her about the value of sacrifices and how the truly valuable sacrifices were those which were given freely. Not like a parent sacrifices for his child—for that is actually a responsibility—but that the sacrifices that have little value in the material world, but are of great meaning to the giver and are given freely, these are truly precious to God.

Then, as Father Benevedes left the pulpit and walked back to the altar, Martha's heart began to pound, she felt dizzy and a cool sweat broke out across her back.

“Will the confirmand to the Order of the Sisters of the Virgin Sacrifice come forward.”

In a haze, Martha stepped past Sister Rose into the aisle and walked forward. The slip of a girl was tiny in the large church. She felt the eyes of over two hundred people on her back—and felt very small. It seemed to her that she floated up the two steps at the altar rail to stand facing Father Benevedes. He seemed to tower over her.

“Martha Elizabeth Dowling, do you wish to join the Order of the Sisters of the Virgin Sacrifice?”

“I do,” Martha whispered.

Father Benevedez looked down at her with a kindly expression. He said softly, only for her: “You must speak loud enough for the people to hear sweetheart.”

“I Do,” she responded.

“Do you take these vows prayerfully and with a clear conscious?”

“I Do!”

“Do you stand here today, before this congregation and before God and take these vows willingly and with no reservation?”

“I Do.”

Addressing the congregation, Father Benevedes called, “Will the parents and God parents of this child stand.” The four in the second row stood.

“Do you attest as to this child's desire to join the Order of the Sisters of the Virgin Sacrifice?”

“We Do!” they said in unison.

“Do you certify that this child, now in her second decade, remains a maiden and has not yet become a woman in her own right?”

“We swear before this congregation and God.”

“Do you swear before this congregation and God to this child's personal desire to become a member of the Sisters of the Virgin Sacrifice?”

“We Do!”

Now, addressing the congregation as a whole: “Will you, the people of St. Mary and Martha's Church, support this child in her chosen path of service and devotion to the mission of the Order?”

“We will with God's help.”

“Will you guide her in her spiritual journey, providing direction, forgiveness and love?”

“We will with God's help.”

“Who will sponsor this child as she begins her quest?”

At this, Sisters Rose and Abigale, the women who had sat with Martha, left their pew and walked up, standing on either side of her. Ever since the completion of the sermon, a tension had been building in the room. The fidgeting of the children had calmed, mothers and fathers were holding their babies, and the other youngsters, those around Martha's age had turned to closely watch the service.

“Sisters, do you accept this child to join you as members of the Order?”

“We do,” they said together.

“Have you examined this child and find her worthy to join you in your service and quest?”

“We have.”

“Do you certify that she remains a maiden and has not yet entered into womanhood?”

“We do.”

Then the two women turned to face Martha, each looking into the others eyes above her.

Father Benevedes looked down at Martha and smiled, then reached forward and lifted her the vale that covered her face beneath the hood of her robe, folding it over her head so only he could see her face.

Softly, so only she could hear, he asked, “Are you prepared dear? Are you sure?”

Martha looked up into his eyes and saw gentleness and support she had not expected from this man—almost a total stranger. “Yes Father,” she whispered.

Then, in a loud voice, Father Benevedez said, “Will you, Martha Elizabeth Dowling promise to follow the traditions and dictates of The Order of the Sisters of the Virgin Sacrifice?”

“I will with Gods help.”

“Do you pledge your obedience to the Order?”

“I Do.”

“Will you perform the daily prayer and devotionals as required by the Order?”

“I will.”

“Will you provide the sacrifices as directed by your Spiritual Mother?”

“I will.”

“Are you, now, prepared to perform the first and greatest of those sacrifices?”

“I am.” There was a nervous catch in her voice.

In a loud voice, he said, “Martha Elizabeth Dowling, face this congregation and, through your presentation of yourself, publicly and honestly declare your desire to become a member of the Order of the Sisters of the Virgin Sacrifice.”

Martha felt a sudden surge of strength push her fear aside. She turned around and faced the congregation, her parents, friends, and total strangers. She untied the knot at her waist, then let the robe slide off her shoulders and fall around her feet. There was a general intake of breath in the room as the eleven year old stood before the crowd, naked.

