This room is the one where the priests usually host me. After that first time, when Fr Rafe and Fr Callum came into my room at the convent and took my body for their pleasure and mine, I’ve always come here, to the seminary.
They kept their word. They reported back on my admirable chastity levels to Mother Superior, and last month I entered my year-long novitiate. As a novice, I’ve earned the title of Sister, though I know my time with these men in the dead of night makes a mockery of my efforts in the daylight hours.
This room may be the usual one, but there’s something different about tonight. The large, low daybed in the middle of the room is, as usual, covered with black sheets, but that’s where the similarities end. The room’s lit only by hundreds of candles this evening. A sultry take on Gregorian chanting plays, its beat darkly hypnotic. The priests—I count six—seem on edge. Incense hangs heavy in the air.
‘What’s happening?’ I ask the one nearest to me. I don’t know their names. Here, at the seminary, they don’t share their names. But they all know my name.
They love to say my name, to grit it out when they’re teasing me, and ravaging my body, and coaxing me to celestial heights.
He smiles knowingly as he steps in front of me and begins unbuttoning my modest nightgown. ‘Word about your beauty and your appetites is spreading far and wide. The bishop is coming to see you tonight.’
My eyes widen. The priest’s smile turns rueful. ‘He wants you all to himself later. He’s a man of particular tastes—and excellent tastes, if I may say so. We’re to get you ready.’ He stoops in front of me, taking the hem of my nightgown and lifting it up, up. I hold my arms over my head and he pulls it off me with the flourish of someone unveiling a priceless painting.
I stand there in the midst of all these hungry, fully dressed men, stark naked and utterly exposed, allowing my shame and anticipation and vulnerability to course through me, to work their magic as they tighten my nipples and moisten my pussy and send goosebumps scattering over my cool skin.
It always starts like this. With the promise that the evening will bring uncertainty. Surprise. The need for courage, for faith. And pleasure. Always pleasure. For everyone.
But tonight, I suspect, will take each of those constituent parts to new heights.
‘Do what you like with me,’ I say, both to drive them wild and to ratchet up my own desire. This is what I live for. These nights that are as profane, as carnal as my days are sacred. Contemplative.
‘Get her on the bed,’ one of them says behind me. ‘His Grace wants her oiled up and ready to blow.’
I could climax here and now from the delicious potency of that threat alone, but I’m being manhandled backwards and down, strong arms gripping my shoulders and firm hands supporting my head, until I’m lying on the low daybed. The bed that, from experience, is exactly the right height for taking one priest in my mouth while I brace myself on all fours and another takes me, in turn, from behind.
My legs are gently tugged till they’re spread out wide; my arms are spreadeagled. My hair is fanned out with reverence. I lie there, already a helpless mixture of pliant and squirmingly excited. Every part of these sessions is so exquisite, but this may just be my favourite part of all.
Sometimes, they tie me up in various positions, but not tonight. Tonight, someone begins to brush my hair from root to tip with a brush whose soft bristles make my scalp tingle pleasantly and drag roughly against the sheets as it works through my lengths. I watch from my prone position, in my dreamily passive state, as the men standing around me pass a bottle of oil between them, pouring the liquid into their palms and rubbing their hands together.
They’re all so handsome. So formal, in their all-black garb and their dog collars, their smart trousers failing to conceal the sight of their arousal. I feel a pang of sympathy that they’ll be returning to their beds tonight with their fists—or each other—for company.
Tonight I have a more important man to please.
They crouch, and the massage begins. I’m not blindfolded tonight, so I can enjoy the overwhelming sight that is six men working my body. Two get to work on my feet and legs, two on my hands and arms. One man towers over me from behind, his strong fingers flexing around my neck and over my shoulders. I hope he won’t make me wait too long before they trail to my breasts and pluck at my painfully stiff nipples.
And the sixth priest? He’s kneeling at the end of the daybed, right between my legs, staring at my exposed pussy like it’s supper as he smooths confident palms over my stomach, down my hips and under my bottom. There’s naked desire on his face, on all their faces, and it’s only a small mercy to know they’re suffering the same as me.
