When the Dark Wins

“Go on,” said Mather.

“Take it!” Raymond stuffed her, unforgiving. “Oh God oh God, take this cock, you fucking VT whore!”

Her clit convulsed, blood surging in a massive thump. Buckeye screamed around the battering cock and came all over her own hand like she’d never come before in her life.

Purple and black flecked at the edge of her vision. The rutting priest gasped, more than once, and seized.

“Accept his blessing, Servant of the Church.”

The shaft swelled on her tongue. Kicked and began to pulse. Hot salt jetted into her throat.

“S-swallow.” A barely-upright Raymond insisted, gripping himself at the base. “Swallow it.”

Her throat worked without question, but he was pulling back, spending the last of himself down her chin. His head had fallen back, and his fist slicked over his cock, milking as he tried to breathe.

Buckeye coughed. Panted. Her lips were raw and her cunt hiccoughed pleasure like a drunk. If she made an effort of it, she knew she could come again, But her limbs were slack. The priest was pivoting off her.

“You will thank the Brother for his blessing.”

Breath rasped her words into broken pieces. “Tha-ank you. Brother.”

Mather leaned closer as her head lolled to the side. He spoke even lower than before.

“I told them to bring me prostitutes,” he said. “They understand service. Transactions.” Her throat was sore, but she tried to focus. Blue-grey eyes scanned her in appraisal. “But my first impressions were correct. I knew you were suited to serve.”

Her brow furrowed at him, but she couldn’t form words. Semen cooled in the valley beneath her lower lip.

“Your rag was soaked in a mint extract,” he went on, still quiet. “I wanted to see your responses without The Song. You did not disappoint me.”

Buckeye reeled as Mather stood. Stared at the ceiling, chest heaving.

No drugs?

But …

So wet.

She’d come so fucking hard.

The white cassock retreated. Feet were making sticky noises moving over the mats on either side of her. Some of the pairs were still grunting through it.

He could be lying.

She wiped at her chin. Cleaned the side of her fingers with her tongue before she could stop herself.

Without The Song.

What am I?

And the Power, Forever

“… two thousand twenty-four, the Leaders of the Faithful signed the Information Accord …”

The placid female voice piped from some speaker Buckeye couldn’t see, somewhere overhead in the barren cell. The words flowed in a quiet, unnerving drone, as though the woman was reading from a history book. A Covvie version of history as warped as the situation she found herself in now.

Buckeye sat on the floor, her back to the wall opposite the cell door, arms folded around bent knees.

“… the independence of New Covenant in two thousand twenty-six, Father John Roland James called upon the Justice Division to initiate The Purge for the well-being and salvation of all her citizens. The protection of the newly-founded state wa—”