Laying down together, you have your head on my chest and you are laying on top of me, one leg propped up and laying across mine. One of my hands starts softly playing with your hair as we watch a show, my other hand is gently rubbing your back and wandering all over the rest of your body. Your eyes start to get heavier by the second.
As you’re just about to drift asleep on my chest, I start whispering sweet compliments in your ear, telling you how proud of you I am, how pretty you are, I start praising you softly, telling you just how good you are for me. I want those to be the last things you hear before you finally fall unconscious. I wait for a while, continuing to play with your hair and caressing your soft, pretty skin, ensuring an even deeper sleep.
I carefully slide out from under your head, making sure I’m as soft as possible to not wake you in the slightest. Standing over your unconscious body I can’t help but just admire you, how pretty and perfect you look so innocently sleeping. I start with your tits, I gently slide your shirt up over them and start to grope you, the groping doesn’t last long before I have my mouth on them, sucking on your nipples, making them harder in my mouth. The perverted thoughts take over, I pull my cock out of my pants and start desperately jerking off while my mouth is still stuck to you, I can’t even help myself.
My hand slides in between your legs and I feel what a mess you are, even in your sleep you are still a desperate fucking slut, I move myself between you thighs, I start licking up the mess you’ve left me, cleaning the drips down your thighs and working my way up to your perfect, exposed pussy. I start softy licking you, sticking my tongue into your tiny unsuspecting hole, my tongue makes a toy out of your clit as I begin sliding my fingers inside of you, pushing them as deep as i possibly can, forcing an even bigger mess for me to clean up. I can’t take it anymore, my cock is achingly hard, throbbing and dripping pre cum for you, I take the tip of my cock, line it up with your tiny hole and I thrust deep into you.
That’s when you finally wake up, you jolt awake, only to find I’ve got you held down in place already, just gliding my cock in and out of your soaking wet mess of a pussy. “Look who’s awake! I’m so sorry baby, I just could help myself around you, you’re way too perfect for your own good.” I push your head into the mattress, hold your hips in place with my free hand and use you like a pathetic little toy, only focusing on my pleasure.
Each thrust I pull you harder back into my hips, the sheer force that I’m fucking you with is leaving your ass red and bruised up, I grab your hair, wrap it around my hand and pull your head back up to my face, I kiss your head as I push myself in as deep as your pussy will let me, in between kisses I praise you, call you a good girl, I tell you to take it, telling you it’ll all be over soon even though my cock is brutalizing your cervix with the constant, forceful pounding.
Your legs are shaking underneath you, they’re about to give out before I grab you and keep you upright, “I’m not fucking done yet, so neither are you.” I slam you back down, pushing the back of your head into the bed to stop you from telling me that it hurts you, each thrust is somehow digging deeper and deeper into your poor, helpless hole, “see baby, this is what you were made for, this is your purpose.”
You feel me dig both sets of fingers into your hips, a bruising, harsh grip on them as I pull out to the tip and then slam myself back into you, the tip of my cock throbbing more and more, I start moaning out, picking up my pace faster and faster, my cock is absolutely drilling into you, your brains have spilt out onto my cock numerous times now. You feel my tip flaring up inside of you and then suddenly, a warm, sticky feeling starts to fill you up as your pussy is flooded with my cum. “See baby, look how good you did for me. I told you this was your purpose.” You feel the length of my cock pull out of you, and only then do you get an idea of the size of load I just dumped deeep into your belly
Wanna be going for a walk when a van keeps following me around, but I don’t notice until it’s much too late. I’m already tied up in the back, my legs open and my mouth gagged. The window is open, cold air rushing against me, my clit and nipples rock hard…
It’s night by the time the car stops. It’s too dark to see where I am, though I know it’s in the middle of nowhere, no cars are gonna be driving by anytime soon. Even if I could scream, no one would hear me out here.
The driver gets out and opens the back doors, his hard cock already lining up with my virgin pussy. He forces every thick, painful inch into the soft, tight warmth, knowing I must love this since my cunt is dripping wet, and I’m not even pretending to struggle.
He uses his new fleshlight, fucking load after load into me, pounding babies into my ready, willing womb.
I don’t even try to stop him, my eyes rolled back as he rapes my virginity away. The sound of his heavy, full, aching balls slapping against my ass just makes him fuck me harder, which makes my cunt even more drippy.
I know my womb is happily accepting each fertile drop of cum pumped into me, and I can’t do anything about it.
I knew I should’ve gone on birth control…
When he’s finally gotten his fill, and he gets back in the drivers seat, I’m relieved. Until he starts driving to the worst part of the city.
He binds my hands to my knees, and presses me face down, cunt up in a dirty alleyway. He takes a marker and writes “freeuse” on my ass and thighs, my defiled pussy still leaking his cum.
Corrupting a cute little girl into being the perfect little toy for me. Slowly showing you more fucked up and degrading porn, touching you to it and showing you where to touch to make yourself feel good, walking you through it step by step. I slide my fingers into you showing you how good it feels to be full, my fingers start sliding in and out of you, making you squirm and wet my fingers, “it’s okay baby, this is what happens when you feel good, when you get excited!” I guide you through every little thing I’m doing to you, telling you how to feel, how to think, making you desperate for me. I pull my cock out, you gasp when you see how big it is, getting scared. I grab your hand and tell you to trust me, wrapping your hand around my cock and my hand around yours and I teach you how to jerk me off, “See, it’s not that scary sweetheart.” My cock gets harder and harder and I see you starting to enjoy yourself playing with my hard dick. I grab the back of your head, telling you to open your mouth and I lower your head down onto my cock. Using your spit to lube me up, preparing myself for your tiny little holes. Once you’ve made a sloppy mess in my lap, I lay you down, spreading your legs open and pushing myself into your little tiny holes. Your giggles quickly turn into whines as I start stretching you out around my cock, I remind you of the videos I showed you, telling you to suck it up and be better than the girls in them. I use your body as my toy, taking all of my stress and frustrations out on you as you’re forced to lay there and take it like a good slut, even while tears stream down your face. I brutally fuck you, and use your body all night long, breaking you down and shaping you into the perfect little doll, all for me.
You lay your head in my lap while we watch a movie, I start tracing your lips with my fingers before I let you suck on them, knowing you will feel more comfortable that way. My other hand is playing with your hair and it doesn’t take long before your eyes start getting heavy as you try to fight off falling asleep. Your eyes close and after a while of waiting, i know you’re in a deep sleep.
I gently slide my cock out of my pants and replace my fingers that are still stuffed in your mouth with my already hard cock. I get the tip in, and start thrusting into your mouth softly enough to not wake you. The more I fuck into your unconscious mouth, the more desperate my thoughts start to spiral, I slowly get up and pull your panties down, pushing my face between your thighs and eating your wet, needy pussy. Licking your swollen clit, sticking my tongue into your drippy hole just to taste you.
I push the tip of my cock against the entrance of your hole, sliding it up and down, I repeat to myself “just the tip” over and over to control myself before pushing the tip into your tight little hole, I moan out in pleasure, my cock throbbing, twitching while my tip is still inside of you. I can’t take it anymore, I almost black out from holding my breath, trying not to wake you. Before I know it, my cock is buried balls deep inside you, rutting into you. As you start to stir awake I press your face down into the mattress letting out the most desperate sounds and moans as I very quickly pick up the pace and begin brutally pounding into your pussy before you can even open your eyes.
Using your body as my fleshlight, I treat you as a sex toy, relentlessly pounding into you with absolutely no remorse, my cock starts throbbing more and more, and I use your pathetic little pussy to milk every last drop of cum from my balls, keeping you pressed into the bed and continuing to fuck my load deeper and deeper into you belly before I pull my cum covered cock out of you, then stuffing it into your mouth once more, forcing you to clean my cock of our cum that’s mixed together, “I just couldn’t control myself anymore sweetheart, you are just so fucking perfect, especially when you’re sleeping.”
✧ — synopsis: She came to the confessional to cleanse her soul—confessing every filthy thought she’s ever had about the priest she was never supposed to love.
But Reverend Caleb doesn't forgive. He claims. “Don’t you see?” he said, voice now just above a whisper. “Your sin… was never in thinking of me.” His next words were slower, darker, rich with promise.
“Your sin was in not letting me have you.”
✧ — pairing: caleb x mc
✧ — wc: ~11k
✧ — warnings: religious imagery and symbolism, cunnilingus, semi-public sex, confessional, choking, loss of virginity, virginity, first time, biting, licking, altar sex, breeding, power imbalance, submission, dom/sub, spanking, degradation, pet names, worship, praise kink, sexual overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, improper use of a rosary, forbidden love, possessive behavior, dubious morality, obsession, jealousy, slow burn, blasphemy, plot what plot/porn without plot, marriage, begging, caleb fulfilling his prophecy to marry mc
✧ — notes: just priest!caleb fucking and breeding mc on the altar after she confessed her sins—wanting her soul cleansed by him. a thought i had days before easter that made me write this gigantic nasty porn without plot oneshot. i hope u enjoyed the wild sinful ride with me <3
The confessional. It is tonight.
The rain taps gently against the cathedral roof—soft, persistent, like fingertips brushing glass. You step through the heavy doors, and the world behind you vanishes into silence.
Inside, the air is cold, tinged with centuries. It smells of beeswax and incense, like time sealed in amber. Faint smoke still lingers in the rafters, curling toward the arched ceiling like the breath of ghosts.
The hush is deep. Not empty, but full—of prayers, of echoes, of things unsaid. Each of your steps sinks into the silence like a secret. The floor, made of cool, polished stone, reflects the colored light that streams in through the stained glass.
Crimson, cobalt, and gold spill across the nave, painting your skin in fragments of saints and sacrifice. The windows tower above, depicting stories of martyrdom and mercy, their faces staring down with solemn, eternal knowing. You’ve known these windows your whole life. And yet now they seem to burn with judgment.
The pews stretch in rows to either side of you, carved from pale oak and worn soft by devotion. Between them rest narrow stands—each one holding hymnals and Bibles with curled edges, opened and closed by countless trembling hands. A rosary is draped over one, forgotten or perhaps left as penance.
Your dress brushes against your legs as you walk, each step careful, deliberate. The candlelight flickers in alcoves along the walls, casting long shadows that sway and watch. They seem to move with you. Or maybe ahead of you.
You walk past the baptismal font where you were once cradled in holy water. Past the wooden doors of the confessional, their slatted windows dark and closed like eyes half-lidded in sleep. You avoid looking at them. You’re not ready for that part yet.
Your breath trembles as you near the altar.
He is already there.
A figure cloaked in black, bowed in prayer, unmoving. The flickering light outlines his silhouette in gold. The dark fabric clings to his shoulders, heavy with devotion and restraint. His hands are clasped. His lips move, just barely. You cannot hear the words—but you feel them, somehow.
You hesitate. Then step forward.
Your shoes make the faintest creak against the steps, swallowed quickly by the vaulted stillness. Each movement feels too loud. Too alive.
You lower yourself into a bow before the great wooden cross, your gaze falling on the carved figure of Christ. The crown of thorns. The ribs etched in wood. The face turned slightly, as though even He cannot look at you.
You climb the short steps, one at a time. Then kneel on the stair just beneath him—close, but not enough to touch. Not yet.
Your hands rise into a prayer clasp. You bow your head.
But your thoughts are not clean.
Your lashes lower, and all you can feel is the warmth of his presence just above you. The gravity of him. The silence between you vibrating like a held breath.
You are here to confess.
But something in you already knows:
You will not leave absolved.
“Your Reverence,” your voice broke through the silence like a crack in stained glass.
Instantly, it felt as though the very walls had turned against you—thorns blooming from the stone, pricking your skin for daring to disturb his prayer. The altar seemed to hum with disapproval.