I let my eyelids flutter closed as the men keep me in this limbo for Lord knows how long. More oil is poured on me. Assured hands smooth it slickly over my skin before massaging it in. And the cycle repeats itself.
I’m in heaven and in hell. I’m floating and drowning. The music has me lured into a kind of stupor with its mesmeric beat, and my body is on a knife-edge. Nobody is touching me where I need to be touched, and yet I’m so aroused I could explode at any moment. My nipples and my entire sex are throbbing. Pulsing.
Hands trace the undersides of my breasts before circling agonisingly close to my nipples. They drag along the creases where my bottom meets my thighs, but avoid my pussy. Strong thumbs knead my palms. My forearms. My insteps. My thighs. Sharp, pained intakes of breath from these men tell me their loyalty and obedience to the bishop is testing their limits, and I’m conscious that my own whimpered moans and whispered pleas are joining the chorus.
And then: ’It’s time,’ one of them says, and my eyes snap open. The guy behind me cradles my head and slips on a silk sleep mask, and my world goes dark. The hands halt, but don’t leave me, and I’m aware of the door opening, and footsteps hitting the hard floor, and a gust of cool air that wafts cruelly over my exposed pussy.
‘Keep going,’ a low voice commands. The culture and power in his tone are unmistakable, and I shiver. ‘I want to see how fuckable she looks when she’s coming apart. Make sure you keep her arms and legs like that, too.’
There’s a murmured chorus of yes, Your Grace, and I hold my breath.
They start to move their hands over my body again, just like they were doing before the bishop entered. His mere presence, the commanding timbre of his voice, and the fact that the blessed man has ordered his priests to tip me over the edge has my heart rate ratcheting up.
Then they touch me. Properly. Oh my God. My nipples are rolled and pinched and coaxed into peaks so impossibly stiff they may actually snap off. Fingers trail teasingly over the thin skin of my breasts before kneading them so hard I cry out. My cries are rewarded with deep pulls at my nipples, and I try to arch my back, but the men massaging my legs and arms have me essentially restrained on the bed in my spreadeagled position.
I love it. I love it. The experience of being overpowered and overwhelmed, with hands everywhere, roaming and exploring. Caressing.
‘Touch her pussy,’ the bishop orders in that intoxicating voice of his, and I hope with all my heart that he isn’t just a voyeur, that he’s planning on taking over at some point and claiming me, of making me so unequivocally his that I’ll be ruined for life. His loyal servant forever.
The priest at my feet swipes a couple of fingers once through my flesh, and it’s enough to make me attempt to lift off the bed once again. Searing heat floods through me.
‘Don’t give her too much,’ the bishop says. ‘I want to hear that pretty mouth begging before I flip her over and fuck it.’
Oh God oh God oh God. A deluge of moisture is flooding me between my legs. I’m so wet, so wanton, that I should be begging these men to show mercy and leave me to my modesty, but I, in fact, want quite the opposite.
I want them to use me, and plunder me, and wring me out, and then I want the bishop to make me his limp, pliant little plaything and fuck me over and over again.
My clit is tickled agonisingly lightly with—what was that? A feather? Whatever it is, it’s torture. My entire body is about to explode. I swallow the mouthful of saliva I’ve accumulated and I start to beg.
‘Please. Please, Your Grace, have mercy on me. I can’t bear it, I can’t—’
‘She begs so sweetly,’ he says in a derisive voice that has tears of humiliation and frustration pricking my eyes at the same time as my shameless pussy leaks a little more. ‘Give her your fingers. See how many she can take.’
And then one, two fingers are being pushed inside of me, but because I’m so drenched I take them easily. A third is added, strong and thick, and it stings like hell, but the pressure against my inner walls is so filling, so satisfying, that I push into the man’s hand and take whatever sensation he’s bestowing. My nipples are still being plucked, pinched, and all my other body parts are being beautifully smoothed and petted and attended to, and the stimulation is divine, it’s divine, but I still need—
‘Such a good little nun,’ the bishop says. ‘Look how well her pussy takes your fingers, Father. I think she’s earned an orgasm. You can finish her off.’
I gasp, bracing my body for the onslaught it surely won’t survive. If I don’t feel human flesh against my clit in the next second, I will pass out.
