When the Dark Wins

She choked. Her pussy throbbed on the frantic cock. There was no escape. None until they allowed it. Buckeye jerked. Thrashed. Screamed bubbles around thrusting girth.

They wouldn’t let her up. Wouldn’t let her anything except surrender.

When it hit, her body danced like lightning. Hips rabid against Raymond, lips and tongue gulping at Levi. Buckeye came, milking the men in her body, even as they lifted her above the surface.

Levi splattered her chin and chest. Raymond drove home, pulsing into her body, well beyond her control.

She was twitching, her bones heavy as they carried her up and out. Laid her on the wet stone, knees under her belly, face down, to work at her bindings.

Her arms came loose first. Buckeye coughed, spit water as she got them under her, the ache in her shoulders throbbing. When the priests freed her legs, she rose up like a dog, head down, lungs heaving. Warmth leaking along her thigh. More water dripped to the floor from her hair.

No one was touching her. Raymond and Levi had left her periphery. She brought a hand up to clear semen from her lower lip.

Some noise happened—a shuffle or scrape over stone—and Buckeye raised her head. Mather was still in his chair, leaning back, his cassock a white mantle over spread knees where his palms rested. An erection tented the fabric.

Buckeye climbed from shaken stupor to something worse. He’d been doing this. He was the one inside her with those words of his. And this was the first visible slip of control she’d ever seen in the man.

One of her knees moved forward, pushing her spine. A palm followed. She was crawling toward manifestation.

When her fingers reached the hem of his robes, Buckeye didn’t stop. She knelt between his feet and began pushing his cassock up over his knees, his thighs. Other than shifting his hands to rest on the arms of the chair, Mather made no move.

His trousers were white, as well, and water from her hair dropped onto them in darkening little pats. A ridge stood out at his groin. Her palms slid to his fly.

“I knew you’d be the one,” he said.

The voice curled in her belly. Intimate. Not a proclamation, at least not yet. Buckeye worked fabric apart. Brought him into the open. The priest sucked air through his teeth when she closed him in her damp fist.

Mather was hot in her hand. Pulsing after she tested him with a squeeze. He was a man. He was a man under here, and he could preach about service and obedience all he wanted.

Buckeye raised her eyes to his. She knew. They both knew.

She dipped her head, never breaking his gaze. Took him into her mouth.

He made some noise that couldn’t even be called a groan when Buckeye closed on him. Some consolidation of breath released up through his throat. Pupils dilated on those blue-grey eyes as she sank down to suck his cock.

It was the height of Covvie hypocrisy. Their head priest in a darkened chapel, some VT sinner on her knees, dripping baptismal water and any number of other fluids, servicing his prick.

The Vices always sell.

But Buckeye was getting nothing for this. Only sounds, tight and controlled from the priest in white, as she bobbed in his lap. Her hands gripped his thighs, her neck doing all the work. She fell into it, letting her lids drift closed, the soft tissues in her mouth suckling, smacking. Obscene.

You’re not dead. You’re not dead.

Mather was breathing through his mouth, now. How long had it been for him? Not ‘never’, surely. A man with his kind of power? She saw his fingers curl into the wooden arm of the chair.

“S-ervice without prompting is re—” His words broke when she drew her teeth along his length. “Rewarded. Brother?”

Distraction had him faltering, but the command was still there. Buckeye heard steps behind her. She moved a hand from his thigh to stroke his shaft. Her lips and tongue kept up their work.

Something was nudging her knees apart. Shoes. Other limbs. A body was wedging in, fabric chafing her calves. Mather’s palm cupped the side of her face, another failure in self-control, just as hot breath fogged between her thighs.

A mouth closed on her pussy.

“Mmph!” Cock muffled her squeal. Levi or Raymond, she didn’t know which, was lapping along her slit, even as Mather throbbed into the roof of her mouth.

She lasted no time at all. The inexperienced fervor between her thighs, a frenzy of lips and tongue over her clit, leapt to join a foreground where her jaw stretched around cock. Where stone bruised her knees and she dragged clergy down by their vices.

Her body seized a second climax from the mire of hopeless fortune. Even as she gushed on the chin of the priest between her thighs, pussy milking at nothing, Mather worked himself home to the root. Male flesh kicked in her mouth, her profanities burbling as nonsense around pulsing meat.