He didn’t answer. Not at first.
But then—he breathed in sharply, like he’d been struck. And from his lips came a soft, warning hush, as if silencing you was the only way to silence himself. It was soft, but it sank into your skin like warm wine.
It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t kind. It echoed like a warning, but it settled deep in your chest, stirring a part of you that had been asleep for too long. It had been years since you last saw him. And even now, kneeling behind him, you recognized him instantly.
He hadn’t changed, not really. Not where it mattered.
Still in prayer, his posture remained perfect—back straight, hands folded, head slightly bowed. His hair was a shade darker now, but it gleamed under the moonlight pouring through the stained glass above. Silky. Soft. Untouched. His side profile had sharpened with age—more defined, more elegant—but it was still the face you once memorized during slow, stolen moments in the university library.
He was still everything you ever wanted.
And yet, now he was untouchable. A man of God. A priest.
“Forgive me, Father,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost lost in the candlelight. “I didn't mean to interrupt your prayers… it’s my time for confession.”
For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t move.
But then—he rose.
Slow, steady, deliberate. The robes fell from his frame like shadows peeling off stone. His back now fully faced you, cloaking your vision in silhouette. Then, he turned slightly, just enough for his voice to reach you.
“Pips,” he said.
The nickname curled from his lips like a benediction. His mouth tilted into a smile.
That smile.
The one that once warmed a life too cold to bear. The one that made children feel safe, and girls fall in love, and you believe in things again. It hadn’t changed. It was still soft, still unbearably kind, still threaded with a mischief only you ever saw. It was the smile that belonged to the boy who carried your books and dried your tears. The boy who once told you heaven must’ve dropped you off early.
It was a smile that made you want to fall to your knees—not to pray, but to beg for things no prayer could grant.
You shouldn’t feel this. Romancing a priest is pure sin.
…Or is it?
“Come with me,” he said.
His hand reached out—hesitant, trembling slightly at the fingertips—but before your skin could meet, he pulled it back. The air between you folded with tension.
He wasn’t yours anymore.
Once, he was your childhood friend. Once, he was the boy you loved in secret.
Now, he was the Father of a church beloved by all. A holy man. A savior to many.
And yet still—still—the one who saved you first.
You rose slowly, your hands brushing against the fabric of your dress as you stood. Then, without a word, you descended the altar steps, footsteps hushed and reverent as you followed him toward the confessional.
He led you down the side aisle, the folds of his black cassock brushing softly with each step, echoing beside your own. The flickering candlelight followed in your wake, illuminating the worn stone and the stillness that draped the pews like sleep.
Neither of you spoke.
You passed by statues of saints, their faces carved in stone serenity, gazes heavy with judgment—or perhaps sorrow. The rain outside still murmured, its rhythm softer now, like a hymn sung just for the two of you.
Then, he stopped.
The confessional stood at the edge of the transept, tucked between columns like a secret waiting to be told. Its doors were carved from dark wood, heavy and timeworn, the surface etched with crosses faded by decades of penance.
He gestured toward the booth.
You entered one side in silence. The door creaked open, then shut with a soft click, sealing you in. The space was small, cloaked in shadows. The only light came through the ornate lattice screen before you—thin and golden, like threads of heaven stitched between you and him.
You knelt.
The bench beneath you groaned faintly as you settled, hands trembling in your lap. You could hear the rustle of his robes on the other side. He hadn’t spoken yet, but his presence filled the air between the walls. You could almost feel his breath through the wood.
The screen kept you from seeing him fully—only the faint outline of his silhouette, only the curve of his mouth if he leaned close enough.
A moment passed.
Then, finally—
“Speak, my child,” he said, the low timbre of his voice threading through the wooden screen and settling deep in your chest. It vibrated somewhere beneath your ribs, making your heart thump faster than you wished it would.
You tried to gather your thoughts, but they scattered like fragile petals underfoot. The silence in the confessional felt dense, heavy, sacred. His breath—steady and measured—was too loud in this small space, brushing the air between you like a secret. You clutched your hands together, but the prayer clasp trembled and fell apart. The cold inside the booth made your skin feel sensitive, hypersensitive—each breath prickled your arms, each moment stretched like a string pulled too tight.
“Forgive me, Reverend,” you whispered, your voice barely holding. “I’ve been having thoughts.” You faltered, swallowing the guilt rising in your throat. “I’ve tried to cast them out. I swear I have, but…” Your words drifted, as though even saying them was dangerous. Shame coiled around your spine, pressing down.
The silence stretched too long. Just when you thought he might break it, you saw the shape of his mouth shift behind the lattice—slightly open, as if to speak, then hesitating.
“Who is this man,” he asked gently, “if I may ask?”
His voice was soft, but it cut through you like confession itself. You flinched, not from the sound but from what it demanded. You weren’t sure if it was his question or the holiness of the place that made your heart ache more. You felt like the walls could hear you, like the carved saints above the booth leaned in to listen.
You hesitated. A war raged in your chest—between what you should say and what you couldn’t keep hidden any longer. You hadn’t even spoken the truth aloud before. It had always been a private torment. A quiet ache that you carried like a cross. But now, with him just on the other side, with the sacred wood between you, the lie refused to hold.
“They’ve always been about you.”
And with that, it was done. The sin you had carried silently, the one you buried beneath forced smiles and half-sincere prayers, spilled from your lips like a cracked dam. It hung in the air between you, heavy and irreversible. You waited for condemnation. For silence. For shame. But he said nothing. Not at first.
His lips shifted—parting, then pressing together again. His expression, though mostly obscured by the lattice, flickered. You knew that face too well. You watched him carefully, searching for rejection, for disdain. Instead, he gave you that smile. Gentle, practiced, familiar. The same smile you had seen a hundred times on Sundays, when he blessed children and comforted widows. It had always made you feel safe.
But now it hurt. Because now, it meant distance.
“So… you’ve been having sinful thoughts. About me?” he asked, not with judgment, but with something else—something softer. His voice was laced with concern, with warmth, with something dangerously close to longing.
“Yes, Reverend. And I know I can’t. I shouldn’t.” You shook your head slowly, your words beginning to tremble. Tears threatened to rise, and it felt as though the air around you was pressing in too tightly. You wanted to reach through the screen, to press your hand to his, to feel something real between you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
“I… I’m to be married,” you confessed. The words felt like stones being laid down in front of you, one after another, building a path you never wanted to walk. Your tears slipped quietly down your cheeks. You didn’t bother to wipe them. Your palms were dug into your thighs, fingers curled in tight. You felt your voice break in half as you added, “I never wanted this.”
You hadn’t wanted love to become something conditional. Something lost to tradition and duty. But it had been decided. You were a woman raised in the faith, under your grandmother’s roof, under her rules. A Catholic woman must either marry or become a bride of God. You had no voice in the matter—only obedience.
“I don’t even know the man they’ve chosen for me, Caleb.”
You froze the second his name left your mouth. Too raw. Too familiar. Too forbidden.
“I—I meant Reverend. I’m sorry.” You wiped your cheeks quickly, trying to restore some formality to your voice, but it was too late. The intimacy had cracked open between you, and no title could fix it.
This was supposed to be a confession. It wasn’t meant to become therapy, or longing, or a desperate attempt to bury love beneath ritual. And yet here you were, unraveling before the very man you were trying to forget.
You heard his breath again. It was different now—no longer calm. There was a subtle shift, the sound no longer steady but erratic, staggered. He was still breathing through his nose, trying to stay composed, but it was clear. Something inside him had changed.
“I came here to confess,” you said, almost defensively now, trying to hold onto something that had already crumbled. “To let go. To cast this away before the wedding. I needed to be clean. I needed to kill the demon that made me think this way—especially about someone like you. A man who’s respected. Loved. Sacred.”
You trailed off. Your hands were trembling again. There was no more strength to pretend. Not in front of him.
But on the other side of the lattice, he was silent still. Breathing. Just breathing.
And somehow, that was worse than anything he could have said.
Because in that silence, you heard the one thing that terrified you most.
He felt it too.
“You have always been faithful,” he broke the silence, and the sound of his voice—low, deliberate—sent shivers down your spine. There was something in his tone. Not gentle. Not warm. Cold, like marble. Unforgiving.
You looked up toward the lattice, unable to see much beyond the shadow of his form. But you wished—desperately—that the wall between you would break. That something divine might shatter it, or that he might reach through and pull you from this torment. But nothing moved.
“Always obedient,” he continued, voice smooth as silk laced with steel. “Always pure. Always a good girl.”
The words lodged in your throat like thorns. That praise—God, that praise—it wasn’t meant to come from him. Not here. Not in this sacred, confining space. You weren’t a good girl. Not now. Not when your thighs had tensed at the sound of his voice. Not when you had touched yourself the night before while imagining those lips murmuring holy things against your skin.
You wanted to scream, to deny it. You wanted to confess the truth of who you were beneath the purity he believed in—or pretended to. But the words wouldn’t come.
You heard him shift. A soft rustle of fabric, a faint movement—closer now. The sound echoed in the tiny space between you. He wasn’t touching the lattice. But he was near enough for you to feel it. The warmth. The gravity of him.
“Some love,” he said slowly, “is born only to be tested.”
A pause. Then a breath, heavy, reverent.
“And some prayers,” he exhaled, “should never be answered.”
His voice trailed off like incense smoke curling toward the ceiling. Then—nothing. Silence again, deep and terrible. It swallowed everything.
You could hear your own heartbeat, wild in your ears. Your breathing—too fast, too shallow. You shouldn’t be feeling this. Not in the confessional. Not with him.
You opened your mouth, but no sound came. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
And he just waited.
The stillness between you stretched, pulling taut like a string threatening to snap.
You didn’t know—couldn’t know—that he had planned for this. That he had seen your name on the list. That he had made certain he would be in this booth today, waiting for you. Listening to you. Testing you.
Tempting you.
The silence pressed in around you, thick as velvet. It wrapped around your skin, sank into your lungs. The kind of silence that made you forget where you were—only that you were being watched. Not just by him, but by something older, higher, crueler. Every flickering candle, every carved saint, every fragment of stained glass bearing witness to your descent.
And still, he said nothing.
But he didn’t have to.
The air had already shifted. You could feel it—an unspoken weight settling over both of you, thick as oil and far too warm. He was waiting. Not as a priest. Not as a guide. But as something far more dangerous. A man cloaked in holy black, coaxing you with the patience of a saint and the hunger of a sinner. He was waiting for you to surrender.
Your fingers tightened where they rested in your lap, nails grazing skin, your palms damp with heat. You didn’t know how to begin. Didn’t know how to speak the words that had once only belonged in dreams—secret and desperate things meant to die in the dark. But they were rising now, unbidden, unholy, and you didn’t want to stop them.
“Tell me,” he said at last, his voice no longer the cool blade it had been, but something warm now, deeper, smooth like dark wine poured into a golden chalice. “Tell me what these thoughts looked like.”
You inhaled, shaky and thin, your eyes darting toward the lattice. His shadow was still there—still silent and unreadable—but his presence had changed. There was tension in it now. Heat. Anticipation.
“I…” Your voice faltered. Your cheeks were already burning. “I can’t. Reverend, I can’t say it. Thoughts like these… they don’t belong here. Not in this room. Not in this church.”
You looked down, ashamed of your own boldness. This was sacred space. And you were turning it into something impure.
You had come here with the weight of years pressed on your chest—years of silence, of longing, of loneliness. You had come here, not just for absolution, but with a prayer even you couldn’t name. A hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d look at you the way he used to, back when you were young and foolish and still believed in things like fated love.
But he was a priest now. A man revered. A man entrusted with salvation.
And you… you were just a sinner with trembling hands and a body that ached for things no sermon could erase.