And then fingers are on my clit, two fingers, it feels like, and the hands on my nipples are mercilessly squeezing them, and every nerve ending in my body is on fire, and the stimulation on my clit is so extraordinarily perfect that it sends fiery waves of pleasure coursing through every last millimetre of my body, and I can’t withstand it. I can’t, I don’t stand a chance.
I soar. My body’s nervous system builds and builds before exploding in a detonation of white light and deafening noise and sensation that comes and comes and comes. And it’s not until I start to descend from wherever heavenly plane I’ve visited that I’m aware the priests are holding me down and my body is bucking and my mouth is spouting gibberish.
The strokes on my skin grow softer. The hands working my nipples palm my breasts in stillness. The fingers that brought me so much pleasure pull out of me, and I whimper at their departure. The bishop laughs.
‘That little cunt won’t be empty for long, Sister, don’t you worry. Now, get her on all fours for me. Just the way I like it.’
I’m rolled gently onto my stomach, a whole host of hands tugging me up so I’m on my hands and knees. There’s the clip-clip of shoes on hard floor again, followed by a jostle of bodies and the unmistakable clank of a belt being unbuckled. The man now in front of me is the best thing I’ve ever smelt, and I’m too busy anticipating his next move to be self-conscious about the fact that I’m exposing my still-wet, probably still-quivering pussy to a roomful of men.
He hasn’t asked any of them to leave. Maybe he likes to be watched? Or maybe he’s not finished getting them to tend to me yet? The thought makes me clench internally.
The sound of unzipping has me licking my lips, Pavlovian style, because these men have trained me well. Then there’s the rustle of fabric and the unmistakable scent of man.
They pull the sleep mask from my eyes.
Dear Lord in heaven. There’s a very hard dick right in my face, and it’s enormous. Easily bigger than any of the priests’ appendages I’ve seen over these past few months. I blink, then let my head fall back and my eyes travel upwards, over an untucked black shirt to the bishop’s face.
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever, ever seen. This is a man of God? What a waste. What a dreadful waste. Although, given how he’s spending his evening, it seems a few lucky women get to sample him, me included. His jaw is square and stubbled, and eyes that are practically black gaze down at me appraisingly. Suddenly, earning his approval matters more than anything.
My eyes flick to his cock and back upwards again, and he smiles, amused.
‘See something you like?’
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ I say.
‘Fuck.’ He tugs his lower lip between his teeth before continuing. ‘She’s even more magnificent than you led me to believe,’ he tells the men watching quietly before tugging his attention back to me. ‘I very much enjoyed watching you come, Sister. That pussy of yours is so greedy. I know it can’t wait to take my cock, but right now you’re going to suck me like a good girl, and these guys will take care of you. Yes?’
I nod my head. ‘Yes please, Your Grace.’
‘So obedient.’ He drags his thumb across my lower lip. ‘And so fucking sexy. Look at the way the candlelight plays over your skin. And your arse is swaying a little, did you know that? Like you already need more than what we just gave you. Un-fucking-believable.’
I stay silent and watch him, loving the commanding way his thumb rubs at my lip. Like he knows my mouth is his.
My whole body is his.
By day, this man leads flocks and commands congregations and performs the miracle of transubstantiation, turning bread into Christ’s body and wine into His blood. That I’ve already reduced him to this animal tonight, without laying a finger on him, sends a surge of power and desire rushing through me.
I can’t help myself; my tongue darts out and licks his thumb, and he draws his hand back as if burnt.
‘Get to it,’ he barks.
And I do. I brace myself on one hand, and I cup his balls, massaging them gently. They’re so high and tight already. My gaze flicks upwards through my eyelashes. He’s standing stock still, his entire body vibrating with need, watching me. I lick at the moisture weeping from his crown, swirling it around with my tongue. His dick twitches so hard it evades my mouth for a moment.
He must give some sort of nod, because I’m conscious of the other men kneeling down on the bed beside me. Behind me. A couple slip their hands underneath me and begin to massage my heavy-hanging breasts. My stomach. To roll my well-oiled nipples between their fingers once again.
