𝙾𝙵𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴
You want to be by his side as much as time will allow you. The end all, be all of your soul. spencer @kamoniwa and i were screaming about this in dms & we gave each other the green light to write it so hfhdis thank you and also a big thank you to carrie @ourladyofseijoh aka queen of sacrilege for beta reading and all your help in general ♡ i hope you enjoy!!
meian shugo wordc. 4k+
tw priest!meian, sacrilege, (semi) public, coercion/manipulation, god complex, degradation, religious guilt/ trauma and a lot of catholic imagery in general, he’s called Father
There’s no place to escape prying eyes in the House of God. You’ve always felt this way when you were younger too, clinging to the cold of the thick pillars that carry the monstrous building, old and dark and unavoidable.
Even when there was no such sin to taint your hands and mouth, you could look up and feel the weight of eyes on you through the deep purple and azure of the stained glass, making your throat tight and fight small. Now, they are incessant, eternal, and with each passing moment standing in this place of good and light the walls seem to crumble a little more around you.
But most of all, you’re overwhelmed by the flicks of a gaze you can feel on your back, flitting ever so gently along the edges of your frame. They are soft, no longer suffocating like sand that fills your lungs. No— the prickly gaze you feel on the swell of your cheeks and down your shoulder is more than that. You light a candle and slot it along with dozen others, taking a deep breath. Unsteady, it trembles through your frame with the weight of this place on your shoulders. The dimness of the high ceiling, the chill of the wind that whips inside and brings goosebumps to your legs, none of it is enough to keep you away.
Not anymore, not since you… well. Faith takes shape in many ways, you remind yourself of those words, willing the nerves to die down as the groups of people take their seats and the pastor up front welcomes with kind words. Most of them are elders, some of which you recognize from when you were still a little girl and who you think will keep coming until death knocks. Strange you knew them before the looks started piercing through your soft skin and the image of unsettling loneliness was taken away. You linger in the back of the large room now, next to one of the pillars, carefully studying the plane of light that falls so perfectly on the pulpit. Golden crucifix catching a gleam, and keeping your eyes straight ahead.
Looming as the building is, sometimes you wonder how you’d fare if you simply stopped coming. If the eyes would follow you long after you’ve run around the corner and hid away under the plush of your blankets. You hope they don’t, but a sharp pressure to your chest tells you they would. And if not, the fear of being left all by yourself is what brought you back in the first place, you have no doubt it could drag you back by your ankles once again. The woman behind the organ starts a simple melody as the people rise to sing. Swirling voices that fill the room and seem to tip the peace off it’s axes, and then a simple breath.
Even though he remains a few steps away, the mere presence is enough to have your hairs standing up and your breathing feel laboured, a needed reminder that this— this is why you return. And that meeting him like this is the closest you’ll get to a religious experience again, that from the moment you met eyes with him and felt his gaze on your tear-strung lashes there was something worth saving. The slow melody of the song is interrupted by a deep voice, and you hold the urge to turn around to him right away.
“Back again already.” There’s something in his tone, always. Under layers of composure and confidence it sits, like a bite of fresh fruit, tempting you to take more, taste more, have all of him— He lets out a breath of amusement when you don’t move, burning his pupils into the side of your face. “It’s a bit soon, don’t you think?” It isn’t really a question, so you don’t answer. You only lace your hands together and look away from the pastor to stare at the floor. “Something to repent for that couldn’t wait until Sunday?”
“I wanted to see you,” you whisper, blinking aimlessly at the tips of your shoes. More than that, it hurt being away from him, ice growing on your veins the longer you waited, but you don’t think it’s fair to tell him that. A soft hum is all his response for a few seconds, before he leans over your shoulder to tower over you so easily. You can see his chest from the corner of your eye, the curve of his shoulder and a bit of exposed skin of his neck. And your tongue burns with a need, an unfair whisper of what could be. What secrets lie upon that skin that you’ll never be able to see.
But with his mouth close enough to your ear to raise the small bumps on your arms, he speaks, voice amused. “Little liar.” Those two words are enough to have your tongue rotting in your mouth, glueing it to the base and fighting through the defenses you want to put up. Because despite the hard tone, there’s a certain loveliness to the term. A sickly endearment for broken things. “I think you’re just looking for trouble so you can repent. So are you a servant of God or not, sweet thing? Because I’m starting to have my doubts.” With another step towards you you sway on your feet, hands clamping down on your shirt.
“I—” you try, stilling just as quickly. You don’t know a lot of things, you’re young and though you’d choose to be a bit smarter, a bit brighter; all you’re really sure of is that you start and end with him. And that from the moment you saw him, so holy and otherworldly, you were called to worship at his feet. You must be a servant of God, if this is all you’re reduced to around him. “I am, of course I am. I’m devoted, I swear.” Another chuckle as he presses up against your back now, voices and music fading into the void.