“I need to know,” he said, a smile blooming in his voice—low, rich, and far too knowing. “How can I help you cleanse yourself, Pip-Squeak, if I don’t even know where the stain lies?”
He chuckled then, the sound soft but intimate, curling around your ears like smoke. It struck something deep inside you, something hungry, something ancient. You felt the way your legs pressed tighter together, the way your breath hitched just at the sound of it.
You should have stopped. You should have fled.
But this might be the last time you ever see him.
“I…” Your throat tightened around the words. “I thought of your hands.”
Even saying that made your pulse race.
“On me,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “Not to comfort. Not to bless. Just… on my skin. Exploring. Possessing.”
The moment the words left your lips, you felt something unravel inside you. Like a string that had been pulled too tight for too long had finally snapped. And you couldn’t stop now.
You couldn’t see his face, but you heard the breath he let out—low, heavy, almost shaky. It wasn’t disapproval. It wasn’t shock.
It was something much closer to relief.
“And how,” he asked slowly, “did you want me to touch you?”
His voice was calm. Pastoral. The kind of tone meant to soothe. But it felt like a test, like he was feeding fire to see how brightly you would burn. You felt it in the way your skin tingled, in the way your breath quickened. He was still playing the reverend, but every word was a step closer to the edge.
“Reverend, I—”
“Caleb.”
His name cut through the air like thunder.
Your whole body jolted.
That was not the voice of a priest. That was not holy. That was him—the real him, the one buried beneath the collar and robes and years of distance. Sharp. Commanding. Possessive.
“Call me Caleb,” he said again, lower this time, almost tender.
You swallowed the heat rising in your throat, your voice shaking as you gave in.
“Caleb,” you whispered, the syllable cracking open something deep inside you. “I always imagine your hands... slowly running up my thighs, over my hips, up to my ribs.” You exhaled, shaky. “I imagine you pausing there—just long enough to hear me beg—and then moving higher. I want your hands on my breasts. I want your fingers teasing the tips of my nipples until I’m shaking, gasping, whispering your name like a broken prayer.”
You heard him move on the other side of the lattice. Not much. Just a shift. But enough to know he was listening. Hanging on every word.
“I want to be laid bare in front of you,” you continued, eyes closed now, shame and need swirling in equal measure. “I want to be underneath you, completely exposed, while you look at me like I’m nothing but temptation itself. I want you to command me. To order me. Like I’m the devil’s own creature, sent to test your will.”
You could barely breathe.
Your thighs clenched. Your hands trembled. You didn’t know whose breath was louder now—yours or his.
“I want to be ruined,” you whispered, “by the man I was told to worship from a distance. I want to be claimed. Marked. Made yours.”
And then, softer. Quieter.
“I want you to breed me, Caleb. I want you to fill me again and again until there’s no part of me that doesn’t belong to you. I want to carry your child—not in shame, but in devotion. As atonement. As worship.”
The confessional pulsed with silence.
But nothing about it felt holy anymore.
Behind the lattice, you caught the faintest curve of his lips—a smile. Soft, serene. Almost saintly.
It unsettled you.
How could he smile like that—so calm, so composed—when your body was trembling, your thoughts stained with everything sacred and forbidden? How could he look at you with such quiet kindness after the filth you’d just confessed?
But then, he spoke.
And his words didn’t match the expression at all.
“My sweet girl,” he said softly, voice like velvet against your ears, “you’ve carried this sin for so long… and yet, you still look to me for forgiveness.”
You stilled, the breath catching in your throat. There was no judgment in his voice. No disappointment. Only something deeper. Richer. A kind of hunger masked as care.
He continued, slow and measured, like every word was chosen for its weight.
“You’ve spent your nights dreaming of my hands, my mouth, my body. You’ve imagined how it would feel to be beneath me, filled, ruined—claimed.” His voice dipped lower. “And still, you come here, to this church, thinking you’ll find absolution. Thinking you’ll be cleansed.”
You could feel the heat curling inside you again—stronger now. Almost unbearable.
“But you’ve misunderstood,” he murmured. “This place is not where you’re purified, Pip-Squeak. It’s where you surrender.”
Your eyes widened, heart pounding. The air in the confessional was too thick now, too close. You couldn’t breathe without inhaling him—his words, his scent, the soft, sacred ache of his voice.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he whispered, still smiling behind the screen. “Even when you try to look away. I’ve seen the tremble in your hands when we share communion. The way your lips part when I speak.”
You could barely hold yourself upright. Shame and want coiled together like thorns under your skin.
“I arranged this moment for you,” he confessed. “I made sure it was me sitting behind this screen. I wanted to hear it. I needed to know just how deeply I’ve carved myself into you.”
You gasped quietly, a soft whimper caught between horror and desire.
“I’ve known for a long time,” he said gently, “that you’d never be able to forget me. Not truly. Not with the way you whisper my name when you think no one hears. Not with the way you ache when I touch your hand during blessing.”
He paused. Let it hang. Let it simmer.
“Don’t you see?” he said, voice now just above a whisper. “Your sin… was never in thinking of me.”
His next words were slower, darker, rich with promise.
“Your sin was in not letting me have you.”
The silence stretched like a lifetime unraveling—deep, suffocating, as though the very air between you had thickened. You inhaled shakily, your chest rising with disbelief. His words echoed in your ears, over and over, like a psalm twisted into something forbidden. He wanted you. He desired you. All that piety, all those prayers—his devotion had not been for God. It had been for you.
“Caleb, I—” you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached through the carved gap in the lattice, fingertips trembling with hope, aching to touch him. To feel even the brush of his hand. But the moment your fingers brushed the open air, he recoiled. His hand withdrew like you were fire—like he had been burned.
As if he hadn’t just shattered your soul with the truth.
As if none of it had been real.
“I’m sorry, Pip-squeak,” he murmured, and the softness in his voice made it worse. Too gentle. Too cruel. It held no resolve, no certainty—only guilt, polished and sharp. Your stomach twisted. No. No, this couldn’t be backpedaling. Not now. Not after everything.
“I should have contained myself,” he continued, and his words broke you. “I made an oath. I’m not just the boy you knew anymore. I’m a priest. I have no right to lust after anyone—especially not you.”
And with that, all the air was stolen from your lungs. The flicker of hope that had dared to rise in your chest—gone. He turned away, slowly, and from the gap between you, something small and delicate dropped into your hand.
A rosary.
Elegant, dark red beads shimmered against your skin—cool, smooth, lovingly chosen. A beautiful offering. A quiet rejection.
“Take this. Use it when you pray. I’ll arrange another meeting with a different reverend—someone more… disciplined,” he said, standing now, his voice tightening as he stepped back. “I’m not fit to hear your confessions anymore. I can’t help you. I’ve already failed you.”
He turned, reaching for the confessional door. His robes whispered against the wood, the sound like parting wings. But just before he stepped out, he paused—his profile half-lit by the flickering candlelight.
And he smiled.
Not a warm smile. Not cruel either. Just… unreadable. Quietly ironic. It was a paradox, that expression—so soft, so subtle, and yet it didn’t match the penitent words that had come before it. You couldn’t tell what he wanted. Couldn’t tell if he was leaving you behind… or waiting for you to chase him.
He stepped into the aisle, disappearing into the dark sanctuary beyond.
But you didn’t move.
You remained kneeling for a moment longer, your knees numb, your breath shallow, your hands clenched tightly around the rosary that felt like a curse. And then something inside you snapped—loud and sharp and undeniable.
No.
No, you couldn’t let this slip through your fingers. You couldn’t walk away and accept a life bound to a stranger, to a marriage you didn’t want. You had tasted the edge of something sacred and feral, and you would not let it go.
You surged to your feet, robes swishing around your ankles as you ran through the cathedral. The air burned in your lungs. Candlelight streaked past you, warping the saints and angels into ghosts as you chased his shadow up the stairs. You called his name—broken, pleading, not in prayer but in desperation.
And then—you reached him.
He had stopped before the altar, his back to you, shoulders bowed as if ready to fall into prayer again. But you grabbed him—your hands clutching his arm, your touch shaking with fury and want.
“Caleb,” you gasped, your voice cracking, “please. One chance. Just one. Allow me to commit this sin and carry the guilt—before I’m shackled into something I never asked for.”
He didn’t speak.
So you pressed on, breathless and trembling.
“I don’t care if I’m to be married. I don’t want him. I never did. Please… just this once—taint me. Make me yours so I can’t belong to anyone else.”
That was the breaking point.
You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his hands slowly curled into fists. And then—without a word—he turned.
His hand seized your waist, firm and unyielding, and he pulled you flush against him. The sudden closeness knocked the breath from your chest. You could feel everything—his breath against your cheek, the thunder of his heartbeat against yours, the heat between your bodies that had always been there, waiting to be claimed.
His other hand rose, slow and deliberate, and pressed two fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face up. Then, those same fingers slid down, wrapping around your throat. Not to harm, but to hold. Possession, pure and holy.
“You have no idea what you’re asking,” he whispered, his breath brushing your lips, his eyes locked on yours with something darker than longing. “Be careful, Pip-squeak. Because if I say yes—if I give you what you’re begging for…”
He leaned closer, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth, his voice no longer gentle, but a vow.
“I won’t stop. There will be no betrothed. No more prayers to cleanse you.”
He licked the edge of your ears, slow and deliberate, and your whole body arched into him with a soft, desperate moan you couldn’t contain.
“I will ruin you. I’ll make you mine in every way the church says I shouldn’t. I’ll bury myself inside you until your body remembers nothing but me.”
His grip tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
“I won’t let you go,” he growled, “not again.”
His irises darkened, deepening into a shade like violet blood—rich, ancient, and hungry. The passion in his gaze no longer shimmered beneath the surface, no longer cloaked in guilt. It bloomed now, wild and uncontrollable, like a flower that had finally burst through the soil after years of suppression. No burden. No veil. Only want.
And you saw it. You felt it—in the way his fingers clenched tighter around your waist, as though he feared you might vanish. As though he had already lost you once and refused to risk it again. His grip was no longer gentle. It was possession.
How could you—merely a sinful, trembling creature before the divine—deny the priest who had already been yours in secret?
“Then don’t, Caleb,” you whispered, your voice soft, reverent, almost worshipful. Your hands rose to cradle his face, thumbs stroking along the edge of his jaw with aching tenderness. His skin was warm beneath your touch, alive with the kind of heat that could melt sanctity itself.
“Don’t ever let me go,” you breathed, your words barely more than air, “ruin me… consume me, like I am the communion and the wine. Take me as if I were the apple, bitten and bold—tempted by Eve, offered to Adam, as the serpent laughs and God turns away.”
Your eyes met his—wide, wet, unwavering. His breathing was uneven now, ragged, thick with restraint unraveled. His pupils blown wide, devouring you like scripture rewritten in flesh.
“Take me, Caleb,” you said, voice no longer pleading, but resolute. A sacred declaration. A promise. This was your moment. Your fall. Your offering. You had waited long enough to become the Eve of your own story—to tempt the man who was once salvation, now sin. To drag him from the heavens and pull him into you.
He stared at you for one long, breathless second.
And then—he smiled.
Not holy. Not kind.
But hungry.
“With pleasure, Pips,” he murmured, voice deep with something primal, something unholy, and beautiful in its blasphemy.
Before you could react, he spun you by the waist, his grip firm and unrelenting, and pushed you forward—your body guided not roughly, but with the precision of a man who had imagined this a thousand times. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself against the edge of the altar, your hands splayed on the white linen cloth that once held chalices and scripture.
Now, it would hold you.
You looked back at him over your shoulder, your breath shallow, your heart pounding like a liturgical drum. He stood behind you, towering, silent, reverent—his gaze devouring every inch of you like he was memorizing a psalm written on skin.
This was not the priest.