Hands stroke my flanks as if I’m a skittish horse, rubbing and soothing, before a warm tongue presses against my sex and starts to lick me like an ice cream, in long, decadent swirls. My body responds immediately, unfurling under their touch, blossoming at the delicious dirtiness of this situation.
I’m supposed to be that most chaste, most devout woman, a bride of Christ.
Instead, I’m allowing nameless men to put their fingers and their mouths everywhere they please while their bishop prepares to fuck my mouth. It’s the most profane, depraved sin I could conceive of, and yet this pleasure—this fleeting, intoxicating pleasure of the flesh—is, in this moment, the most sacred act I can imagine.
I know that, within moments, these men will help me to transcend this realm of consciousness in a way that prayer, despite my most fervent efforts, simply doesn’t.
Two fingers jam harshly inside me, and the unexpected breach is so perfectly invasive that my head jolts forward, taking the bishop’s cock deeper into my mouth. He moans and rakes his fingers through my hair, gripping the sides of my head and holding it in place. I flutter my fingers over his sac before gripping his shaft hard. There’s no way I can fit him all in my mouth, and I want this to be as intense as possible for him.
As intense as it is for me.
I breathe in harshly through my nose as I attempt to accommodate him, to tamp down my gag reflex and make him proud. I pull him out of my mouth, lap at his crown with my tongue, and then plunge back in. He makes a harsh male noise at the back of his throat.
‘Harder.’ His voice is strangled.
I take that as a directive for me, but it seems the other men hear the same command, for they step up their ministrations. My breasts are massaged, my still-sensitive nipples tugged hard. Whoever is going down on me licks harder, his tongue sweeping rhythmically over my clit as his fingers probe harder. Faster. Another finger is added. I’m being filled up at both ends in a way so perfect it seems I was made for this. I was made to be a vessel of this sort, to bring these men release while they do the Lord’s work. My back is being rubbed with more oil, my feet kneaded, my inner thighs fondled. The sensory overload is simply extraordinary.
There’s nothing else like this. Like being used and defiled and worshipped. I’m a plaything and an icon. I’m incidental and the star of the show. I’m a whore to be used and a saint to be venerated.
The more they work my body, the harder my mouth works. I suck, I lick, I dare to drag my teeth up His Grace’s beautiful, slick shaft. I take him deeper, deeper, and I know he’s close. I can feel it. I am too. Everyone in the room can feel it. The men are all breathing hard; the bishop is grunting and blaspheming and gritting out fevered praise.
Good girl, good girl.
Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking dirty.
Look at you, taking his fingers and my cock.
You can’t get enough, can you?
Suck me harder.
You know you can, Sister.
Then there’s a buzzing sound, and something cold and wet is being held right at the entrance to my most intimate hole, teasing and tickling the puckered flesh that protects it. I gasp around the bishop’s cock and try to wriggle away from the threatened intrusion, but he grips my head harder.
‘Now, now. You must have known we’d want to take all your holes tonight. You’re ours. Mine. This is small—it’ll fit right in. Do you feel nice and full right now?’
I look up at him and nod as best I can. He runs a thumb down my jaw.
‘Good girl. This will make you feel even fuller. Trust us. Use your safe word if you don’t like it.’
I focus on relaxing. Breathing. Sucking. The object, which must be a skinny wand vibrator, tickles my entrance in a way that makes me feel unpleasantly squeamish, but then it’s breaching that barrier and sliding inside me with surprising ease, and oh.
Oh my God.
Now I know what he meant. Everywhere possible is filled up, the warm, wet parts inside my body are full of cock and fingers and now a vibrator, and they somehow all add up to a sensation that’s sublime. Boundless. The vibrations make the feel of the tongue on my clit echo more deeply through my body, they heighten the power of the fingers inside me and the pulls on my nipples.
I can’t bear it. I can’t last. The pleasure is so all-encompassing, and the matter of being gagged by the bishop’s enormous cock makes it all the more intense. I can feel myself starting to unravel in the most glorious, spellbinding way. He’s begun to thrust harder, holding my head as he feeds me his cock, and I take it as best I can, my eyes watering, while the rest of my body readies itself for detonation.