In the congregation there were many different feelings and reactions. The younger children looked upon the girl with curiosity, some were surprised that someone was naked in church. Many of the older girls were embarrassed, their faces blushing, and they looked furtively around fearing that others would imagine them, what they looked like, and want to see them naked in front of the church. Most of the teen aged men and the older men felt a sudden rush and felt a tightening in their crotch. The women either admired the beauty of the child or felt jealous, both that they've lost that beauty or that they knew their husbands were desiring the child in front of the church. A couple of the younger women suppressed a laugh, feeling themselves to be prettier or, certainly, more desirable, with their fully developed breasts and curved figures.

Joan was remembering her own induction into the Sisterhood when she was thirteen years old. She remembered how embarrassed she felt to stand alone, unclothed, in room full of others. While she understood her daughters feelings, she also knew that in a few weeks her daughter would come to realize how this was actually a very self-affirming experience.

Martha's father, Jim, felt a little saddened for he knew that after today he would never be able to look upon his daughter in the same way. He had always admired the veiled eroticism of the young girl, the unconscious desirability of her that was his, alone, to enjoy while never attaining. Now, however, the sight that for eleven years had been his alone to admire during fleeting moments—talking to her while she was bathing, a glimpse while she changed her clothes, once or twice for a few minutes when the family shared a motel room—now that was exposed for his entire church. Also, his emotions were conflicted as he looked upon the eroticness of watching a young girl inducted and, at the same time, realized his little girl would be forever changed after today.

As she stood, the Priest went behind the altar and, taking a flask from a small side table, started the prayers of consecration. For these few minutes, Jim looked closely at his daughter, trying to remember her image.

Martha had a triangular face with high cheekbones that gave her almost oriental features. She wore her red hair shoulder length, parted down the middle of her head. Her eyes were dark and somewhat small , but widely spaced. She had a small, sharp nose and small yet full lips. She was rather skinny, possibly underweight, being now five feet tall but barely 80 pounds. Her shoulders were very light looking, her arms thin and her ribs clearly seen under the pink skin of her chest. Her dark pink nipples, each pointed and no larger than a penny, were just beginning to be raised above her chest. Her flat stomach showed the shape of the muscles underneath, a vertical indentation running from her solar plexus to her small naval. Her flat belly was marked by two light brown moles below and two the right, one more on her hip, just outside the noticeable rise of her sex. Her slit was shallow, the clit ridge clearly visible between the outer lips for its entire length. Her thighs did not meet at the top, her hip bones stood out. They progressed downward, only to meet half the way to her slightly knobby knees. Then her calves led to thin feet that matched her long, thin hands and fingers.

Her thinness seemed to complement her natural grace, clearly visible every time she moved. She raised a hand and, with her thumb and long fingernails, pushed a strand of hair off her forehead, then lowered her hand back down to her side. With a nod, Father Bevevedes signaled to two sisters and, each gently taking and arm, they led Martha, stepping backwards, to the altar.

When she felt the altar behind her, the sisters helped her lift up to sit on the edge. Now with her legs hanging down and spread, leaning back to balance, her sex was fully visible to the congregation, the outer lips pulled apart to show the fleshy structures between. She was only like this for a moment before she slid back and then, with the guidance of the sisters, swung her legs to the side and lay down, facing up, her arms at her side.

Now the aspect of her body was changed to being seen from the side. For the congregation her thinness was apparent. The small of her back did not touch the marble table, it seemed that her midsection narrowed down to be just a six or eight inches thick between her ribcage and the outward flare of her butt.. The small rise of her breasts was now exaggerated as was the mound of her pubic area.

Father Benevedes looked down and caught his breath at the site of the willowy preteen laying on the altar. The site of her made his cock swell, causing his vestments to tent some. He started to speak but the tightness in his throat caught his words. He had to stop and clear his throat, then start again.

Making the sign of the cross over the child, then holding his hands in the air over her, he started:

“Almighty Lord, Father of Jesus, himself son of the most Holy Virgin, we beseech thee to look upon your daughter, Martha—the most beautiful of your creation. Father, we ask that you accept the loving sacrifice that she today makes to glorify you.”

“Blessed Jesus, this your daughter has asked to become a most precious sacrifice to you, in the spirit of your own glorious Mother, who also sacrificed herself to your Father, to carry you into the world.”