This was the man beneath the collar.
And you were no longer the sinner.
You were the sacrament.
“On the altar, honey,” he murmured, his voice dipped in something sweet and dangerous—menacingly saccharine, like poisoned honey. His hands guided you back, gently but firmly, until your spine met the cool linen-draped table. His touch lingered like reverence, like a prayer not yet spoken.
To him, you must’ve looked like temptation incarnate—your flushed skin glowing in the golden candlelight, long hair fanned out over sacred cloth, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. A vision of sin made flesh, sprawled out where offerings to God were meant to be placed. But tonight, you were the offering.
He traced the shape of your body with a single finger, slow and deliberate, dragging it over the tight curve of your red dress—the one you chose just for this night, just for him. Each pass of his touch sent a thrill crawling across your skin, your thighs tensing with every inch he explored.
“This was intentional, wasn’t it?” he whispered, lips brushing just above your navel as he pressed a kiss there—soft, delicate, intoxicating. You felt butterflies erupt beneath your skin, fluttering desperately under his breath. “You came here wearing this dress that no good Catholic girl would ever wear. You chose my hour in the confessional. Scheduled yourself with me.”
You couldn’t speak. Your head was light, your limbs loose and tingling from the weight of his words and the unbearable heat of his touch. The anticipation dripped from you like holy oil.
He smirked. And then his hands moved lower, gripping your waist hard, like he was claiming you piece by piece.
You gasped, body jolting at the force of it.
“Answer me,” he commanded, the sweetness gone, replaced by steel. His brow furrowed in mock disappointment, his voice like thunder behind stained glass. You nodded weakly, unable to count how many times you’d already said yes to him—in your mind, in your dreams, in the silent ache between your thighs.
“Good,” he purred. “I love it when you give yourself over to me. When your mind shuts down and your body remembers who you belong to.”
His hands slid down, finding the buttons of your dress. He gripped the fabric with both hands and yanked—ripping it apart with one swift, sinful motion. The sound echoed like a heresy in the sacred space. You gasped, heart racing, body bare beneath him.
From above, you saw his expression shift. His mouth fell open slightly. His pupils darkened further, almost black. His face—usually unreadable—now twisted with hunger. He looked at you as if you were the first woman he’d ever seen. As if you were not just desired… but worshipped.
“You look so divine, Pip-squeak,” he growled, voice low and trembling. His hands came up to your chest, cupping your breasts with greedy reverence, his thumbs flicking across your nipples—once, then again, harder, rougher, until your body arched into him. The pleasure bloomed sharp and sudden, your breath catching in a gasp.
“Caleb, I—”
He shushed you immediately, placing two fingers over your lips as his eyes gleamed.
“No words now. Only your sounds. Only your body,” he whispered. “Let me learn it like the Bible.”
And then he did. He moved over you like a man discovering lost relics—hands sliding across your stomach, down your thighs, along your ribs, over your curves. Every part of you was touched like it was rare, precious. As if every inch of skin was sacred parchment he intended to study and memorize.
But when his eyes lowered between your legs, his expression changed again—this time to something quieter. Something awed.
You scrambled to close your thighs, the instinctual shame creeping up your spine. But his hands were faster—firm at your knees, pushing them apart with command.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said. “I never told you to close your legs.”
And then he saw you.
His gaze locked between your thighs, reverent and consuming. You turned your face away, too overwhelmed to meet his stare, too undone to endure the worship in his expression.
“You’re untouched,” he murmured. His thumb grazed your folds—slow, featherlight, unbearably gentle. “So pink. So soft. Your little petals hiding everything sacred inside.”
You whimpered, unable to speak, trembling under the heat of his voice and the slow, circling motion of his thumb. You could hear it now—the wet sound of your arousal, soft and obscene in the quiet church. It should’ve filled you with shame.
But all you felt was need.
“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, pressing just slightly deeper, letting his thumb slide through your slick folds as if he were parting holy pages. “This is all for me, isn’t it?”
You nodded. He smiled.
“Then let me worship you.”
And then—he lowered himself.
His lips brushed your inner thigh, trailing upward, each kiss placed like benediction. His hands held your thighs wide open as he reached your center, breath warm against your slick entrance. And then his mouth found you—devoured you.
His tongue lapped at your clit slowly, then faster, lips closing around you as if drawing out sin itself. You cried out, moaning his name like a prayer, like it was the only one you remembered. His fingers gripped your thighs harder, anchoring you in place, as his mouth wrote psalms into your body—his tongue spelling out lust and salvation in every circle, every flick, every sinful kiss.
You arched. You gasped. You sobbed his name.
And still—he kept going.
“Gods, you taste like devotion,” he groaned against your folds. “Like you were made just for this.”
And in that moment, as your body trembled on the altar, thighs parted for a man who wore a collar he never truly obeyed—
You believed him.
His fingers trailed downward, slow and exploratory, until they found the slick heat of your folds. He teased the entrance just below where his tongue had ravaged your clit, circling the soft, wet opening with the gentleness of someone handling something precious—something never touched before. Your body arched sharply, your back curving off the altar in a broken cry. It was too much—too much pressure, too much pleasure, too much him.
Your gasped whispers of “Caleb” unraveled into helpless moans as his finger gently breached you, the motion deliberate and careful, but impossibly overwhelming. Your body clamped down around him, wet and trembling, your inner walls drawing him in like they had been waiting for him all your life.
“Let me open you up, alright, baby?” he whispered against your skin, his voice dripping with affection. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make it perfect for you.” His tone was velvet, contrasting the way his tongue resumed its relentless worship of your clit—wet, fast, devout, like he was trying to write a hymn with his mouth.
His finger moved deeper, slowly curling to explore you from the inside—his touch searching, learning, memorizing the feel of your tight, trembling heat. He found rhythm, divine and sinful, his tongue lapping furiously at your swollen bud while his finger pressed deeper, coaxing moans from your lips like a choir from a cathedral dome.
But then, pain.
It was sharp, unfamiliar, a sting beneath the waves of pleasure.
“Caleb… it hurts…” you murmured, your voice broken and soft. This was your first time—your body had never been opened by another’s touch. You tried to hold back the sobs, your forearm covering your eyes to hide the tears you couldn’t stop. Hiccups escaped you, trembling from your chest, fragile as confession.
And he stopped.
“Aw, Pip-squeak…” he cooed gently, his voice laced with guilt and warmth as he moved up to you. “Was that too much?”
He pushed your hand away from your face, just enough to see the mess of tears on your cheeks, the swollen red of your eyes, the vulnerability etched across every inch of you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your eyelids—soft, reverent, like you were a butterfly he feared would break in his hands. A breath of love after a storm of lust.
“No, Caleb… it’s all just new,” you whispered through your hiccups, the words slurring as you clung to the edges of control. “I’m not used to it. That’s all.”
He looked at you like you were the most fragile and sacred thing he’d ever touched. As if you weren’t a girl laid bare on an altar, but a miracle. His hand found yours, guiding your palm to his cheek, pressing your fingers into the heat of his skin.
“I know,” he said, voice low and warm. “I know, honey. Let me take care of you.” He nuzzled into your touch like it was the only truth he needed. “You’re going to have a beautiful first night. With me. Just relax. I’ll do everything. All you need to do is feel.”
And before you could answer, his mouth claimed yours.
The kiss was not gentle. It was fierce, hungry, consuming. Your lips moved in a tangled, heated rhythm, tongues sliding and curling, mouths parting only to let out breathless moans. You could feel his teeth grazing your lip, then biting—a sting sharp enough to make your knees buckle. He drew blood, and then licked it away, eyes dark with pride at the mark he left.
Then—his hand was back between your legs.
He slid the same finger inside you again, slow but insistent, and you gasped into his mouth. Your lips were still locked with his, the kiss muffling your cries, your body arching beneath him. He didn’t stop. His hand was working you open again, pushing and curling with more purpose now—loving you, preparing you, ruining you.
And then—another finger joined.
You cried out against his lips, breath stolen, chest heaving. His fingers scissored you open, stretching you with maddening care, moving in and out with slick, obscene sounds that echoed through the sacred chamber. Every motion felt like a new world cracking open inside you—every nerve alight, every breath sharp.
“Fuck—Pip-squeak,” he groaned, watching your face twist in pleasure. “You really are my testament, aren’t you?”
He pumped his fingers deeper, faster, pressing into that sacred spot inside you that made you sob. Your whole body buckled, trembling under the rhythm of his fingers.
“Crying for me… moaning like that…” He kissed your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. “You said you’d walk through hell with me, didn’t you?”
Your breath came in stutters, your body grinding down into his hand, chasing the pleasure like a lifeline. You couldn’t speak. You could only feel.
And then—he stopped.
You whined—needy, devastated.
He pulled his fingers from your soaked heat, the emptiness making your body clench on instinct, your folds slick and pulsing.
“Caleb, what—”
“I can’t wait anymore,” he said, his voice hoarse, desperate. “I think you’re ready. And I need to be inside you, now.”
You watched, spellbound, as he stood upright and reached for the belt around his waist. One by one, his fingers undid the layers of his robe, revealing him beneath—the slow unveiling of a god, not a man. He peeled back the fabric as if shedding holiness itself, as if casting off the weight of every prayer he’d ever made. And what remained beneath…
Was divine.
He was sculpted like marble. Veins coiled along thick forearms, chest broad and heaving, every line of his body drawn with aching precision. It was like something ancient. Like Zeus had carved him from his own likeness, then cast him into a collar to suffer the burden of flesh.
And now, here he stood. Unburdened. Unholy. Yours.
All words fled your mouth. All thoughts vanished. You were no longer a girl with a name, or a sinner with shame.
You were his.
At his mercy. At his altar.
And Caleb—your priest, your first love, your god-made-flesh—was about to make you his church.
When he pulled down the final barrier between you—his undergarments falling to the floor with a soft, weighted thud—it echoed like a vow unspoken. The air shifted, heavy and thick with want. And what you saw made your breath catch in your throat.
He was hard. Gloriously hard.
Thick, veined, and flushed with heat, his cock stood proudly between his thighs—an offering, a punishment, a blessing all at once. You had never seen anything like it, not even in those nights alone with your phone dimmed low and your heart racing in guilt. This… this was real. It was beautiful in a way that made your body ache—his shaft a soft, dusky pink with golden undertones, the crown swollen and weeping beads of precum that glistened like sacred oil under the candlelight. It pulsed with restrained desire, the veins beneath his skin standing rigid with anticipation, as if every part of him had been waiting to be released inside you.
He watched your reaction closely, and you realized—he wanted you to look. He wanted you to witness him like this. Bared. Ready. Sacred.
“It’s…” you whispered, breathless, lips trembling as you tried not to stare, “it’s so big, Caleb. I—” your voice cracked slightly, “I don’t think it’ll fit.”
He stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing against your thighs as he leaned down, his hand curling around your cheek.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, lips grazing your jawline, “it will. And if it doesn’t…” he kissed the corner of your mouth, slowly, deliberately, “I’ll make it fit.”
You shivered beneath him, but his next kiss melted your resistance. It was softer this time—reassuring, protective. His lips moved against yours with a slowness that made you ache, a tenderness that threatened to undo you entirely. He kissed you like he’d never get to again. Like this was both prayer and farewell.
And then—you felt it.
The thick, flushed tip nudged against your folds, slick with both your arousal and his need. Your body jolted at the contact, instinctively trying to pull back, but he held you steady. His hand moved from your cheek to your jaw, cradling you gently but firmly, his thumb stroking the curve of your chin.
“Shh,” he whispered against your lips, “don’t run. Just feel me. Let me love you through it.”
Then—he pushed in.