‘Now,’ he orders, and every part of my body is probed harder, rubbed harder, tongued harder as the bishop stills and erupts in my mouth, roaring out his pleasure and shooting jet after jet of his hot seed as my clit explodes and I shake, shake, shake, shuddering my orgasm out helplessly as my skin is soothed and stroked and the bishop moves his hands to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
I’m still reeling from my second debilitating climax as the bishop pulls out of my mouth. I brace on the hand I was using to grip him and flex the fingers of my other one. Ouch. Wrist-ache. One of the guys takes it and rubs my hand, my wrist, my forearm as the others continue to smooth and pet the rest of my body. I smile at him gratefully.
‘You did so well, little one,’ the bishop says.
I look up at him, at the intensity on that handsome face. ‘Really?’
He pulls a tissue from a box on the table next to him and wipes my mouth with it before handing me a glass with a straw. ‘Drink.’
I take a generous sip.
‘Fuck, yes, really,’ he continues. ‘Taking us in all your holes like that and sucking me off like a champ? Hottest night of my life. You, Sister, are intoxicating.’
I bask in the welcome warmth of his approval as I wonder just how hot this senior cleric’s nights tend to get.
‘And now I’m going to fuck you, like I’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Ever since they told me about you. That pussy must be so puffy and wet and ready for me.’
I’m two orgasms down. I could easily lie down and fall asleep on this bed in front of everyone here. I have no idea if I can come again. But all I know is that I want this man inside me. I want him to claim me in the most decisive way possible. I want him so desperate to use my body again that he unleashes his selfish greed and desire and needs inside me.
‘It is,’ I tell him, looking up at him with all the seductive submissiveness I can muster. ‘It’s yours. Do what you need with it.’
He studies me, a muscle pulsing in his jaw as he considers just how to use me, before blinking and looking around.
‘Everybody out,’ he orders. ‘Go on, get lost.’
The priests rise up from the bed and shuffle out, but I don’t take my gaze off him. His eyes glitter ominously, and a thrill of anticipation runs through me at being left alone with this predator.
It’s me and him.
One on one.
And he’s made it very clear who’s in charge.
The door shuts with a loud click.
‘Let’s get a proper look at you,’ he says. He puts his hands in his pockets, probably to stop his still-undone trousers from falling down, but the studied casualness of the gesture has my poor sex clenching again.
I’m his possession. To peruse. Inspect. I’m his plaything. He begins to stroll around the bed.
‘Did you enjoy your orgasms?’ he enquires.
‘Very much, Your Grace,’ I say.
‘You were very responsive.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
He comes up to the side of the bed and puts one knee down, reaching around me so he can cup both breasts. Fondle both nipples. They’re sensitive and a little sore, but in a good way. In a way I know will make whatever friction he sees fit to bestow upon me even more delicious. I shiver at his touch.
‘That feel good?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Fucking beautiful,’ he murmurs. He releases my breasts and stands up again. If I tuck my head, I can see his legs between my thighs. He’s standing right behind me, looking at my exposed pussy.
‘Legs further apart,’ he orders.
I quickly open my knees further. My legs are still shaky after the orgasms, and from holding this position.
‘Sister Belina,’ he says, his voice low and ominous, ‘you don’t know how long I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. They’ve told me so much about you. About your great beauty, as well as your willingness to give and receive pleasure. And I hear that, during the day when the priests see you at Mass, you are demure and chaste. It’s the perfect cover.’
He moves forward, the bed taking his weight, and runs a finger around my entrance, and every part of me pulses.
‘Fuck me, this cunt is even prettier and greedier than I’d hoped.’ He pulls it away and smooths a hand over each of my cheeks before pulling them apart, exposing every hole and every intimate fold for his viewing pleasure.
Oh my God. My body has already forgotten its two orgasms, because the way this man is inspecting me and touching me and praising me, and the power, the dominance, inherent in everything he says and does, has my body weeping for him already. I relish the delectable shame, the vulnerability of being in this position with him. He can humiliate me. Tease me. Test me. I don’t care.
He is a man who gets everything he wants, but he won’t have to fight me for a single thing. I want to give it all to him.
