♡ AN: this was meant for yesterday, but I forgot to post
♡ TW: heavy dubcon, Christian religious connotations, corrupt priest, abuse of power, naive reader, rimming
♡ FEM reader
Your boyfriend told you that it was okay to use your mouths on each other's bodies, even if it’s before marriage. He told you that, if you were really a devoted girlfriend, you would be happy letting him lick your pussy whenever he wants and grateful to take his cock down your throat in return.
He even told you that God wouldn't mind if he put it up your butt, either—that good Christian girlfriends are meant to take it up the ass for their boyfriends. That’s how you practice for the real thing, he told you—so actually, you should let as many people as possible try your ass before marriage. He even offered that he and all his friends could do it for you—that they’d be happy to teach you.
You’d never heard of such practices before, but speaking to a couple of your church sisters, they’d told you that all of their boyfriends had enlightened them as well—they’d all assured you it was normal, standard procedure even.
Still, you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the idea. And feeling confused and ashamed about it all, you wound up where you always wind up when you’re feeling that way—sitting pretty in confession, crying to the paster as you spill all the worrisome thoughts plaguing your mind.
He, unlike your boyfriend and the church sisters and their boyfriends, said you were right to have come to him, confirming your worries and telling you that, out of all your friends, you were the better Christian among them for having questioned it.
“Unfortunately…” he’d sighed heavily behind the mesh. “Such sinning, albeit only in thought, cannot be forgiven through mere confession.”
He tells you that your body was given to you by God and, therefore, belongs to him above all. That all your virginities, not just your pussy, but your throat and butt too, have been promised to God and cannot be given to anyone else without his permission or blessing. He even tells you that touching yourself is sinful—that just the act of talking or even just thinking about it requires forgiveness.
You cry and ask how you should repent, and he tells you that he’ll have to purge your dirty body free of sin—that the only way to come back to the light is to let god reclaim your body. Comforting you while you weep, he promises you that he’ll do everything in his power to help you while leading you to his clergy room.
Before him, you’d undressed down to your birth suit and stood there, in the nippy air, as he inspected every inch closely—feeling evermore distressed each time he made a sound click with his tongue against his teeth.
Shaking his head for the final time, he announced he was finished assessing the damage and feared it was way worse than what he thought initially, saying your treatment would take several weeks, maybe even months if it persists.
And then, naturally, he’d proceeded to redeem all your sullied holes by performing a cleansing ritual where, in order to reach deep enough, he’d even graced you by using his own manhood, beating the evil out of you before salving you with his seed.
And ever since, you’ve come to him every Sunday, ready for your treatment and grateful for his guidance…
“You’ve gotten so good at this, my child. God is very pleased with you,” he sighs with his chest, manspreading in the confessional with you kneeling between his legs, head bobbing up and down as you suckle on his length in a way you’ve become familiar with doing. “So, so, so very good.”
You slurp up the spit that had spilled from your mouth, cheeks hollowing around him, tongue swiping out to wet the spine up to the crown—all with such unfaltering devotion as if you fully and truly believed your soul was hanging in the balance. Both hands kept where they belonged, finger-locked in prayer, glazed in the drool dripping down your chin.
“Kids these days are so quick to lose their way...” he drawls while petting your head—stroking your hair slowly, braiding his fingers within the locks, then giving them a slight tug, letting you know to let him in deeper—open your throat for him and let God in. “But you’ve found it again. Making God so proud. Letting him purify you.”
He lets out a relaxed sigh as he lifts his legs, laying them down to rest upon your shoulders, putting them in a cross atop your back like a comfy footstool, all while lodging himself deeper down your wet, hot guzzle until your nose nuzzles his hairy pelvis.
“All the way now, down deep where it needs to be.”
You gag, haven’t quite learned how to keep it to yourself despite his teachings, spluttering around him while unraveling your hands to hold his thighs, tapping the stiff muscles for release.