“Most Holy Spirit, we ask that you come upon this child, fill her with your loving kindness, and be with her for all her days as she seeks, through service and sacrifice, to fulfill your will on Earth.”

“God—Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, consecrate this child, make her a vessel of your will, an example of devotion, love, and sacrifice to all who know her.”

“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, we pray. Amen.”

Many in the congregation murmured “Amen” in response.

Martha, looking up into the priest's eyes, then to the eyes of Christ, carved in a rose wood crucifix above the altar, had never felt so small and exposed in her life. Inside her, she began to feel a fear, a fear that she was not worthy, that her sacrifice—such a small thing of such a silly little girl—would be ridiculous before the will of God. She expected, at any moment, that Father Benevedes would start to laugh and tell her to get up and run home. But then, while the Father's prayers blended into the roaring in her ears, she saw the eyes of Christ looking down at her, calm and reassuring. Her fear began to fade.

She was jarred back when she felt the splash of a warm liquid on her chest.

Father Benevedes was holding an ornate crystal bottle over her, a thin stream of yellowish-green oil was running down onto her chest, between her breasts.

“Martha Elizabeth Dowling, I anoint you with Holy Oil as a fitting libation to the Lord.”

The oil had a strong, pleasant scent, much like the inside of a spice cabinet, and where it hit her and ran down her sides and up and over her shoulders, it was warm. Then Father put the bottle aside and began to spread the oil over her chest and stomach. As he did this the chrism began to take on a feeling of heat, warming her skin and heightening her sensation of touch. When his hand moved over her breasts they tingled and stiffened, making her move her shoulders that now slid along the smooth marble, also made warm by the oil.

Father Benevedez massaged her shoulders and neck, then the tendons under her arms. Martha lifter her arms over her head and, like a cat, stretched herself full length. Now, as the child closed her eyes and smiled with pleasure a full rush went through the priest, his cock pushed painfully against his heavy vestments.

He poured more oil on the girl, this time on the smooth expanse below her navel, and again spread the oil with his hands, up her stomach and down her thighs. He ran his left hand over the rise of her mons and down her thighs but then, on the return trip, he pushed a finger along her slit and felt her shudder.

The action of the oil somehow made Martha less ticklish but, at the same time, heightened her sensitivity to the hands as they moved over her body. He brought them both up over her stomach and ribs, then his palms ran over her breasts, pausing there to move in slow circles, causing more pressure to build, more tension in her stomach, more tingling between her legs. He moved on, up to her shoulders and neck, working the small and supple muscles between that ran on either side of her throat. Then he moved out to her shoulders and down her arms, pressing his fingers into her biceps and squeezing triceps. Again he moved it to pay special attention to her breasts with their small excited nipples making small hard nodules against his palms.

Father Benevedez stepped to his left, moving toward her feet, and with each hand, started working her thigh muscles. He started just above her knees, his hands wrapping around the front of her thighs, his thumbs down between, and worked his way up. Each time he'd push his hands a little higher on her thighs, moving closer to her sex. The slow progression only served to increase the girl's desire as she moved with him, unconsciously spreading her legs a bit for him.

Now, the priest could closely inspect the little girl's pussy. There wasn't the slightest hint of hair, just smooth, pink lips with the lighter colored clit ridge pushing out between. Then farther below, her inner lips continued the appearance of a single ridge except that, this time, there was another slit, smaller and fully closed.

When he reached the softer, slightly different colored flesh at the meeting of her inner thighs and her torso, Martha unconsciously spread her hips wider. Benevedez used his thumbs to pull her outer pussy apart and was rewarded to see the inner lips pull open, showing the darker skin at the beginning of her vagina. Now, with his thumbs, he pulled these smaller lips apart, looking into her depths at the fleshy covering a little way in, a solid closure of reddish-pink flesh except for a small passage into the darkness of her unopened vagina. Without thinking, he bent down and pushed his tongue into the opening. Martha immediately shivered and made a squeaking noise in her throat. She grasped the edges of the altar with her hands, pushing her hips forward into the priests face. Father Benevedez ran his tongue back and forth, from her vagina, over her clit, and then back, several times and took the preteen girl over the edge. Her breath caught as she lifted her butt off the altar, crab-wise, rocking her hips in mid air and pushing the mound of her sex into the priest's face.