Then his tongue is on my sex as he continues to hold me wide open for him, running experimentally over my clit, cutting a decisive line through my folds, thrusting deep inside my pussy and finally, most shamefully, probing and teasing at the entrance to my puckered hole.
I can’t help myself. I flinch and try to pull away, but his hands hold on to my hips. ‘Don’t fight it,’ he says, his breath warm and gallingly seductive against my flesh. ‘I saw how much you fucking loved having that wand up your arse. Don’t forget I saw how hard it made you come.’
He licks me there again, and I make myself lean into the feeling, because he’s right. It did.
‘All your holes belong to me tonight,’ he says. ‘Remember that. I’m only going to fuck this one’—he slides a long finger into my pussy again—‘for now, but you’re here for my pleasure. Got it? I’ve wanted you for a long time, Belina. And I always get what I want.’
It’s the power in his voice. That sternness. The indomitable will that’s so attractive, so obvious from a mile away. And right now, I’m alone in a room with this man so he can do what he likes with me. The thought of putting myself in his capable, demanding hands fills me with so much pride and joy and pleasure I can barely contain myself.
‘I understand, Your Grace,’ I say, my voice sounding breathy to my ears. Needy. Desperate. ‘Please, do what you want with me.’
He inhales sharply and crooks his finger inside me before sliding it out.
‘Fuck me,’ he says. ‘So fucking wet for me. Turn around, just for a minute. I want you to watch me.’
I scoot around on the bed so I’m sitting up and facing him. He’s such a pleasure to watch. He’s a feast for the eyes. A Caravaggio. A Titian. A masterpiece I could look at all day long.
‘Back on your elbows,’ he orders. ‘Knees up a bit, and let them fall apart.’
I do so, aware that I must look the picture of submission, of temptation, with my hair messed up from his hands and falling over my shoulders, my breasts visible, and my sex swollen and exposed for him.
Please let him fuck me hard. Please let him fuck me hard.
‘Good,’ he says. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he tugs off the dog collar and unbuttons his shirt. Firm, tanned skin comes into view. As he pulls the shirt off, I’m able to enjoy the sculpted perfection of his chest. His arms. His stomach. A trail of dark hair leads to his cock, already hard and jutting again. I eye it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
He shoves down his trousers, bending to tug them and his shoes off, and then he’s naked.
Naked and glorious and masterful and utterly perfect.
He takes his dick in his hand and pumps it slowly, his eyes not leaving mine.
‘Like what you see?’
‘Yes,’ I breathe.
‘I’m going to fuck you very hard with this.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
’Play with your tits for me—no. Play with one of them, and touch your pussy with the other hand.’
I bite my lip and take my weight on one elbow as I use that hand to pluck and pull at my nipple. The other hand I slide down, over my slippery stomach and between my legs, and God. The second it hits my clit, I know I can go again. A low moan escapes my lips.
‘How does that feel?’ he grunts, still working that dick of his with slow, decisive pumps.
‘Not as good as having your cock inside me will feel,’ I tell him honestly, and his face contorts.
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Sister, you’ll be the death of me. Turn over. Fuck’s sake. Get on your knees. Now.’
I don’t need to be told twice. I remove my hand and roll onto my front. He’s on the bed, sliding a hand under my stomach and tugging me up onto my knees before I can do it myself, kicking my legs further apart with his knees. I just have time to brace myself on my hands again before he’s lining his slick, swollen crown against my equally slick, swollen entrance and pushing in.
Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s so big—he’s huge. He has one hand gripping my hip, hard. The other, I assume, is helping him feed that monster inside me.
‘You thought you were full earlier—you have no idea,’ he grits out. ‘This is fullness—me filling you up with my cock. Can you feel it?’
‘Yes,’ I manage, because God is he right. His size and this angle are conspiring to stretch me beyond all my limits, to fill me so completely that he’ll drive the breath right out of my lungs.
And then he’s in, he’s bottoming out and grinding into me, and he’s deeper inside me than I could have ever dreamed of having another human being. I let out a low, shuddery wail because this kind of overwhelm is the best thing I’ve ever felt.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he says, and he pulls out, just a bit, before driving back in. Just that movement and I’m practically shooting off the bed. I tense my arms harder.