“Your honesty is endearing,” he whispers, bringing up his hand to the front of your throat and tilting your head back just a bit. The rise and fall of his chest seems more melodic than it should. You long to fall to that sound, let it take over your body and mind all at once. But for now his voice will suffice— and if anything, more than that would probably suffocate you. “But you’re just a sinner here. You shouldn’t be standing here like this. You should be on your knees, praying for forgiveness.”
“I will, Father Meian,” you shake as he squeezes a bit tighter, pulling your body against him more. Your breathing hitching, lips dropping open at the squeeze and the swirling in your brain. So lightheaded, like only he can make you feel. “I’ll repent in front of you a million times if that’s what you deem necessary. Please.” His hard-lined, strong body pressed against you, overwhelming every of your senses. He smells like something dark, a spice that interrupts your thoughts. And it’s unfair, so unfair, because he always tells you you smell sweet, but you’re sure there’s no lovelier scent in the world than him.
He hums as he places a soft kiss on your neck, before straightening out when the pastor up front ends his round of greetings and moves back to the pulpit. And you can feel the eyes that seem to look on from above, but now they seem to beg for you, beg to see your skin split open and be bled out from sin, and you know that only Meian could make that a reality. For as much as you are unknowing about, you do know this one thing. You’d pray at his feet for the rest of your days if you could, crawl on your knees and scrape the skin until your bones turn to ash.
If that’s what it means to worship, you think you could. For him. “What ungodly thing did you manage this time? Think you can tell me?” His large hands trail down the curve of your spine to up at your hips, settling there with soft circles and a deep breath. He pulls you back into his large, strong body, as you pretend that you can’t feel the need gush to your center and warm you up top to bottom. “What’s the matter, my little whore? Can’t tell a Father something so bad, is that it? You think I can’t help you when you tell me about how you opened your legs for me every night for the past month, stuffing your fingers inside yourself while you’re thinking of me?”
You gasp, whimpering when he starts pushing his hips to your backside and bunches up your long skirt to slip his hand underneath it. You stumble to the side a few steps to lean into the cold stone and turn your face toward it, quickly grabbing the front of your clothing to push it back down as much as the fabric allows. Meian chuckles behind you when his two fingers slide over the sticky, wet patch of your panties. “Confess. Or else I stop right now. And you’ll stay a filthy, sopping wet, unmarried slut with no place in the House of God.”
You whimper when those fingers slide under the crotch of them to rub between the slick folds of your pussy, letting you drop back your head against his chest where it rises and falls so gently, taking the most private part of you and making it his again. His breaths cascade down your neck when he leans down to kiss along your throat, and you’re so grateful that you’re hidden behind the pillar enough not to make a scene, because it’s impossible to stay silent when the two thick digits dip into you and slide up to curl your walls.
Making you drip down his hand when he pulls them back, then stuffing them right back in place and stretching you open with easy motions that have your eyes closing and legs shaky. “Confess,” he breathes.
“Yes, I-” you whimper, cold of the stone under your palm the only thing to keep you from floating up, scratching your nails into it, “I touched myself while wishing it was you. W-wanted your—” You’re cut off by your own strained moan that you try to keep in, as he scissors his fingers in you and presses the tip of a third inside too, legs shifting open to make more room. You bite through a cry when he grabs your neck and pushes you forward, now clinging to the stone with shaky fingers and your cheek pressed up against it.
“Want my what?” he taunts, curling his fingers again into the spot that has you seeing stars as he motions in and out of your pussy with ease, humming when you arch your back more and push back against him. “Tell me, pretty girl.”
“Your hands and your mouth— hnm,” even with everything spoken under your breath and the organ still echoing through the grand hall, you feel like the words pound between your ears. “And your cock, F-father, oh-” he pulls his index finger out to rest it against your clit instead, rubbing these as he fucks his fingers into you again and again with a ruthless determination, “ah, please Father Meian.”
When the pressure builds up so much that it’s impossible to focus on anything else, heat filling your belly and legs about to buckle, he lifts the back of your skirt up to expose the way his hand works between your thighs and dripping down his fingers with wet squelches.
You bite down on your own hand when the realization comes that you shouldn’t be getting touched this way in public -no matter how Holy Meian is- but stopping now is impossible. He grunts when your walls clench around him, the touches to your puffy clit becoming unbearable. “Always come running back to me so pretty.” And even in such simple words, you know aren’t imagining the care laced in those words.
“Always.” You reach behind you for his wrist when you get too close, throat catching and thighs shaking, digging your nails into the skin. “Oh- m, I- mhng, so close, please—” You can’t help the moan it drags from you, when he grabs your shoulders and pulls your much smaller body back against him, muscular arm pressed like a safeguard over your chest.