Martha wasn't even aware that the two sisters had come up next to Father, looking down at her lovingly. Father stood up, letting the little one recover from her climax. The sisters carefully lifted his stole off his shoulders, then loosened his robe and pulled it off his shoulders, then freed his arms, opening the front so that it hung around his hips on the rope that was tied at his waist.

Now he put his entire left hand in her crotch, she spread her legs and lifted her knees slightly. With his entire hand, he massaged her sex but also pushed along her slit with one of his fingers. With his other hand, he massaged her hardened nipples, causing little snaps and shocks of pleasure. As he pushed at the opening to her virgin sex, still rubbing her clitoris from side to side, another small orgasm flowed over her, making her quietly grunt and writhe on the stone.

Meanwhile, Sister Abigale had taken a small amount of the oil and, below the level of the altar so the congregation could not see, she was stroking Father Benevedes' cock to full hardness.

The congregation watched, some amused, others with churning stomachs, themselves aroused, as the child writhed on the altar. Most of the men were uncomfortable from their cocks straining in their trousers and many of the women were feeling slippery between their legs. A couple were embarrassed by their nipples that were poking out under the fabric of their blouses, others were proud. More than one of the teenage boys was furtively rubbing his hard cock, hands in pockets, and one young girl, a quiet, shy thirteen year old, had to sit down as she had her own orgasm with never even being touched.

As the eleven year old calmed from the last orgasm, everyone knew that the time for the sacrifice had come.

Father Benevedes walked around to the side of the altar, his cock sticking out ninety degrees, level with the top of the table. As he took Margret's feet and pulled her down, sliding easily on the oiled stone, she looked with surprise at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He slid her along, spreading and raising her legs, until her ass was on the edge, his cock pointing directly at her sex.

Martha, along with many in the congregation was surprised. Normally Father Jack stayed behind the altar and they could only see the girl from the back. But, because Father Benevedez had come to the end of the table, and lifted the child's legs in this way, they could see fully his cock as he placed it against the girl's sex.

The tension of anticipation was thick in the church, barely anyone breathed as they looked at the two; the eleven year old laying naked on the altar with the older priest, his cock hard below his rounded belly, standing between her spread and up stretched legs. Father Benevedes was beyond himself with drive, looking down at the lithe girl-child below him, ready for him, her legs spread, opening her sex where he could see her vagina with the enclosing flesh of her cherry. He took his cock and rubbed the bulb head up and down her hairless slit, spreading the lips, before settling it and the entrance.

Margret looked at him with fear, but his face was calm and compassionate, then he gave her a reassuring smile as he grasped both of her hips and began to increase the pressure.

From the pews the congragants could see him slowly pushing his cock into the child. A murmur ran through the crowd when his hips suddenly settled forward and the girl bit her lip, throwing her head back and whimpered. When Father Benevedez pulled his cock back it was red with the blood of her sacrifice. Abigale, Rose, and Joan all smiled—another member had just been inducted into the order.

The tiny cunt was impossibly hot and tight, Father Benevedez had to concentrate to keep from blowing his wad right then as he started to move back and forth inside the girl. But, the actions of the oil, with it's ancient recipe of medicinal herbs, was having its affect on them both, numbing the pain of her torn hymen while intensifying the sensation of having a cock deep inside her and allowing Benevedez more control, more staying power. The audience watched his cock move in and out of the girl as they moved faster. The blood from her cherry stained her ass and the inside of her thighs and it also was smeared in the priest's dick hair and on his balls. A small pool of virgin blood collected on the edge of the altar and a drop ran down the side.

Benevedez looked down at his cock, moving in and out, almost half his respectable seven inches disappearing inside the girl, then backing out until only the head was consumed at the entrance. Martha reached out and half sat up, holding herself up by his shoulders, her knees pulled up, her legs extending under his arms. They moved together with more determination as their breaths became small vocalizations. As Father's thrusts became more forceful, matched by grunts deep in his throat, Martha began to say small 'oh, oh, oh.' They quickly built, the pressure of the priest's cum becoming more than he could bare as the girl's own tension reached its height in her stomach and thighs. Suddenly she let go of his shoulders and fell back onto the altar, arching her back. The feeling of her already tight pussy clamping down on his cock pushed the priest over the edge and he too arched and threw his head back. Martha was amazed at the searing force of her orgasm, as well as the feeling being being flooded with sperm.