But he only makes the leglock around your head tighter, trapping you there in the choke while you squeeze the tears out of your eyes.
“Sweet child, don’t fight it. Have faith,” he encourages, feeling your throat constrict as you try to cough around him, making desperate noises that strum him like a cord, having him twitch within your pipe—thoroughly enjoying your struggle while he, as though the words are taken from passage, declares, “You have to learn to appreciate every breath the lord blesses you with.”
His head rolls back with a rugged groan, feeling the fight evenly seep from you until he’s left simply wearing your face like a perfect fit, as if housing his cock was your throat's true purpose. For all you know, it was. You’re such a faithful little believer—so gullible and sweet for him, he could spit in your mouth and call it holy water, and you’d believe it and swallow it with a smile.
“Every time your mouth is free, you should rejoice,” he continues, with the same warm tone he preaches with at mass.
Leisurely, he unlocks his legs and slowly pulls his fat manhood out of your sticky mouth. Keeping your hair between his fingers, using it to hold your head as he clasps his other hand over your abused throat. Smiling down at you when his wet cock lands like a slug over the dumb expression on your face, smearing it with the sticky mess while you pant for air.
“Say, Thank you, Father.”
Your voice is sore and weak, but still, you recite it back to him faithfully, “Thank you, Father.”
His smile grows at your obedience, watching you glue your hands back together again—just like he’d taught you—before guiding your mouth back to his cock. “Good girl.”
He could never get enough of silly church girls like you who take his every word to heart, but you were by far the silliest, and therefore his very favorite. You're so naïve; you deserve to be used. Your boyfriend had the right idea; it’s only right for a girl like you to pucker your lips and worship him like this, pecking his spit-slicked length with sloppy kisses that have strings of saliva connecting you to him. It’s too bad your boyfriend isn’t a man of the cloth, or you’d be swallowing every pearl of his pre like holy communion, too, right now.
You kiss the head and make eye contact with the white-collared male—doe-eyes looking up into his heated ones as he gives you another command, “Go lower, my child, to the source.”
He takes his length in his own hand and gives it lax strokes, watching you bow your head like he’d said—groaning with rust as you give his heavy balls a sweet lick, starting to lap and suck them into your mouth. Nomming the seedy pouches one at a time, exchanging between the two with wet lip-smacking pops and muffled moans while praying for the white salvation stored within them.
“Good, sweet child,” he purrs in praise of your devotion. “Worship and God shall forgive your sins.”
The hand fisting your hair pulls you in closer, making your face mush into the pudgy sack—nose drenched in musk and cheeks smeared with the slick of his inner thighs, hugged between them in a mixture of cum and spit.
“Mmh,” he moans, a kind smile still adorning his face as you cuddle with his groin—happy and pleased with your obedience.
You’re so very good for him, it’s nothing short of ridiculous—blindingly trusting his every word like scripture. He wonders if there’s any command he could give where you wouldn’t pliantly nod your head and abide.
It brings him joy to think there isn’t—that you’d do even the most depraved and degrading things with a nod—lick his feet, drink his piss, eat his ass.
The thought makes him groan and wet his lips before giving his next command.
“Go lower.”
Shuffling forward until his tailbone was at the edge of the bench, he peeled his shoes from the stone floors yet again and put them to rest on your shoulders, canting his hamstrings straight—propped at the perfect angle—having your glossy spit-slicked expression face to face with his ass. Knowing you and how utterly innocent you were, he only eagerly awaited your pretty mouth to come kiss his tender taint without question, thinking you’d all too willingly lick up what spit had already dripped down between the cheeks and bury your little pink tongue as deep as you could inside his halo—all the while praying for God to forgive your sins.
But despite him already imagining it, this would instead be the first time you actually didn’t do exactly as he asked, and instead, sat there still, gut churning within you as you go against your better judgment with a small, nearly silent plea upon your lips, “Do I… do I really have to, Father?”