He does it again. I’m more ready this time, but despite my best efforts, he nudges me forward.
‘Where’s a fucking headboard when you need one?’ he grumbles. ‘Okay, beautiful. Get on your elbows. Low as you can, and hold on tight, because I need to fuck this pretty little pussy of yours very fucking hard.’
I scramble downwards so my arms are stretched right out in front of me, affording me, hopefully, some purchase. My bottom is high in the air, and I know I’ve just made the angle even deeper.
He runs a hand down the discs of my spine. ‘Fuck, yes. Look at you like this. Look at you giving me all the access.’
I think he means his dick, but then he’s spitting, and a thumb’s rubbing his saliva on my puckered back entrance again. I’ve learnt my lessons.
Don’t argue with this guy.
This feels far better than you thought it would.
And so I breathe and attempt to relax as he pushes his thumb past the tight entrance and all the way in.
‘Fuck, you are so fucking sexy,’ he rasps. With his other hand gripping my hip, he begins to move. He pulls almost all the way out in a slow, excruciating drag before driving back in, hard. The slam of his crown deep inside me and the slap of his balls against my skin has me emitting a low, primal sound that’s possibly more akin to a cow in labour than a woman in the throes of an orgasm, but I don’t care.
‘Look at you,’ he says, slamming into me again.
I moan and twist my head, rubbing my forehead against the sheets.
‘You take it so well.’
‘Your holes are so fucking perfect. They were made for me.’
Slam. His thumb twists.
Oh, God. The sounds I’m making now are desperate. Wanton. All I know is he’s hitting a place inside me in a way that has a new ache building, building, seeking release.
‘Harder,’ I plead into the sheets. They’re chafing my nipples in this position, and it feels wonderful.
‘Harder, please, Your Grace.’
‘That’s more like it,’ he says, pulling out and driving in harder. My entire body jolts along the bed a little.
‘I’ve never wanted to fuck anybody this hard,’ he growls. ‘You make me crazy. I’m going to fuck you right off this bed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I mutter through my hair. My world has shrunk to that magical thing his dick is doing to my front wall, to the mysterious ache only he can make better.
‘If you think I’m letting you go after this, you’re mistaken,’ he says. His hand moves up my side, squeezing my waist before returning to grip my hip so he can ram into me hard. I take it, I push back, I soak up every single sensation he’s giving me like the greedy, damned little whore I am.
‘No more priests, Belina,’ he warns. ‘I don’t want another man touching you after this, you hear?’
‘Mmm,’ I answer, because all I want is for this man to order me about like this and touch me like this and fuck me like this and make me feel like this for the rest of my days.
‘No. One. Else.’ He slams into me again and again, and I groan loudly, clawing desperately at the sheets with my outstretched fingers.
‘Tell me you understand.’ Slam.
‘I understand,’ I shudder out. Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m so close. I’m sweating profusely, I’m drooling against the sheet, and the lower half of my body may not survive this final detonation.
‘You’re mine,’ he tells me hoarsely. He no more has the power of speech than I do in this moment.
‘I’m yours,’ I promise, right before the ache explodes and my entire being vaporises into pure white light.
‘Mmph,’ I say, my lips moving against warm skin. ‘Gottaughschmot.’
The warm skin vibrates as a chuckle echoes right next to my ear. It may just be the best sound I’ve ever heard.
‘Jesus Christ,’ says the bishop, who I’m reasonably sure is also Rafe, the love of my life. ‘I’ve never seen you crash so hard before. You must be deep in subspace, baby.’
‘Lurveleshff,’ I agree.
He shakes with laughter again, and that laughter vibrates through the arms holding me, the leg thrown over mine, and the chest I’m currently using as a pillow.
‘Poor baby,’ he says. A kiss is pressed to the top of my head, and I snuggle into the warmth of his body like a cat. There’s something soft and cosy over us, but I’m too tired to open my eyes and see where we are.
I can kiss him, though. I’ll never have too little energy to do that. I press my lips to the smattering of hair on his chest, soaking up the unique, intoxicating scent of his skin. ‘Luvoo,’ I manage.