The priest jammed his cock as deeply as it would go into the child, blowing jez into her child-womb, then pulled back only to shove again to pump another gob inside her. The red of her blood was mixed with the white goo of his cum, overfilling her and collecting as a pink froth around the stretched opening of her cunt.

They slowed down, both panting. He stood over the spent child for a few moments, his cock still buried in her bloodied cunt. She could feel his heartbeat in her vagina as his member throbbed inside her. Then he stepped back and watched as a mixture of blood and sperm ran out of her pussy onto the white marble altar, some to follow the small streak of blood that had made its way half way down to the floor. He stood for a moment, looking at the bloodied sacrificed cunt of the little girl, still stretched open by his dick, a dark blood and cum soaked gash in the child.

Again the sisters came forward, this time lifting the robe back over the priest's shoulders. He untied the rope, then set the folds right, covering his blood stained dick. He thought to himself that his wife would have a difficult time getting the blood stains out—she always made little comments about how it was her sacrifice to clean up after he had had the fun of taking the sacrifice of the girl. (He knew she was jealous, suspecting, rightly, that he thought of the girls on the altar when they were alone in bed.) He had put the knot back in and Sister Rose placed the stole over his shoulders again. He stepped around behind the altar where Martha still lay, panting. Without thinking he looked out across the church and saw his wife, looking back at him. Next to her was his six year old daughter—he hoped that in a few years she'd want to make the sacrifice. The idea made his spent cock firm just a little.

Father Benevedez reached down and put his hand under Martha's head and helped her to a sitting position. Her body was shiny with the oil, it had stained her hair which now clung to her neck, shoulders and face. When she rose up, she had slid back again and now had her feet on the altar, knees up. A trail of blood and cum was smeared along the table top from where her ass had been to where she was sitting now, staining the white marble pink. There was a look of shock and fear when she saw her bloodied crotch and she looked up at the priest for reassurance. He smiled at her. “You did wonderfully child,” he said, “your sacrifice is complete.” Again she looked down then back at Father Benevedez and smiled—he had to suppress an urge to lean down and kiss her.

He reached over and took some of the mixed sperm and blood from where it had pooled on the table. Then he painted it in a cross on Martha's forehead.

“Martha Elizabeth Dowling, you are sealed in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost as a member of the Order of the Sisters of the Virgin Sacrifice. Know that, through your sacrifice, you are marked as one of Christ's most cherish children.”

Then, turning to the congregation, he said, “Let us pray.”

“Lord God, we celebrate with you the most holy sacrifice of this child to be, along with your most Holy Mother, one of the most cherished of women, who gave themselves freely to be filled by the Holy Spirit, a vessel to carry and nurture your Son to the world. We pray that, through her life, she may demonstrate to all mankind the nature and example of service and sacrifice that was so freely giving by the Virgin Mary. Walk with her always, Lord, let all see you through her life, and by that example, know to follow you. Amen.”

“Amen,” the congregation responded.

“The peace of the Lord be always with you.”

“And also with you!” the congregation called back.

During the general greeting and visiting that always happened during the Peace, the sisters took Martha off to the side and out of the church were she was quickly showered, the oil and blood washed from her body, and dried. Then, during the offertory, she came back into the church, still naked, and joined her parents. Her father hugged her and Joan kissed her. She went to communion first, right after the choir. After church she joined the crowd for a cake, more congratulations, and many admiring looks. A couple of times she thought it was strange that she didn't fee the least bit self conscious being naked in a room full of people—even when she met classmates from school. Then, as the people filtered out, she was approached by Rose and Abigale.

“Go tell your mother goodbye, dear, we have a long drive.”

“I need to get dressed,” Martha said.

Abigale smiled. “That's why your mother allowed you so few things to pack, honey,” she said. “You won't be allowed clothes until mass next Sunday.”

“Oh,” Martha said with a surprise. “I didn't know.”

“No, all the confirmands stay naked for the entire week.” She paused, “You'll want to use the bathroom before we go, it's a long drive and you may not want to get out of the car to run in someplace to use the toilet.”

END

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