He tilts his head in question at your hesitation, feeling a little stunned as it was the first time you’d ever asked such a thing. But, letting the shock rest, he smiles nonetheless while soothing your doubts, “We are but animals in the eyes of the lord, little one. He’s our shepherd, and we are but cattle grazing on his farm.”
He strokes your head while stroking his cock, explaining it to you in words he knew for sure you’d scarf up like a starved beggar, “And just like God makes cows filter through dirt to get the grass, so will you eat my ass to get your salvation. Understand?”
You still look nervous, and he chuckles softly.
“It's okay if you don’t, little one. The ways of the lord are mysterious, after all,” he croons at you, still petting your head with a smile. “But don’t worry. All you have to do is continue to listen and obey me, and I’ll guide you until God’s will becomes your second nature.”
His smile is kind, and his eyes are trustworthy, and though you feel something sinful in your heart telling you to refuse, you will it away. You must not doubt. You must trust in the lord. Father is helping you earn his forgiveness. How dare you question him?
“Yes, Father.”
You close your eyes and do as you were told—in your rightful place, kneeling and bowing and doing your best to worship your God. Puckering your lips, you place a chaste kiss on the warm rim in front of you.
He moans at the contact and promptly pulls your hair, yanking your face against him, having you linger instead—lips pressed firmly against his rear with your nose buried within the weight of his ballsack.
“The Lord wants your tongue, sweet child.” His hand slides to the back of your head and braids with the hair at the nape of your neck, cupping your skull and pulling you even closer, sternly commanding you to “Lick the taint from ass to balls.”
He’s sickly pleased as you, despite your bleating, produce your tongue to do as instructed. Shuddering as you lick over the bud of his hole, feeling it scrunch and pulse upon your tongue before leaving it to lave upwards toward his sack, tasting salt as you go.
“This isn’t for the sake of pleasure,” he says then, continuing to stroke his manhood leisurely as he pushes your head down to repeat the lap. “This is to remind us of what we are. Stripped naked and bare before The Lord, just like every other animal—doing what animals do.”
Holding his cock, he strokes himself carefully against your forehead, feeling your nose tickling his ball-sack while your lips close around his asshole. Having never felt the wet, hot embrace of a mouth down there before, he finds himself quickly becoming addicted to it—or maybe he was simply feeling consumed with his position of power, dressed in his holy robes with a young believer on her knees, eating his ass, believing it to be the will of God just because he’d said so.
“Good, my child, groom me.”
You kept your eyes closed as you began mouthing at the sparse hairs on his taint, greedily wishing for God’s blessing as well as the hand in your hair to relent its harsh grip.
“Stick your tongue inside, suck and swallow my sweat and hardships—show God your unwavering devotion through selfless worship,” he groans, rubbing your face even further into him, inside him, listening to you struggle with a muffled wince into his crack, and yet stretching your tongue out just as he’d ordered, going as deep as his prostate and sending an immediate shock throughout him.
“That’s it!” He pulls you off and sprang to his feet just as suddenly, tugging your head back. “Come, my child—drink my seed.” His tone is breathy and urgent, fapping his cock in rushed strokes, tip pointed at your panting lips as you take in the air you’d been denied.
“It’s coming—oh!” He shoves the head halfway inside the opening before blowing, continuing to go deeper until the ropes go shooting right down your throat, asking frenziedly while shivering, “Can you feel him? God's warmth and kindness surging through and into you, little one?”
Grinding his hips against you while they stutter, he makes sure to ride it out for as long as he can make it last.
“Drink every drop, sweet child—let God's love bless you.”
He feels the walls of your mouth tighten up around him, sucking up all the spit flooded with his cum into one big gulp, going down into your belly.
“Good girl, swallow it all,” he praises you before finally pulling the spent and slowly softening length out one long inch at a time until it finally drops out, becoming a heavy deadweight between his thighs.
“Thank you, Father–” you muster through your raw throat.