The stretch was impossible. Raw. Blinding. Your inner walls strained to accommodate him, the head of his cock parting you in a slow, aching invasion that made every nerve in your body seize and tremble. He was too big—too thick, too much—and you cried out, your breath hitching in your throat.
“C-Caleb, it won’t fit,” you gasped, tears pricking your lashes. “It’s too much, I—I can’t—”
But he didn’t let go. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose, eyes full of reverence.
“Trust me,” he said gently. “You can. You’re doing so well. Just relax. Don’t tense up. Let your body take me.”
He kissed your temple, then your jaw, and then your lips again—his mouth never leaving yours as he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, each movement slow and reverent. You could feel every ridge, every vein, as he slid deeper into your warmth. The pressure was maddening, the stretch a sweet agony. He was molding you to him—reshaping you around his cock like you were meant for it.
Your moans were breathless, broken, rising in pitch with every inch he claimed. You felt your pulse in your throat, your fingertips, your womb.
And then—he paused.
He looked down at where you were joined, your slick folds stretched wide around him, your body trembling, your breath hitching with each twitch of his hips. His lips curled into a smile, soft and ruined.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re taking me so well, baby. And this…” he rocked his hips slightly, making you whimper, “this is only halfway.”
Your eyes flew open.
Halfway?
He met your gaze, eyes dark with devotion and desire.
“We’ll take it slow,” he whispered. “I’ll teach your body how to love me. How to worship me.”
And then—he began to thrust.
Slow, deep, rolling movements that dragged his cock against every untouched nerve inside you. Each push was gentle, yet commanding. Every retreat was followed by a deeper plunge, opening you wider, stretching you further, claiming you with each pass.
You sobbed beneath him—not from pain, not anymore—but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure. He filled you so completely, so intimately, that you didn’t know where your body ended and his began.
“Fuck,” he groaned, voice breaking, “you’re perfect—tight, warm, mine. You were made to take me, Pip-squeak. This—” he grunted as he thrust deeper, “this is where you belong.”
Your nails raked down his back, clinging to him, needing something to anchor you as the altar shook beneath your bodies. His forehead pressed against yours. His lips hovered above your mouth, panting into you like he was drowning.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m going to fill you so full of me, you’ll feel me for days.”
And you believed him.
Because this wasn’t just sex.
This was worship. This was prophecy.
And he was your god now.
And this god—this man who had once belonged to the altar—was now the one thrusting into you, deeper and deeper, with a rhythm so consuming it blurred the edge of pain and bliss. With each slow push, he reached into places no one ever had—into your body, into your soul. As if this was your final absolution. As if this… was your cleansing of sin.
“Let me feel you deeper, alright?” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, brushing your ear like a sacrament. “It might sting a bit, but stay with me, my love.” He kissed you again—tender, warm, anchoring—his lips moving over yours in a slow, open rhythm that steadied your breath as much as it stole it.
Your nails found his back again, digging in harder this time, leaving half-moon imprints across the muscles of his shoulders. He welcomed it—grunted into your mouth—and thrust deeper. The stretch was too much, too perfect, and yet you clung to it, welcoming the ache like revelation.
His lips traveled to your throat, then down the delicate slope of your neck. And when his pace quickened, his hips rolling deeper into yours, the sound of slick skin and desperate breathing filled the chapel air. The sensation was overwhelming—every sense dissolved into him. Your vision blurred, your ears rang with the sound of your own heartbeat, and the warmth of his body became the only truth you knew.
He found your collarbone with his mouth, kissing it reverently before biting down—not gently. The bite was harsh, branding. A mark meant to last. You gasped and arched into him, tears spilling down your cheeks—not from pain, but from something greater. You were overwhelmed, undone, and entirely his.
“Caleb…” you whimpered, voice caught in a moan. “It’s… starting to feel so good…”
He chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Knew it, baby,” he murmured between kisses. “Knew you’d take me like this. Like your body belongs to me.”
His rhythm was no longer careful—it was erratic now, frantic, unrelenting. The god inside him had broken free. There was no restraint left, only desire carved deep by years of silence and prayer. You felt the pressure building again, something enormous and electric gathering in your belly, and you didn’t understand it—but you craved it.
“Caleb, please—please—it feels… so strange,” you sobbed into his shoulder, your voice high and trembling.
He slowed just for a second, lips brushing your temple, smiling like he’d known this moment would come. “You want to come, baby?” he asked softly, lovingly. “Then come for me. You have my permission.”
And then—release.
The world shattered in white.
Your first orgasm rippled through you like holy fire, curling your toes, arching your spine, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body clenched around him, your cries echoing through the cathedral like sacred hymns, and all you could feel was him—Caleb, Caleb, Caleb—claiming every part of you as if he’d waited lifetimes for this moment.
When your body finally slumped against his, spent and trembling, he gathered you in his arms like something sacred. His hand found the back of your neck, fingers brushing your hair, the other wrapped around your back, lifting you into his lap like a prize, a promise.
“Like it, baby?” he whispered, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your nose. You nodded wordlessly, still floating somewhere between earth and heaven, still pulsing from the aftershocks. “Yeah,” he smiled, his voice soft with wonder, “I can tell.”
Then—he reached for something.
The rosary.
Your rosary.
Dark red beads caught the moonlight streaming through the stained glass, the glow painting your skin in sacred crimson. He unclasped it gently, looped it around your throat, and fastened it like a necklace of devotion. It was weightless and warm, like it had always belonged there.
“You look divine in red,” he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “The hickeys. The tears. The rosary on your throat.” His thumb caressed your cheek as he studied you—eyes soft and worshipful. “You are… heavenly. I’m so fucking glad you chose me.”
You were dazed. Drenched in love. You looked up at him, and for the first time, truly saw him.
The boy you had known was long gone.
What sat before you was a man—a god, a beast, a lover—shaped by prayer, by pain, by desire.
His violet-hued eyes bore into you. His jaw sharp. His lips chapped from too many kisses. His body sculpted like myth, veined and divine, as though made by the same hands that shaped the stars.
And then—he leaned in, voice low and trembling.
“I’m not done with you yet, Pip-squeak.”
Your eyes widened.
“W-what?”
He kissed your mouth—slow and deep.
“On your back, love,” he murmured. “I haven’t had my share. And I intend to fulfill my prophecy—as your future husband.”
Your breath caught as he slowly withdrew from your body, leaving you achingly empty. He helped you to stand, your legs barely steady beneath you. His hands stayed on your waist, guiding you like a lamb, reverent and possessive.
“Hands on the altar,” he said gently, pushing you forward. “Arch your back for me, sweetheart.”
You obeyed.
He leaned down, whispering into your ear, his palm stroking the curve of your spine. “Perfect. Look at you. My obedient little wife.”
Your heart stuttered.
“Caleb…” you gasped. “You’re a priest. You… you can’t marry me. I’m a sinner—”
He stilled behind you.
And then—a quiet laugh. Dark. Dangerous.
His hand gripped your hip, pulling you back against him. The tip of his cock nudged your entrance once more, the heat of him radiating through your trembling thighs.
“I’ll make arrangements,” he said simply. “The moment I breed you… the moment I seal this bond… you’re mine. And no one—no one—will take you away from me.”
He turned your face just enough to kiss you again—deep, claiming, final.
And then, he entered you once more, slowly, fully, with a groan of pure relief.
This time, Caleb wasn’t letting you off easy.
There was no gentleness left in him—only hunger, only need. He drove into you with a rhythm that felt like judgment day: relentless, punishing, divine. His thrusts were thunderous, dragging cries and whimpers from your throat that echoed through the hollow sanctuary like ruined hymns. Each motion forced a sob of pleasure from your lips, your body trembling with every drag of him, every delicious, overwhelming stretch.
“Too deep, Caleb… please—” you moaned, the words barely intelligible between broken breaths.
Your legs had long since given up. Your thighs quivered with exhaustion, and your knees threatened to buckle with every thrust. But before you could collapse, his hand gripped your cheeks—strong, unyielding—guiding you right back into the position he wanted.
“Keep your posture, Pip-squeak,” he growled, his voice rough, breath hot at your ear, and you obeyed like the good little subject he’d made of you.
You let your forehead rest against the altar, body limp under his force, your senses shredded from the high of your first orgasm. But he wasn’t finished with you. He hadn’t even begun to show you what it meant to be his.
Because you wanted it.
You wanted to be ruined again. Used, over and over. You wanted to be his sanctuary and his sacrilege—his only cocksleeve, his blasphemy made flesh.
You pushed your hips back, seeking friction, desperate for the sound—the slick, vulgar squelch that made your thighs shake and his groan rattle through your spine.
“Fuck,” he laughed, dark and delighted. “Look at you. My little whore can’t even wait for my rhythm—now you’re fucking yourself on my cock like a common slut.”
His hand groped your ass, fingers digging into the soft curve before delivering a sharp smack that made your whole body jolt. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry, eyes fluttering as the sting bloomed across your skin.
“You really are the devil,” he muttered, his voice nearly reverent. “You came here to torment me. To make a man of God fall to his knees for you. And now look at you.”
He reached for the back of your neck where the rosary lay tangled, tugging gently until the red beads tightened around your throat, grazing over the bruises and bite marks he’d left before.
“Imagine me breeding you on the altar,” he whispered, thrusting deeper until you gasped. “Filling you up like a sacrifice. Just you, me, and God watching.”
Then he pulled.
The beads clinked and tightened, the tension making you jolt, your moans gasping and ragged as the cross at the center pressed into your throat. You were sure it would leave a mark—like a collar. Like proof.
“You’d look perfect,” he said, voice low and shaking with lust. “With this mark. Everyone would know who you belong to.”
He loosened it, just long enough for you to breathe, only to tighten it again—controlling the rhythm like a prayer. Your eyes rolled back, tears streaming freely, your body twitching from the overstimulation.
“Caleb…” you sobbed, voice hoarse, lost. “I-I’m close again…”
“I know you are,” he murmured, lips brushing your spine, his teeth catching on your shoulder. “You were made for this. For me.”
His thrusts deepened, the rhythm brutal and beautiful all at once. Your walls clenched hard around him, your body desperate to drag him further inside, to pull him into your core and never let go.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Pips,” he groaned. “But I’ll die with a smile if it means I get to leave it all inside you.”
And then you broke.
Again.
This time harder. This time deeper. Your orgasm crashed through you like a holy reckoning, violent and luminous, a star exploding behind your eyes. Your body seized and shivered uncontrollably, walls fluttering around him as your vision went white. You screamed his name like it was torn from your soul, your throat raw from the effort, from praising him.
It was all too much—the relentless thrusts, the rosary tight against your throat, the weight of him pounding into your most sacred places. The hot stretch of his cock as it hit that tender, deepest spot. The scent of sweat and salt and sex thick in the air. The wet sounds of your bodies clashing, your skin slick against the altar.
You were sobbing now, lips parted, gasping for air between high-pitched moans and fevered, half-sobbed whispers.
“Thank you,” you cried, “thank you, Caleb… thank you for using me… for making me yours… thank you for claiming me—”
He growled—actually growled—his breath hot at your ear, hips stuttering against you as his grip on your hips tightened.
“I’m gonna fill you now, baby,” he moaned, the words shaky and broken with need. “Say it again.”
“Thank you,” you begged. “Thank you for choosing me—thank you for breaking me—thank you for taking me like this.”
Your hands clutched the altar cloth, nails tearing into the fabric, body writhing against his. “Thank you for fucking me, for ruining me… for cleansing me. Thank you for not holding back. Thank you for loving me like this.”
“Gods” he gasped, shuddering behind you. “Fuck—”
And that was all he needed.
With one final, forceful thrust, he sank himself so deep inside you it felt like your bodies had fused. You felt the tremble in his thighs, the groan that tore from his chest, the way his hips twitched as he came undone within you.
You could feel it.
The heat.
The fullness.
