When the Dark Wins

It did nothing good for Buckeye’s sparking pulse to note the beginnings of erections tenting some of the black cassocks behind the Vicers.

“You will demonstrate

your understanding by kneeling. By falling on your face to the ground.” Mather said. “Now.”

What he expected had nothing to do with prayer. The lustworkers were all too familiar. And Buckeye was no fool.

She could have heard a rat piss in that room. The Vicers eyed each other, asking silent questions. What should we do? Just take it? What are the choices?

A tallish woman near the far end of the row closed her eyes. Let out a breath and shook her head. Sank to her knees.

She kept going, palms sliding down her thighs, until the side of her face rested on the stone floor and her fingers made a diamond under her head. Honey Brown hair fell over her neck and shoulders. Her ass, covered in not much more than fancy underwear—the default garb of many a rentbody—propped up in the air, waiting. There was no tension in her limbs: she knew this pose well.

Two more followed her down; a man and another woman. The man was closer to Buckeye. These people knew another transaction when they saw one. And they also knew what pain looked like. How much would it matter if they serviced johns on one side of the wall or the other?

The priests behind these three were working apart the buttons on their cassocks from the ground up. One had already unbuttoned to his waist and was drawing back the fabric halves to kneel between the feet of the first woman. In the space of a breath, he had his trousers open. Cock out.

Holy shit. Really happening.

And it did. It really happened. Right there in front of more than two dozen people. The next two priests were lining up, as well, tugging down Vicer garments, fitting their hips against lustworker ass. Beginning to push and withdraw. And push.

Mather nodded approval.

“Service without question has its rewards,” he said. “These three will eat tonight. And shower.”

Shower. The word shushed around the room as the Vicers exchanged astonishment. How much clean water could the Covvies have in one place, to be wasting it like that on … well, on goddamn sex slaves?

And the next question loomed larger still: These three eat tonight? What about the rest of us? Another of the women put it to voice.

“We’ll be fed? Housed?” said a short brunette. And then, after glancing around and landing her gaze back on Mather: “Father?”

Buckeye groaned inside. There were people here who knew how to work a situation. She was probably not one of them.

Fuuuuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The head priest gave the most gracious of subtle nods, affirming.

The brunette made eye contact with the woman next to her, evaluating Mather’s response. They both shrugged. Knelt. Like so many in the VT, the promise of food and shelter went a long way.

Two more priests sank down, brought stiff pricks into the open.

For some, a really long way.

Buckeye coughed. She’d seen Covvies in the houses of Lust, but the graphic reminder that these were still men sent a mild shock through her system.

Now five were down and seven stood. Mather turned his head to fix the hold-outs with a single eye. Muted fleshy rhythms clapped out along the line, a promise. A warning.

“Obedience is service,” he repeated. “Kneel in service. Or kneel in pain.”

The guards stepped away from the wall behind the sordid line of priests and Vicers. One already had a baton in his grip. The threat was enough to take down four more, amid a volley of grumbled swearing.

“Your tongues serve the Church now,” said Mather. “You will not dirty them with profanity.”

Buckeye could have snorted. The way things were going, profanity would be the least filthy thing they might expect on their tongues. Fucking hypocrites.

There were two others left standing aside from Buckeye: a man and a woman. Mather watched them with an indifferent forbearance. Restrained grunts and hisses were coming from the first of the priests to take their knees.

The last standing woman folded her arms over her chest, eyes kindling with hate. Her feet planted solidly apart, challenging the man in white to move her.