† Moira doesn't believe in God until the Devil comes calling.
moira/mercy | E | 10k | oneshot | porn with plot | priest moira/devil mercy
On Sunday the woman was in the congregation, seated in a pew near the front of the small church, with her hands rested delicately across her lap and her eyes cast downward.
Moira caught sight of her at once and could not look away. She said the words that she knew well enough to speak from rote memory, their recitation automatic as her mind dwelt somewhere else entirely. Behind her the carved figure of the crucifix stared down at her. Her palms itched and her ears felt hot even in the cool drafty building.
The woman knelt at the rail to accept Communion. Her hands were folded over her chest. Her eyes were closed as she tilted her head back. Her pink lips parted and her tongue emerged.
Moira pressed the Host to the woman’s tongue. Her fingers lingered for perhaps an instant longer than they would have otherwise. Her heart beat hard inside her chest and something seemed to twist inside of her.
“Amen,” the woman said softly, and her eyes opened to stare up at Moira.
That night she tossed violently in bed, tormented by recollection and imagination and the thickness of desire pulsing through her as if her blood itself had become hot and heavy. She palmed between her thighs once, twice, then took the immense effort to tear her hand away. She could not indulge. She could not linger. She would starve the fire and it would die.