His release poured into you, and with it, something even heavier: a bond. His sin, his promise, his final vow.
He collapsed over your back, chest heaving, breath ragged and uneven. His arms wrapped around you like you were holy. Like you were salvation.
And inside you… he left everything.
His vow. His love. His sin.
His seed.
The altar had seen many unions—but none like this.
You both remained there, bodies tangled and trembling, time suspended in the thick, honeyed silence that followed. Minutes passed like lifetimes—slow and sacred—as if every breath you took together rewrote the shape of the world.
His body draped over yours, flushed and heaving, the weight of him pressing against your spine like a divine burden. You could feel his chest rising and falling, his heartbeat still rapid, still syncing with yours, like your souls were too entangled to separate now. His warmth cloaked you, his skin slick and fevered against your back, and it was all you could do to keep breathing.
His name had become your prayer.
His love, your religion.
His presence, your sanctuary.
“Pip-squeak,” he whispered, voice hoarse and soft, barely formed through the haze of what you’d just done. The nickname sounded different now—deeper, claimed, sacred. But you couldn’t answer. There were no words left inside you. Just breath after breath, whispering through your lips like wind through cathedral glass.
Then he said it.
“I love you.”
The words drifted through the air and wrapped around you like a blanket. Your eyes fluttered open, lashes damp, vision hazy. You wanted to turn to him, to see his face in the aftermath of what had just been sealed between you, but your body felt too wrecked, too stretched, still parted by the weight of his shaft still inside you—keeping you open, keeping his warmth in, like he didn’t want a single drop of himself to leave you.
“I…” your voice broke, soft and trembling, “I love you too, Caleb. I have since we were kids.”
You gathered every last shred of strength in your arms, tilting your head back just enough to cup his jaw, your fingers brushing his skin with reverence. You pulled him closer until his forehead rested against yours, the scent of incense, sweat, and sanctified sin thick in the air between you.
“I’m glad I came to you,” you whispered. “I’ll leave everything in your care… then?”
His gaze softened.
And then—he smiled.
That familiar, golden smile from long ago, reshaped by the weight of years and the burden of forbidden love.
“Yes, honey,” he murmured, voice like a lullaby. “I’ll take care of everything. No one will touch you. We’ll leave this place unscathed… and walk the path God truly chose for us.”
He lifted your hand, the same hand that had touched him, clung to him, loved him—and pressed a kiss to your fingers. It was gentle. Tender. Final.
“I love you,” he whispered again, like a promise sealed in your skin. “Now sleep, my love.”
And you did.
You closed your eyes beneath him, your body still held open by his, still trembling with the ghost of every thrust, every vow. And as the darkness settled, soft and warm, you felt his arms wrap around you tighter—like he’d never let you go.
He was the last thing you saw that night.
And you knew, with a quiet certainty blooming in your chest, that he would be the last thing you saw each night for the rest of your life.
Thinking about being a pretty house maid. My uniform is shorter than the other maids because of my body. I'm also the youngest on the team so I don't interact with the master so much. The older ones prefer that as they like his attention. He's older, holds himself high, and keeps an eye on me.
Being in his study and having to get on all 4 to reach something that had fallen. Him quickly notices that my uniform raises up and shows off my panties. I've complained so many times about it in the past but nothing gets fixed so now I'm used to it. I don't bat an eye as I keep trying to reach under something. Feeling his eyes on me makes me squirm and maybe a little wet. Finally getting it and sitting up, once I go to stand he calls me over.
It seems like I've misplaced my pen, mind looking for it while you're already down there? Nodding and crawling over to where he's pointing and trying to find the pen. I can't seem to find it, Master... I say softly as I lean under the desk and my bottom sticking out. Oh, it's under there... Master says as he leans back, enjoying how my panties look pressing against my bottom and cunt. I suddenly feel his shoe press against my cunt, pushing down, and I gasp. Sir! Stay there and keep looking, I whimper and nod. There was no pen, I knew there wasn't as I felt him drag his shoe up and down my cunt. I bite my lip trying to make no noise as I pretend to keep looking.
He stops and pulls away, then I hear him shuffle in his chair. The metal on his belt makes a noise as he undoes it. He gets closer to me and is pulling my panties to the side. Master I don't believe that this is- I gasp and whine when I feel him push into me. Just because you are young doesn't mean you don't listen to your master. Now stay there and keep looking until you find what I want. He softly scolds as he starts to fuck me from behind. As he does I press my face into my hands. I can't help but pant and moan at each thrust.
I feel him pull my hair, lifting my head, and placing his pen in my mouth. Bite, I can't have you making too much noise and catching another maids attention. They get jealous you know?...but I think I may have a favorite now. He moans and drops my head back down, using my cunt. It's not long before I feel it, I'm going to cum. My whines get louder but a little muffled thanks to me biting down. He moans and spanks me when he feels me tighten around him. His thrusts get deeper until finally he grips my hips tightly, bruising. Pulls me against him and cums deep inside me with a deep moan. The pen drops from my mouth as a gasp is forced through my lips.
Keeps me there for a second before pulling out. His cum drips onto the floor and then I drop, tired. Seems like you aren't used to this... I can hear the smugness in his voice, as he takes his pen out of my mouth. No master...I am not, say weakly as I still quiver. You say thank you for everything the Master gives you, ....Thank You, Master. Good girl, I hear him fix his pants. Clean this up, can't have messes in my study. I nod and start to sit up while fixing my panties. Hand me my pen? I nod and grabbed the pen that was in my mouth seconds ago. Looking up at him , here you go master. He looks at the pen and smiles, Your teeth marks look so pretty on my pen...thank you for finding it.
You’re passed out on the couch, dead to the world, my old t-shirt shoved up under your t1ts, legs lazily spread. No panties. Your bare pvssy is swollen, slick, shining under the dim light, lips parted like they’re waiting.
I don’t say a word. Don’t touch you anywhere else. I just unzip, take my cock out and push your thighs wider with my knees. One second of lining up, then I sink straight in, one slow, merciless thrust until my balls are pressed tight against your ass. Your body jerks hard, a sleepy gasp caught in your throat. Eyes still closed, you whimper into the cushion, confused and half-dreaming while your cvnt stretches around me like it was made for this.
I clamp a hand over your mouth, lean in close, and start fucking you deep and dirty, long strokes that drag every inch out and slam back in, wet sounds filling the quiet room. Your pvssy clenches on instinct, milking me even while you’re lost in sleep. I growl right against your ear: “Shh, little girl. Stay asleep and take Daddy’s cock like a good toy” You never wake up. Just soft muffled cries into my palm, hips twitching, thighs shaking as I use you raw. Three brutal thrusts later I bury myself to the hilt and unload, pumping thick ropes of cvm deep inside your sleeping cvnt until it’s spilling out around me, dripping down your ass onto the couch.
I stay plugged inside a few more seconds, feeling you flutter around me, then pull out slow. A thick stream of cum follows, coating your puffy lips. I tug the blanket back over you, kiss your forehead, and whisper: “Sweet dreams, baby. Keep Daddy’s load warm till morning.”
It would be such a treat to have a guy show me how weak I truly am. Someone that I trust deeply who I think would never ever hurt me. It's a cute conversation/hangout at my place, until I start to get a little bit of attitude. The topic of strength and size comes up, I'm a pretty big girl... I don't think most guys can take me. One of my many mistakes because it's not even a challenge to him. Suddenly we are laughing while messing around but then it hits, wait this dude is actually pretty strong.
Being a stupid naive girl I'm getting pinned down, hard. Wait! I thought you said most guys can't take you. I whine when he's got me down good, there's no moving away from him. He's got his bulge pressed against my bottom. I can feel how hard he is, what are you doing!? My squirming and failed attempts to escape are just turning him on. My escapes are me grinding on him and letting out small little whines.
Dumb girl, thinks just because she's plus sized. He's pushing my face into the blankets, just because she's carrying extra on her. I gasp when he spanks me hard then grabs my bottom. That she can't get pinned down...and fucked, he taunts. I get the point! Let me go! I try to kick my legs but he only spreads them. Sticking his hand up my skirt and pulling my panties to the side like it's nothing. Stop! I try to run again but he's putting his weight on me. I don't think you've gotten the point, he growls into my ear.
I give two shits about how big you are, I can feel and hear him unbuckling his belt. Girls like you can always get used...and who else can teach you this listen? I feel his cock fall against my cunt, I keep squirming, kicking, and try to escape. Fat cunt can't even protect this pretty hole or clit, he sucks his teeth pretending to be disappointed. He starts to push into me and I gasp at the feeling. I stop moving, you win! That doesn't stop him, he keeps pushing into me.
What was that? He starts fucking me, my eyes roll and I gasp every time his balls hit my clit. You win... I say almost in a whisper and my hands grip the sheets. What did you learn? He starts fucking me quicker, setting a brutal pace. I'm not strong! No matter my weight or confidence I'm not strong compared to you! Good girl! I gasp again when he pulls my hair, I took this cunt so easily. I feel him kiss my neck, I don't care how thick your thighs, stomach, and cunt are. Don't care about the weight, don't care to be soft on this body.
He shoves my face back into the pillow. Give up already? Letting me pound this cunt...so wet too. Gonna breed it, he threatens in my ear. No! You can't cum in me! I'm not on anything! I try to start squirming again. I manage to untangle myself from his grip, a small bit of hope as I pull away. Only to get pushed down onto my back and choked. My hands on his wrists as he pushes into me again. No, no...you take it. I look into his eyes as he pounds me, he's going to force an orgasm from me any second.
How many times are you going to struggle to learn? He kisses my lips, I have always been so nice to you. I could've done this to you a long...long time ago. With that I cum with a small cry, trying to turn my face away from him. Acting all tough but she likes getting manhandled, she likes that even though she's big she's still so small, weak, and nothing compared to me. He grunts as his thrusts get desperate, can't even push me off.
I bet, he laughs and throws his head back for a second. I bet I can breed this cunt, I shake my head but he nods his. Yes, baby ... I definitely can, then I can leave to find those flimsy cuffs you hide in your room. You'd still be laying here tired, cuff you to this bed, and do it all over later. Please no, I whimper as I look up at him. You ask so nicely... He grabs my face and squeezes my cheeks. Well deal with that later, I'll chase you down if I have to. We both know I'll win, with that he kisses me again and cums deep inside me.
Why are you two looking at me like that? I say to my best friends as I snack on candy. Nothing...you just...seem weird, she says as she glares at me. I'm weird? Yeah...have you always done that? Her boyfriends lean in closer. What the fuck is up with you two? I laugh and back up nervously. With us? Nothing, we just want to know what's up with you. There's literally nothing wrong with me; you two are the ones acting weird.
You're being tempting. You never tempt us. What the fuck does that even mean? I glance at my best friend, meaning your dressing is more provocative. And your cross is missing; you always wear that thing. It's Halloween week... I told you I was going to be dressing as different characters all week. So? And what's this? She grabs me, turns me around, and runs her fingers over my lower waist. It's just a temporary tattoo; I've always wanted a tramp stamp. Temporary? Looks real to me, and this short skirt? Her boyfriend lifts my skirt, causing me to squeal, "What the fuck!" I try to squirm away, but I'm held in place.
Just face it, demon! You aren't our friend! You two aren't making any sense! Let go of me! I squirm between them; I feel my best friend's nails dig into my bottom. My best friend would never wear her skirt without shorts; suddenly I felt a hard slap. Hey! Leave her body to this instinct! What the fuck?! I get spanked again. All my shorts are dirty! Babe, what do we do? Demons got her pretty well. What did that book say? Fuck it out of her... that's what we will do. Wait...what!? Oh my God! I try to escape them. I get out of their hands and almost make it to the door just to get tackled down.