He pets your head again, breathing thickly while smiling down at the sight of you, a few black curly hairs stuck in the slick on your face, chest sweaty and heaving, and still with your hands together in prayer before you.
“Sweet child…” he hums, plucking off the pubes before giving your cheek a stroke. “You're welcome.”
Day Seven! Its Martyn Woodhurst! Again another character where i just love the characterisation off, i love seeing the little internal moments written down in the videos because it let you understand what he's doing, what he's planning. Its genrally amazing. And as much as I hate to say it, what he did to Apo was kinda understandable.
Decided for some reason to draw him in the carriage he was in before he was forgotten. We dont know if that really happened, but I thought drawing a moody portrait would be fun.
This was written as a part of the @vsmp-bat-conservation-event Donate at this link here to donate to the Australasian Bat Society!
Also as a bonus note, I wrote this while my cat was asleep, purring in my lap. everyone say hi to Hera now.
Apo isn't really sure what she was expecting, coming across The Doctor, Pyro and Owen while looking for something to eat. But this was the last thing on her mind.
A young grey headed flying fox, purring loud enough for Apo to hear across the clearing, rests lazily across Leg's right shoulder, their head almost falling onto his arm. All the while, an Australian Ghost Bat chirps comfortably in Leg's lap, leaning into his hand as the Doctor scratches between his ears.
Legs smiles at her, and Apo looks him over, checking for bites. For signs of him turning.
There are none.
"You can join us." Legs offers comfortably, his entire body relaxed. "I don't think Pyro would mind."
"I wouldn't." Pyro confirms, his voice disconcertingly loud from the small grey head that rests on Legs' arm. "Legs has another shoulder. It's comfortable."
"I might if you keep talking." Owen grumbles from where he rests, but Pyro doesn't do anything other than let out a chittering laugh, and Legs scratches his head harder. "Join us or don't. Scott and Shelby are busy scaring the humans, so we've got some privacy."
"You're safe here." Legs leans back against a great oak tree, half shutting his eyes.
Apo knows what he's doing - relaxing so that she will feel safe. Will feel comfortable to join them. The man who led her to being changed, and the one person she thought she could trust in the town. But-
But they weren't the ones who turned her.
She's still mad at them. Still angry that they did this to her, that Owen got her turned in the first place. That Pyro didn't try to defend her. But.
She wants this. She wants to feel safe - to be safe again. If only for a moment. And they clearly aren't hurting Legs. Legs clearly feels safe enough around them to let Pyro so close to his neck. She wants to feel comfortable again.
Apo steels herself, and shifts into an explosion of eastern red bats. She watches as they all fly off in different directions - she's never sure what the other parts of her do while they're seperate, but sometimes they hide in her skirts during the day - before she cautiously flies towards Legs.
The Doctor holds out his left arm casually, like he's hoping she will give him a hand to help get him off the ground. Instead, she lands on his arm softly. She doesn't want to tear the fabric of his uniform, even if he's already muddied it by sitting in the dirt.
Legs hums with approval as she climbs up towards his neck. She can smell the blood under his skin, can hear it beat so close to her fangs. It makes her sick, but Pyro sends her a wave of comfort through the small bond they share, on account of them having the same sire. Apo sends back a cautious acknowledgement, which just serves to make Pyro purr louder. What an odd person.
Apo tucks her head onto Legs' shoulder, content to watch the world go by as the early evening turns into true night. The crickets start chirping in earnest as the song birds start to sleep. Every so often, Apo can even hear an owl fly past. Rabbits go into their warrens as foxes slip into the shadows. She can't hear the sounds of the town, nor the tell tale flap of bat wings.
All she can hear is Pyro purring, Owen chirping, and Legs' comfortable breathing.
Final day, but hopefully not the end to the fun! I had a blast this week, and this event really helped me get myself out of a funk I’ve been having this winter. So thankful for everyone who participated, and everyone who showed their support!!!