You let your eyes drop closed and lift your one leg for better access, before you’re shaking on his hand. “Cumming-” you cry, swallowing a moan when he grabs your throat and squeezes, the music suddenly falling away. You cum apart around his fingers, eyes clenched shut and shaking as he helps you through it, letting your body collapse into him where he holds you up.
“Quiet, pretty thing,” he mumbles though, “be quiet.” Your lashes are heavy with tears when you look around, stumbling back to your feet when his touch drops and he smears your wetness on the inside of your thigh, still keeping you close to his body as he turns you to face the congregation. Everyone is luckily still looking forward. You tremble when he slips his fingers from under your skirt to slide into his mouth. He leans around your other side to hover his lips over your ear. “See all those devoted people? That’s who I should be helping, instead of some stupid girl who keeps spreading her legs like a filthy, common whore.”
Finally, he lets go of you entirely, and you fist your hands in your white skirt when you finally turn to face him for the first time. Warm, angular eyes that seem to look through you, with pretty lips and a jaw to die for, the strong, intense features of the person haunting your dreams night after night. His one eyebrow raises. “Give me one good reason I should hear your prayers at all.”
“I- I,” you start, looking from him to your feet and then back as you hesitate. There’s so little you can say to him, it’s always been that way. You feel at a loss when you’re around him, but strangely, you feel an even greater loss not returning to him. Like the ocean forever chasing the beach.
“I meant it, I wanted to see you. Wanted to hear you and— want your h-help to get rid of this lust. I know it’s a bad thing but,” you swallow, ignoring the tiny twitch of his lips pulling upward, “but I can’t help myself, Father. Please help me.” He takes a moment to look around, before suddenly holding out his hand toward you. Like an offering.
You can only watch how he takes your hand into his giant palm, fingers wrapping around it to pull you away from the main hall to the side of the building. “Lets talk about this in private.” You’re pulled behind his big steps, frowning at the wet feeling of your panties between your legs. You really are some disgusting sinner, you think, as you’re walked through a smaller door into the sacristy. Not entirely separated, but enough to feel like you won’t be found out within a second if you look at him too long.
And you find yourself making that mistake often lately. “I think I know the cure to your problem,” he breathes, turning around to face you, and you drop your head all the way back to look at him as he speaks. “Here,” he drops your hand to his crotch, letting you feel his hard-on under his robes.
“Oh- I mean,” you feel the heat rise to your face now, looking away. You’d been touched and touched him plenty these last few months, the weight of his cock in your mouth still feeling as divine in memory. But when you try to sink onto your knees like you would normally, he keeps you upright, shaking his head. You blink. “N- How else can I—”
“You need something more than simple prayer.” You tremble a little when his hand comes to cup your cheek, urging you a little closer to his warm body as you feel his cock twitch in his boxers, pushing your legs together at the thought of feeling him there. You know it’s bad, but somewhere along the way lust must’ve taken hold of you too tight, because you feel like you can’t breathe. “Because you’re an unholy slut, a filthy little thing,” he whispers, now pushing the sleeves of your top over your shoulders with the murmuring of the pastor in the background. “You can’t be saved any other way, dumb girl. Take out my cock.”
You look into his pretty eyes as you take a breath, before doing as he says and lifting the black layers of robe. You push his underwear down, his huge cock slapping up against his stomach. The little breath you let out before spitting into your palm and wrapping your hand around him is soft, glancing over your shoulder towards the door. “Father, anyone could-”
“No one’s going to come in here,” he hisses, watching you pump your small hands along his shaft a few times, “if you’re quiet. What do you think they’d say if they found you here, stroking a Priest’s cock like a greedy little slut. This is your fault, stupid girl.” The low rumble of his voice is almost hypnotizing, keeping you right in place as he fucks his cock into your fists. You lean down, licking and sucking at the head of his cock with each thrust you get to feel him push between your lips into your warm mouth. But he stops you and motions you over to the table. “On here.”
Though your heart races in your chest, you do as he says. Laying down, kicking off your skirt and panties and spreading your legs for him with your eyes cast to the floor. He’s quick to grab your hips and haul you higher up onto it, pushing your knee up to your chest. His cock drools eagerly as he stands between your thighs, and you hold onto his hand as he pushes up against you. “Take a deep breath, pretty girl,” he whispers, slowly pushing the spongy head against your fluttering hole. “Let me help you. This is how you atone for your sins.”
Then he pushes into you, the thick head of his cock spreading you open and you instantly close your eyes at the stinging stretch, tearing up. “Aw, ah,” you squeak. You’re not a virgin, but it sure feels like it as your pussy is filled with him, pushing in more and more until you can barely feel anything but the way your stomach bulges to fit him. “Father, ah- M-Meian, it’s so,” your voice is muffled when you bring up your free hand to keep quiet, “big, s’big!”
