When the Dark Wins

Oh god, right now. Yes.

Raymond made a noise of frustration. “He warned us,” the priest said to his partner.

Hands were gathering her arms away, pairing them behind her back. Her eyes came open and she whined, grinding into nothing while Raymond pulled her against his chest. Leaned against the room’s single table and held her close.

“Shh, don’t,” he said at her ear. “Just wait.”

Aaron stood by, looking like a bundle of nerves. Raymond could admonish her to wait all he wanted; hard evidence that he was having his own problems bruised between her cheeks. Buckeye pushed back, shameless, begging to the purple rhythm of The Song.

“You have to calm down,” he said. “We can’t.” But he was shifting his grip on her wrists to a single hand. The other rose to squeeze a breast, to slip two fingers into her mouth. She sucked, greedy, egging him on.

Brother Aaron watched, breathing through his mouth from a few feet away, his erection obvious through his cassock. “How much did they give her?” he said. “Christ.”

“Blasphemy,” Raymond warned, nuzzling her throat.

“Forgive me, Brother.”

The door opened. So did her eyes.

“Get out,” said Mather.

“Yes, Father,” the priests responded in unison.

Raymond untangled himself and Aaron followed his peer out the opposite door, embarrassment coloring their faces.

Buckeye stood, feverish, weight on the shoeless foot, as the highest priest in New Covenant stripped off his shawl and cast it aside over the single chair.

He stepped forward and instinct made her retreat, even when her pussy screamed for the opposite. The edge of the table bumped her cheeks, but Mather came on, crowding her.

His legs tangled with hers. Blue-grey eyes looked down, apathy burned away with lust. His palm rose to the side of her face again, the same as when she’d taken him in her mouth. In some drunken move that made no sense, she slid her arms around his waist. His face tilted down, intimate, as though they might kiss.

“Obedience without question …” he whispered, eyes on her mouth.

She wet her lips. Finished it for him. “… is rewarded.”

He spun her by the shoulders. Splayed a hand on her back. Pushed.

The side of Buckeye’s face kissed the tabletop. Its edge bent her in half at the hips, the joke of a skirt creeping up over her ass. Her breath came quick when she heard the gathering of fabric. The metal warning of a buckle.

Hands tugged down the flimsy underthings. Trousers lay along the backs of her thighs. He settled over her at the waist, fingers smearing into arousal, painting a wet line up between her cheeks. Slicking her other tight hole.

No.

But the hard was cock already in his fist, bumping and aiming after all this time.

“Father!” The protest bubbled up, even through the drug.

Nested at that pink knot of resista

nce, inevitable, Elijah bent the rest of the way over Buckeye, his weight the price of service on her back.

“You are the perfect servant.”

He pushed inside, closing the circle of damnation.

Buckeye squealed. The burning organ worked up into her bowels, dilating her stubborn ring to its limit, all at once. Her palms tried to wedge under her shoulders, to shove herself up and away, but Mather bottomed out with a grunt, laminating her to the table.

Her body went to war with itself. Even as her legs kicked out like a frog’s, a primitive scrabble to flee pain, her ass lifted to the cup of his hips. The Song made her reckless. She humped against the sear of his cock, loathing and needing at once. Her fingers clawed at the glossy wood, sounds she didn’t recognize coming out of her own throat.