Stop! I yell out as I struggle between them. Demon's got her pretty good, poor baby! She's probably so lost in her own mind... I'm not lost! I think you two are lost! I let out another surprised scream when I feel my panties getting ripped off. Stop that! I try to close my legs and cover my cunt, but my best friend is already between them as her boyfriend holds me in place. I grunt and try to push him off only to fail. Would she be okay with this? It's for her own safety; she'll understand once she comes back to us. My best friend says before leaning down and kissing my cunt.
I gasp. I am not okay with that! That's enough! I throw my head back when she takes my clit into her mouth. Shit, please...please stop! I pant and make eye contact with her boyfriend. He looks between us, almost conflicted. What if this is actually her? He looks into my eyes; it's not. That's what the demon wants us to think, baby! Our girl would never do anything like this; I laugh in their faces. Obviously you two don't know me, I then gasp when she hits my cunt. Of course I know my best friend, demon! I try to close my legs when she sinks her fingers into me. Don't! give her body back.
I shake my head and squirm; it's my body! I gasp again when I feel her boyfriend's hand around my neck tightly. No, it's not! I'm pinned into place against his chest. His hand is against my neck, the other hand is holding my thigh, her hand holds the other, and her hand is fingering me. My eyes roll back in the forced pleasure, and my body starts to shake. Please, I'm telling the truth... I whimper as her fingers keep going. We'll be the judge of that, she leans down and is attached to my clit again.
I lay back against her boyfriend's chest, letting out a loud whine, basically accepting my fate. How can you try and take a sweet girl's body? He growls in my ear and tightens his grip on my neck. No matter how much arguing I do, they won't believe me. I feel myself getting closer, my panting gets worse, and soft moans leave my lips. I think we are getting through to her! I can hear the excitement in their voices as I let go and cum. She pulls away, and I'm finally allowed out of their grips. I sigh, Finally! I'm shaking as I pull away and close my legs.
I hear them sigh; my best friend shakes her head. It didn't work! Wait—yes, it did! I promise! Suddenly, I'm getting manhandled again, now onto my tummy. No! Shut it, Demon! You've asked for this! I can't see what's happening behind me until I feel it. The head of his cock is pushing against my hole. Wait! No! I feel my best friend straddle my back and keep me from moving too much as her boyfriend grabs my hips and pushes into me. His length stretches and fills me. I choke up at the suddenness; he's not being nice. Why would he be nice to someone he thinks is a demon?
Fuck, I whimper as he starts fucking me from behind. I feel my best friend grab my hair and pull my head back. I heard her; she's almost there. Our sweet girl is almost back! Keep going, keep fucking her. I have no other choice but to take it; they have me so confused! No way, they think I'm actually a demon. The way they are is so caring but so mean! She's not fighting it anymore; she's growing limp... that's it. Such a good girl for us. Just keep taking his cock, and the demon will be out, I promise. She kisses my cheek and then grabs my neck tightly. Leave her body, demon. With that, I'm forced into another orgasm.
Tears come to my eyes in overstimulation, shhhh. It's okay, baby... That's it, you're back; just take his creampie, and everything will be all set. W-What? I know it's confusing, but it will work; I promise his cum will cure you. My cum is going to help, baby. Just a little bit of cum... he moans, but that doesn't feel like a little as I let out a small cry. They are breeding me?! My legs shake, and I finally let go as I lie on the ground. He pulls out of me, and they both now hover over me, flipping me onto my back. You're okay! You're safe now! They coddle me and take me into their arms. This time holding me, we'll do this as many times as needed to make sure that icky demon stays away...
Being best friends with a military man, poor guys been gone forever. Focused on the work ahead and his training. Until finally he is able to see me again but he's not the same during his visit. He feels so lonely, everyone around him seems to have a picture perfect family. He wants that, he wants in.
Visiting him in the prettiest outfit, yapping away about our friends, and what has been happening. He's just nodding along until behind me he sees one of his buddies, He's with his pregnant wife. Suddenly I'm getting dragged into an empty area. Why are we here? I ask as I look around the room is full of extra things, storage probably. then I finally notice his face. What's wrong?... I step closer and he shakes his head. You trust me...right? He also steps closer and I nod. Of course I do! I smile at him and giggle, you're my best friend.
You find me handsome? Yeah! You wouldn't mind being by my side? Of course not! So you'd forgive me if I hurt you? I look at him confused, I guess so...what is this about? He looks at me torn before I'm getting pushed onto a dusty bed. Ow! Hey! He's on me ripping my tights and pushing my skirt up. What are you- he covers my mouth. I know...I know I should've done this better. I struggle under him as he talks but it's nothing to him with all his training. He's handling me easily with one hand and his weight as the other hand works on pulling out his cock.
He looks into my teary eyes as he runs his tip along my cunt. I'm sorry...but I know we both need this. You dream of the farm house and I feel so alone, he whimpers as he pushes in. I start to sniffle at the suddenness, I wasn't ready. I would've taken you on a date first, sweetened you up, and given you the most romantic night. But we don't have time for that baby...not today. I have to leave again soon and I need to you to be here for me when I come back. Either with a baby on your hip or round with one.
I stop fighting against him, this is so wrong. I didn't feel hurt from him taking me like this, I wanted it too. His thrust are deep and he makes sure of it as I get wetter. See? You like this, it's getting easier...it's always been us and it will always be us. I'll have a ring on that finger as soon as possible. He's tearing up and he keeps fucking me. I'm so sorry it had to be like this, he removed his hand to kiss me. I'll make it up to you, he whispers and starts rubbing my clit. I'll always be here for you, even if I had to be mean for a second. Just really needed this ...no other woman could please me. All I would think about is you, and everyone is so happy. He starts to cry and I grab his face, it's okay just keep fucking me.
Those words flip a switch inside him, nodding his head and fucking me rough. I cover my mouth as my eyes roll back. I can't believe it came down to this, he moans. And you barely fucking struggled against this, against the idea of being force bred by me. He forces and orgasm out of me but keeps fucking me. Lifting my thick hips to a different angle, I didn't think his cock could hit deeper. Liking the idea of being forced to be my house wife, he's close as he starts to pant. I'm going to cum deep in this cunt...make sure it sticks...make our dreams come true. Threat or a promise? I didn't care.
Best friend's dad fucking me right in front of her. She acts like she hates it, pretending that she doesn't find it hot, crying and begging him to stop. I have to do the same thing, act like I don't want it. Only thing is my cunts so wet you could hear it from a mile away. She's "trying her best" to push him off of me but I swear she pushes me onto him more.
He's just laughing at us and our stupid/weak attempts. Pulls out until the tip is so barely in and slams back in, repeats that a couple times. Just so I can go dumb and his daughter can gasp and try to stop him. Dad you're hurting her! Stop!! Sir please! Both of you shut up! His daughter can't even make the attempt to leave the room. Her foot is chained to the bed so no matter how much she moves. She's never truly far enough to not see us or be able to call someone.
Once she's noticed how dumb I've gone on his cock she's running her hands through my hair and cradling my face. Hey, it's okay...you're okay... Her eyes widen as an orgasm is forced through my body. Fuck... She can't help but whimper because she's falling, hard. She knows she's wet and she knows how wrong it is. She watches as her dad pushes every inch of his cock into me. Making sure he's deep and I'm stretched out around him as he moans. He makes sure to be extra loud as he cums deep inside me. Stays there for a second before pulling out and slamming right back in.
There...maybe that will teach you two to keep it down! Pulls out and pulls his sweats back up. Throws the keys onto the bed for the restraints and walks out of the room like nothing. She watches me whine and quiver as I try to catch my breath. Realization hits her that her dad came inside of her best friend. Leans down and does the only thing she can think of at the moment. Starts to try and get the cum out...with her mouth. Her own cunt so happens to be over my mouth...
Hellooo,Can I get an order for something a little different.
A mortal girl is married off to a hot af fae prince who tries to keep his hands to himself the first months of their marriage but he can't do it anymore so he fucks her hard cause her pussy/womb is so much warmer,tighter and more pleasurable then fairys,she feels the expanse of his dick and begs him to just make her cum,and she ends up creampied.
I know you've never done anything like this but J hope you might try it out.
I saw J hope and my mind went "jhooooppppeeee"
After the marriage the fae is actually very respectful. The marriage wasn't out of love originally. It was just a simple peace pack thing and he knew you felt nervous about it. A couple months go by and he's taken the time to actually get to know you. But the poor fae can only take so many comments. He's royalty, he is used to hearing things about himself but these comments excite and worry him.
Human women have amazing cunts, perfect for breeding they take so easily, it's a wonder how the king hasn't succeeded yet, maybe she's not right for him? Oh how he did not like hearing that. You are perfect for him and he has no doubt it would take. He just hasn't touched you out of respect but he can't have his people thinking that. He can't have them think you can't be bred or that he can't breed.
He even had given you your own private room that you could sneak away to when needed. Not tonight though, he asked the maids to bring you to his and not let you go anywhere else. When he walks in that night his presence is confident and determined. It's time for us to seal our marriage, he locks the door behind her. He's hiding how excited he is to do this with a stern look. What? You heard me, I'm a royal and example to all fae. They are starting to question not just me but us because we have no heir yet. That has nothing to do with them- in my world it does. My power could be taken away in seconds if they think I can't do something as simple as breeding my wife.
She blushes with wide eyes and nods, fine. She goes to start taking off layers but is shocked. A gasp leaves her lips when he wastes no time to get his hands on her. It's like something in him finally broke free as she feels him rush to take off her clothes. His lips on her neck biting and kissing the skin. I've been waiting for this, he admits as he lays her on his bed. Quickly rushing to undo the buttons on his shirt. Stripping as fast as he did to her before climbing onto the bed. Kissing her eagerly with a moan and pulling away to admire her body.
Months of imagining my wife is finally over... He trails his hands down her body. Grabbing her tits, touching every curve, scar, and even leaning down to kiss a couple. His cock is leaking precum onto her thigh, I can't help it. He laughs softly at his mess, you are everything to me. I'm so ...excited to finally have you, he runs his cock through her folds and watches as she squirms. You could've done this a while ago, she admits and grinds her hips. I've trusted you for a while now, she admits then gasps as he pushes into her.
Her nails dig into his shoulder, mine...finally all fucking mine. He groans softly, he's panting hard and he knows he's not going to last. They weren't lying about a humans cunt. It's so tight, wet, and wrapped around him so torturously good. She can't say the same, everything she heard about fae cock was a lie. It's said that they are small and thin but she's so full. A whimper leaves her lips as her eyes roll back. She could feel it throbbing inside of her it's hitting right where it needs to without even moving.
Before she knows it he's grabbing her legs and basically folding her. Pushing them back and fucking into her quickly. A moaned cry leaves her lips at the new feeling. Maids and workers in the area stop. They look at each other then at the royals room. They smile knowing and proud that their royals have finally sealed their deal. Rushing off to leave the hall empty and to gossip.
While getting fucked she feels his thumb land on her clit. Softly rubbing the soft bud unlike his harsh thrusts. She can feel her body start to shake, make me cum...please... He swears he almost came hearing her say that. He nods, waited too damn long to not let you cum. He kisses her, I'll save the games for next time. Leans down and bites her neck causing her to cum hard all over his cock. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Too tight...he moans and cums deep in her.
This is a royal breeding session. He's not done, he's not even close to finished as his cock stays hard. They both are panting and he looks into her eyes. Such a pretty human wife for me... you'll look so pretty carrying my heir... His hips move slowly but precise as she chokes up at each thrust. Going to keep you in this position...all night. I know it will take without any special things being done but...you just look so pretty under me like this at my mercy.
