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Publisher Description

Father Burke just can't catch a break - even after the brutal punishment he meted out last time, Justin's still causing trouble. It's almost like the young man wants to be punished. And when Justin's caught recording a cam session in the Father's personal office, it's clear just what kind of punishment Justin needs. (6500 words)

Warning: this work of short erotic fiction is intended for adults only and features explicit descriptions of very rough gay sex, domination/submission, light s&m elements and power play.


The video opened with a familiar view, one that brought Father Burke's eyebrow up involuntarily in a way that brought that smirk right back to Justin's face and undid whatever progress he'd made that night towards dominating the younger man. It was a view of the office, this very office, angled from the door.
Justin was sitting in Father Burke's chair, wearing his uniform. He'd brought it out in front of the desk and positioned it so that even sitting, his whole lanky form was visible in the frame.

Text was moving on the side of the screen, part of the video. A screen capture, Burke realized. This is...

The Justin on the screen reached back and fiddled with the mouse, the same mouse Father Burke had his hand on at that very moment, and a red light flashed in the corner of the screen and turned green. Video-Justin typed something for a moment, and then words appeared in the white box to the side...

“im going on cam,” it said. “better open it fast.” A number appeared next to the green pip, just a low number, but as Burke watched it grew from five to eight to fourteen. “anyone like catholic school uniforms?” The number jumped abruptly, climbing past fifty.

He glanced from the screen. Real Justin stopped biting his lip immediately, schooled his expression into serene defiance, but Burke had already seen that flash of weakness.

Video Justin had turned back to the camera now, was playing with his tie. He loosened it, pulled it in circular shapes across his chest.

The chat room text came alive with encouragement. “Strip!” they called, in their broken internet-English. “God your hot.” “want...”

Real Justin was looking at him with big dark eyes, unconsciously fiddling with his tie in an eerie echo of the video even as the bolder Justin on film slowly teased the buttons of his shirt open, giving his watchers the slightest views of pale flesh, the downy patch of dark hair that dusted his chest, the slope of young abs.

Fiction & Literature
5 July
Celia Jordan

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