“That’s it, good girl.” He holds still only a little when your poor walls are entirely filled by him, back arching to relieve some of the almost painful pressure in your belly. “My beautiful girl, there you go.” He pulls back, then pushing back inside with a snap of his hips, and you’re mewling to get away from him. It’s too good, too full and the stretch leaves you so empty each time he pulls back. But his large hands tighten on your hips as he forces himself back into your wet, gummy walls without mercy, speeding up the pace with each thrust. “Feel good?”
In the other room, the pastor’s clear voice echoes through the room.
And Jesus answered them, “Have faith in God.”
“Yes, yes,” you chant, letting him lift you up a little to drive his cock even deeper, pounding into your sensitive pussy so perfectly it has you seeing stars. You open your eyes enough to glance at his furrowed brows, enjoying your reactions more than he should. It’s clear when he shifts his hips up to push right into that spot, holding your legs as you try to snap them closed instinctively.
Have faith in God. Truly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him.
Instead of going easy on you this only seems to motivate him more, fucking into you even faster. His hips smacking against your puffy clit again and again. “You feel so, hng- good! Oh my— mhm! Too good, t-too good, please give me more! Oh God!”
Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.
Meian doesn’t slow, but instantly lifts your other leg to your chest too, making the table scrape along the stone floor with each thrust into you. And if you’d be able to see through your heavy tears, you’d see the way his lips flatten and a strange determination comes over his eyes. He rests his entire body to hold your thighs up and snaps his hips into you, wet paps of his skin and balls pounding against you. And with that the only thing you can think of chanting is ‘Oh God, oh God, please,’ over and over again as he fucks the thoughts out of you entirely.
And whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.
He suddenly pulls out and turns you over, letting you hips bump the edge of the table as you whine and moan, pushing back into your gushing hole as your eyes roll back. “Are you calling me God, baby?” he mumbles, holding your hips down and bottoming out with hard, impatient thrusts. “Calling me your God and coming undone on my cock like this, you want to be my personal whore, is that it?” You’re nodding before you can even realize what his words really mean, feeling his hand slip back between your legs to push over your clit with unfairly slow motions that don’t match his thrusts at all. “Pray to me.”
You do. “Help me, God my Savior, -ahh, for the glory of Your name.” He pounds you open until the pressure becomes so tight you’re clamping down on him, so close to another orgasm. “Deliver me and forgive me for my s-sins,” you cry, voice high pitched and shaky, “for Your name’s sake.”
The heat of his skin on yours seems to collect in your belly, aching to drop you into a second high. “Lord, I pray that You remove my guilt and wipe away my sins, hng- so that I can draw closer to You.” He moans when you clench around him, pounding your tiny pussy open and watching the way your glistening, slick pussy stretches around his fat cock a bit longer. “With You there is forgiveness so that I can, with reverence, serve You. I praise You for forgiving me for my sins even though I do not deserve it!”
You’re practically choking out the last part when he starts rubbing your oversensitive clit faster, with touches that leave your legs weak. “T-Thank You for -oh, God, thank You for loving me unconditionally, ah, ahng, A-Amen!”
“A little louder, baby, I can’t hear you,” he grabs hold of your face to turn it to the side as your mouth drops open and your tear stricken cheek is pressed to the table. It’s such a good sight to watch you completely destroyed on his cock, panting and shaking like a bitch in heat. You reach back to grab at his thighs for some support. Another flick of his finger makes you squeak.
“A—hng-ah Amen!”
“Where do you think God is now? Is he watching you get fucked right now? Do you think he despises you for being such a dirty slut? Tell me,” he growls. You clench around him so hard it’s almost impossible to pull out, sweat rolling down the valley of your breasts. “Or is he between your legs right now, making you cum like the pitiful bitch you are?” Each word is accentuated with the tilt of his hips. “Where. Is. Your. God?”
“You, you! It’s you!” you cry, before finally cumming with a moan of his name and your fingers digging hard into his skin. You squirm under him as he fucks you through it, before you can feel a few more sloppy thrusts. Hot, white ropes of cum fill you up as you try to catch your breath. “God Forgive me,” you whisper when he pulls out, a mix of both your cum dripping down when you push up.
He stares at your wasted body for a bit longer, before tucking himself back into his underwear. He helps you up from the table onto very shaky legs, leaning into the furniture. “You will be, you worked hard.”
You flush when he eyes you down with a smile, taking back your skirt when he hands it to you. And then he leans down to press a small kiss on your lips, before letting the grin pull wider. “See you on Sunday.”