Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

This is wrong. I know that. This is twisted and profane, this is a mockery of everything I assume this hallowed building stands for and yet it is happening, and I am letting it happen.

He is pleasuring me. He is seducing me. He is making me soft and pliant and wet. I spread my thighs further and let him have his way with me, because what I need more than anything right now is to feel good. That mist outside made me feel very strange. I feel as though a spell has been cast over the pair of us, that we are not merely acting out our own carnal needs so much as being puppeted toward some deliciously infernal connection.

Suddenly, his hands are on my waist, turning me over. I am face down on this most sacred of religious pieces, my ass bared by the priest who not half an hour ago was lecturing his flock on goodness and mercy and is about to show me neither.

I feel his palm meet my ass in a harsh slap, a hot flash of pure fire lighting my rear. I grit my teeth and grasp at the starched white linen beneath my fingers. Another slap lands on the other cheek, producing a similarly incandescent effect.

I could tell him it wasn’t my fault, that I had nothing to wear, that Crichton didn’t get us here on time… I could tell him any number of things and none of them would matter because, really, this is not happening because I was bad. It is happening because he is bad. Bryn was always going to punish me. I would have been disappointed if he didn’t. The pleasure his tongue imparted was an appetizer, giving me a molten heat through my insides that is now being lashed to even greater heights. He wants to hurt me. I want to be hurt. I want all the residual guilt I feel at knowing how wrong this is to be absolved in the harsh, hard slaps of his palm.

I close my eyes and I grit my teeth. I take every single one of his punishing slaps. I submit to him, and I am rewarded. Every now and then his fingers slide between my slick, wet lips and tease me with the prospect of penetration and defilement.

“You’re such a perfect little angel,” he growls. He still sounds as though he is fighting himself for control. I wonder what he really wants to do to me. Making my ass throb is one thing, but it’s not an end game. As sore as I am starting to get, I am sure that he wants something more. Something deeper. Something he has no right to, and something I should not give to him.

He spanks me harder, faster, as if he can thrash the sex out of what is between us, but I don’t think either one of us is really in control anymore. I think we’re helpless and well in the grip of irrational lust. I know I am. I keep spreading my legs, that demure dress now hiked up well over my ass as I take whatever he wants to give me.

“Fuck,” he curses suddenly.

I feel something very hard and very hot between my thighs. He grabs my hair and pulls me up, turns me around, hoisting my spanked ass back up onto the altar. His cock is fisted in his hand. What a cock it is. Thick. Heavy. Weighty. It makes my mouth water as he pushes it toward my spread chalice.

He’s going to stop. He’s not going to do this. He’s….

I watch that throbbing head making its way toward my pussy, the thickness of the head brushing my soft, well-pleasured lips. The lightest touch of his rough cock makes me quiver all the way to the joints of my toes. I find myself holding my breath in case he is just putting me through some sick teasing Hell.

But Bryn is not playing with me. Not this time. The head of his cock breaches my outer lips and I sigh softly, my inner muscles clenching in anticipation. Slowly, surely, his cock slides inside me. Stretches me. Opens me. And then presses deeper, deeper, all the way in, until I am absolutely full of his flesh.

Sainted beings look down on us through their brightly-colored prisms of glass as we rut on the altar. With his hands fixed on my hips, Father Bryn fucks me with powerful strokes.

“Mine,” he grunts in that accent that makes me weak. “My little hole. My little cunt. My little girl.”

“Oh fuck! Oh God!”

Everything he is saying is so very wrong, and yet it makes me feel so completely and perfectly desired. I am not a virgin, but it has been a long time since I have been with anybody. The way he fucks me is not like the way any other man has ever fucked me. Boys have had sex with me. Nobody has ever claimed me. Nobody has ever made my entire body feel like one great energy field being captured by a greater force.