‘I love you.’ He squeezes me tighter. ‘Just take your time. We’ve got all night. I’ll run you a bath shortly.’
‘Mmm.’ A bath sounds good. I’m sleepy, but in a delicious way. My body feels sore, well-used, but at the same time, I’m more relaxed, my muscles floppier, than I can ever remember them being. I close my eyes and enjoy being snuggled by my boyfriend for a few more minutes.
As consciousness ebbs and flows around me, the veil starts to clear. ‘Where are the priests?’ I ask Rafe’s chest, and this time they sound like actual words.
‘Three earth-shattering orgasms and you want to know where the fucking priests are?’ he asks. ‘Unbelievable.’
I giggle. ‘No, I mean—I feel bad. It can’t have been much fun for them.’
‘Baby, that was the hottest foreplay they’ve ever had in their lives.’
‘But you can’t just work your members up like that and not deliver,’ I protest. ‘You’ll have no members left if you keep that up.’
He chuckles again. ‘There’s another scene going on down the hall. Twelve so-called virgins. Those guys went straight from here to there—they must have been like wild animals.’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘They did a great job.’
He pinches my upper arm, and I yelp.
‘No more priests, remember, Sister Belina?’ he asks in his ominous and horribly arousing bishop voice. He lowers his mouth back to my ear and intones, ‘You are mine. All mine.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘I didn’t pass out that badly. I remember. I’m yours.’ I wrap my arms around him more tightly and begin to giggle. ‘Crap. I cannot believe I just did that.’
‘I can,’ he says.
‘I knew you were dodgy, but holy hell. You’re definitely the devil.’
‘Excuse me. You were the one who concocted that whole scene, remember? After your massage. I must send the masseuse a thank you gift.’
I mean, he’s right. I came up with every last filthy detail, and my morally dubious, enabling, loving boyfriend helped me put it into action.
‘Did you enjoy it?’ he asks. ‘Was it everything you wanted it to be?’
‘It was more,’ I tell him, and it really was. It was stupendous. Quite literally mind-blowingly hot. ‘You all did such a great job. I was so immersed—I was Belina.’ I stretch luxuriantly in his arms. ‘Can we play that every night?’
‘No more priests,’ he hisses in my ear, and I laugh.
‘I meant just Sister Belina and her sexy, bad-boy bishop.’
‘Any time, sweetheart. It was hot as fuck seeing you like that. I swear I’ve never been so turned on in my life. And you give good head, for a nun.’
I roll my eyes against his chest. ‘I’m rolling my eyes,’ I tell him.
‘Of course you are. But seriously. It doesn’t have to be adieu. It was epic, seeing you like that.’
‘No, no.’ I shake my head. ‘That was something I wanted to do—I needed to prove to myself I could do it, and I did it for my old self, who never allowed herself to disregard everyone else’s voice and just do what felt good for her. But seriously, I’m not sure I could survive another round like that. You know how we were always told we’d go blind if we masturbated? Well, I feel like one more orgasm and I might actually have gone blind. My body would have short-circuited.’
Around me, Rafe’s entire body shakes with laughter. ‘That wouldn’t be good.’
‘No.’ I rub my cheek against his chest.
‘So it’s just you and me?’ he asks.
I pull on every ounce of strength I have to ease myself up onto one chafed elbow and look into his beautiful brown eyes.
‘It’s just you and me.’ I glance around at the room, its hundreds of candles and the scent of wax and incense exuding an atmosphere so timely, so evocative, it makes me shiver. The Alchemy team surpassed itself for my Adieu. ‘That doesn’t mean we can’t come back here and have fun, or do scenes like this again, just the two of us. Right?’
‘Right,’ he agrees. His face is serious. His dark eyes blaze with love and admiration, and I see possession there too.
‘I don’t want anyone else,’ I say. ‘Tonight was incredible, but the only man I want between my legs is my hot bishop.’
He laughs and kisses me. ‘Spoken like a true bride of Christ.’
‘Let’s have a bath,’ I say, ‘and then take me back to your bishop’s palace.’
He shakes his head at me in mock exasperation. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up, Sister Belina. Then back to the palace we shall go.’