Something about a doctor taking advantage of me is so yummy! It really shouldn't be but the idea of going to the doctor and getting fucked is insane. Especially as someone who actually doesn't really like doctors. I wanna walk all shy and nervous into the room. I'm just crazy to get it over with, he tells me to strip but doesn't leave the room. I'm your doctor sweetheart, it's okay but his eyes glance at me like I'm prey.
I always have a hard time getting on the examination table. Having him press his body against me and manhandle me onto it. Me squeaking at how strong he is also because he was just between my legs. His bulge against my bare cunt and the moment he pulls away in squeezing my thighs closed. Him doing regular check up stuff until he starts groping my tits. Telling me I'm being so good as I try not to squirm. Telling myself that this is all normal doctor things.
Lay back for me, spread your legs, and place them right here. He guides me and I try to cover up as I listen. This isn't that kind of appointment why could he be doing this? But I don't dare to question him since he is a doctor, he knows best. We both tug on my gown and he smiles at me, sweetheart... I need you to let go so I can do my job. He says in a sweet tone but his grip is tight as he yanks the gown away. You look all healthy! But I need a more...hands on approach to make sure. This might feel weird, he says as he starts to play with my clit.
Sir! I try to close my legs but he's strapping them down quickly then going back to what he was doing. I know sweetie but it will be over soon, all girls need to go through this exam. I'm panting and trying to behave. Acting like it's not feeling so good as he mutters some fancy medical terminology to say I'm wet. Him forcing an orgasm out of me as I cover my mouth and tear up embarrassed. Everything seems good outside but I need an internal look and then we are all good! I feel his fingers push into me and whimper. He fingers me for a couple seconds before playing concerned.
Looks like I'll need a deeper feel, he sighs and pulls his fingers out. Quickly undoing his belt and pushing them down enough to free his cock. There will be some discomfort but just for a second, okay sweetheart? Wait...sir I don't think I need this part, I try to reason but he's already pushing in. I gasp and grab the table tightly. I hear him moan softly, just right... As he starts slowly thrusting into me. I can feel how healthy you are! You are such a good girl taking care of your body, he praises. Since this is your first check up like this you'll need a special medicine. Special medicine? I whimper as another orgasm is forced out of me.
There could be some side effects of this medicine, okay? He moans softly and tightens his grip on my hips. Morning sickness, cravings, and more... His thrusts become a little more desperate. Before I can get another word out he's fucking his cum into me. I whimper and lay tired on the exam table as he pulls out. He fixed my gown and makes me sit up to look at him. You did such a good job! One of the best girls for her first appointment here. I expect to see you again in a couple months. He's fixing his pants and walking towards the door. The nurse will be in shortly to help you finish up.
This was inspired by these videos that have been my obsession this weekend.
Hi my love, could you do a gynecologist!rafe but with sex toys??
warnings: pt.2, age gap, medical kink, doctor/patient power dynamic, vibrator use, unprotected vaginal sex, overstimulation, orgasm control, creampie, praise + degradation, explicit language, breeding talk, not proofread!
pairing: gynecologist!rafe x reader
you don’t even ask why the room looks different today.
there’s no paper sheet this time, no stirrups either. just a soft leather bench—low, cushioned—and a warm towel already laid out for you to sit on.
rafe closes the door gently behind you, locks it, then turns.
“i’m trying a new setup,” he says casually, like it’s nothing. “just you and me. and a few pieces of equipment.”
you blink at the black cloth he’s unfolding. laid out inside: a sleek silver bullet vibrator, a thicker pink wand, a long toy that curves upward, and… a pair of wireless earbuds?
your mouth opens. “what’s that for?”
he smiles, calm and professional. “this is a focused stimulation protocol. we’ll be testing internal and external response patterns. i’ll be tracking your body’s reactions—tightness, temperature, muscle tension, vocalization. if you follow direction, we’ll finish with penetration.”
you swallow hard. “oh—okay.."
he helps you out of your clothes slowly. he deliberately folds them, setting them aside.
he has you lie back, legs open, hands relaxed at your sides.
“deep breath for me,” he says, voice low as he clicks the wand on. “and keep your eyes on me.”
the wand touches your clit and your hips jerk. it’s too much—you’re already sensitive from just being there, bare and watched under his gaze.
he hums in approval.
“good. you're very responsive. now don’t move.”
he keeps it there. doesn’t push, doesn’t thrust, just holds it steady while his other hand gently strokes your inner thigh. you’re panting, thighs already shaking. when you moan, he shushes you softly.
“quiet. you’ll distract the data.”
your orgasm hits like a wave—slow, rolling, overwhelming. you cry out without meaning to, clutching at the edge of the bench.
“mhm,” he says, making a little note in the tablet beside him. “that’s one.”
you barely recover before he’s sliding the curved toy inside you—warm, lube-slicked, angled perfectly—and turning that on too.
you feel it immediately, deep pressure that makes your toes curl.
rafe watches your face closely. “g-spot stimulation,” he murmurs. “let’s see if it triggers another release.”
you whimper, eyes glassy. “dr. cameron—feels so full—”
“you’re doing so well,” he murmurs, pressing the wand back to your clit at the same time. “just one more.”
you scream into your arm as you come again, harder this time.
wetter.
you don’t even realize you’re crying until his thumb wipes your cheek.
“beautiful baby. perfect reactions.” his voice is quieter now. “you’re ready.”
he sets the toys aside, wipes you down with something warm and gentle. then unbuckles his belt.
his cock is thick, flushed, leaking at the tip as he strokes it once.
“last part of the exam,” he says, voice rough.
“i need to feel you around me. just to confirm everything’s working the way it should.”
you nod, dazed. “yes… please. i want it.”
he sinks into you slow—slow enough to feel every inch.
you moan, eyes rolling back.
“fuck,” he groans. “tightest little cunt i’ve ever felt. all that prep and you’re still squeezing me."
you are, though. you’re so ready it hurts.
he moves with purpose. slow and deep, hitting the same spot the toy had touched. your whole body is electric—every nerve edge-sharp.
“you gonna come on my cock now?” he pants.
“gonna let me fuck another one out of you?”
you nod desperately, nails digging into the bench. “yes—yes, i’m coming—!”
he doesn’t stop. he fucks you through it, keeps going until your moans fall apart and your thighs shake uncontrollably.
“gonna fill this little pussy up,” he grits, breath stuttering. “need to see how your body reacts to cum. medical necessity, baby.”
you cry out as he finishes inside you, hips pressed deep, holding you full.
he stays there for a long moment. breathing with you. keeping you close.
“we’ll run a follow-up in seventy-two hours. i’ll want another sample then.”
thinking about a doctor going further and further, getting more and more inappropriate with me, while maintaining a completely professional tone.
normal breast exam morphing to playing with them, squeezing and twisting my nipples all the while telling me its important to test both nipples sensitivity.
checking my mouth turning into their gloved fingers in it, touching every spot, moving with curiosity closer to my throat. while i drool and gag, they reassure me that feeling for abnormalities has always been done like this and i'm doing so well.
after a regular vaginal exam they start to play with my clit, fingers wandering inside me. before long they insist, its always been important for a doctor to make sure i can cum.
thinking about a doctor casually violating me, trying to see what they can get away with...
doctor who reassures your parents that it’s okay if you come into the room on your own, who sits on his chair and instructs you to take your clothes off, hushing you when you ask why, reminding you that they’re a professional, who gets you to lay on the examination table and open your legs, placing a gloved hand on your lower tummy with little pressure…
‘just a little wider for me… there you go’
doctor who slides cold tools inside you, prodding and stretching you out while he ‘hmm’s at himself until he uses that same gloved hand to slide two fingers inside you, making you squirm and blush bc no one has done that to you before, and it makes you feel all tingly down there, you put a hand over your mouth when you notice little involuntary moans coming out and you don’t want the doctor to notice, still feeling his fingers moving inside you and you can’t stop the overwhelming feeling come over you he starts to move faster, your body shaking and try to push him away but it’s too late, you let out a much louder moan when you start to cum all over his fingers, panting and heart racing out of your chest, once the doctor removes his fingers you feel empty again, his gloved hand shiny from how wet you are and he examines the evidence, slides the glove off and throwing it in the bin before turning to you and letting you know you can put your clothes back on while he finishes his notes.
Hiii!! Can I request gynecologist rafe x fem reader that can’t orgasm and he helps her (some smut)
Tysm, love your stories!! <3
warnings: smut, taboo, age gap (19/29), medical kink, orgasm therapy, fingering, dirty talk, dominant!rafe, nervous!reader, lowercase
pairing: gynecologist!rafe cameron x fem!reader
you’re not sure what’s worse—the paper gown, the stirrups, or the fact that the man standing between your knees is painfully attractive.
dr. rafe cameron.
“first time?”
he asks, voice low and smooth. he doesn’t look like any doctor you’ve ever seen. slicked-back hair, perfect teeth, sleeves rolled up to show strong, veiny forearms. his gold watch catches the light.
you nod. “yeah.”
his eyes flick down to your trembling knees. “nervous?”
“a little,” you whisper, even though your heart’s beating so hard it’s making your chest ache.
he hums, scribbling something on the clipboard.
“you’re nineteen. no birth control. no active partners. but you made this appointment yourself. so what’s goin’ on, baby?”
your cheeks burn.
god.
this is so embarrassing.
you look down at your hands, fingers fidgeting in your lap.
“i… i can’t finish.”
his brow lifts. “what do you mean?”
you hesitate. then, in a small voice, “i’ve never had an orgasm. not with someone. not by myself.”
he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t make a face. he just stares at you for a second like he’s reading you.
“how long you been tryin’?”
you shrug. “a couple of years.. i thought something was wrong with me.”
he steps closer. “nothing’s wrong with you.” a pause. “some girls just need a little help.”
your breath catches. “you mean…?”
his voice drops. “i mean, if you’re open to it, i can do an internal evaluation. a hands-on assessment. we’ll go slow. see if we can figure out what’s keepin’ you from letting go.”
you blink up at him, wide-eyed. “that’s… allowed?”
he smiles. “with your consent? yeah, baby. i’m licensed to make you feel good.”
you shiver.
he helps you lie back on the table, spreading your legs gently into the stirrups. the gown falls open. you’re bare under it. skin prickles as the cool air hits your center.
his eyes drag down your body, hungry. “pretty little thing,” he mutters, almost to himself. then louder, “i’ll start with just one finger.”
you nod, breath shaky.
he gloves up, squirts a little lube onto his fingers, and presses one thick finger inside you. slow. smooth. your body clenches around the intrusion, and he pauses.
“tight,” he murmurs. “you ever use toys?”
you shake your head. “just fingers.”
“makes sense.” he pushes deeper, his other hand resting on your thigh to keep you still. “gonna feel around a little. let me know if anything feels good.”
you can’t speak—you’re already panting. he curls his finger upward, and your hips jolt.
he smirks. “there she is.”
he presses again. and again. and each time your back arches a little more. you’re gasping now, whimpering when he adds a second finger, stretching you wider.
his thumb brushes your clit, slow and steady. “you’ve been waitin’ for this, huh?”
“y-yeah,” you breathe.
“just needed someone to show you how your body works. someone who knows how to make you cum.”
his fingers speed up, thumb rubbing harder. your thighs shake, breath ragged.
“rafe—i—”
he mumbles low. “that’s dr. cameron to you, baby. say it.”
“dr. cameron,” you whine.
“that’s right. say it again when you come.”
your whole body is burning. your hands clutch the paper beneath you, hips grinding into his palm. it builds so fast you almost don’t believe it—your first real orgasm crashing through you like lightning, loud and hot and blinding.
you moan his name as you fall apart, legs trembling. he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering, too sensitive to take it.
he finally pulls out, fingers glistening. he watches the way your pussy flutters, still clenching around nothing.
“fuck,” he mutters. “we’re definitely gonna need a follow-up appointment.”
