5. The Sins of the Flesh
Chapter five
The Sins of the Flesh
Cassian
The scream died in my throat as I bolted upright in my bed and began to wake up.
Sweat slicked my bare chest and arms.
My bedroom was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the large windows.
It was only a dream.
My sheets were wet with my sweat. I only wore my pajama pants and now the pants clung to my damp skin as my hard cock pushed against the fabric, trying to break free.
No. Now Celeste is in my dreams too.
My rosary beads were tangled around my wrist. I’d fallen asleep in the midst of prayer.
Celeste.
I licked my lips, and a jolt of shock coursed through me.
No. Why did you do that?
However. . .I swore that I could taste the wine and the sweetness of her pussy on my lips and tongue.
How is that possible?
I ran a trembling hand over my face, trying to wipe away the remnants of the dream, but it stuck to me.
If felt so good.
A cold shiver ran through me.
“This is madness.” My voice was a rasp, strained and guttural, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
My feet hit the cold marble floor. It was a huge difference to the heat radiating from every inch of my body.
God, I am so. . .horny. Why would you make our bodies this way?
I yanked at my waistband with shaky hands, desperate to strip myself of the constricting fabric.
Desperate to breathe.
To think.
But thinking wasn’t happening—not when the image of Celeste lingered in my mind, vivid and tormenting, like she’d branded herself into my very soul.
I slid my pajama pants down my legs in a crumpled heap, leaving me bare.
Fully exposed.
Vulnerable to my own twisted desires.
I looked down.
My cock—traitorous and unrelenting—jutted out in defiance, thick and swollen, the veins pulsing in rhythm with my erratic heartbeat. It extended from me like a throbbing sword, daring me to act, mocking my restraint.
Trembling, I couldn’t stop staring at my cock, the head flushed darkish red as if on the edge of exploding. The tip gleamed with the first sign of my surrender—a bead of pre-cum.
Don’t touch it. Don’t. . .
I clenched my fists at my sides, digging my nails into my palms until the sting cut through the haze of lust.
Still. . .it wasn’t enough.
I licked my lips as I stared at my hard cock.
More beads of pre-cum rose to the tip.
Mmmm.
The need to grab it, to wrap my hand around that throbbing heat and stroke it to oblivion, burned through me like a fever.
I wanted to grip the base, to feel the weight and slide my fingers over the shaft with slow, deliberate precision. I wanted to ease the unbearable ache coiling tighter and tighter in my core.
God, I wanted to think of Celeste while I did it.
Think of how those breasts bounced.
How that pussy tasted on my tongue.
How I fucked her on the altar while the congregation watched.
Celeste. . .
Her name alone sent a jolt through me.
My cock twitched in eager response.
My eyes fluttered shut, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself fall into the memory of her. Her scent—sweet and addictive, like ripe fruit dripping with honey. Her voice, low and teasing, like she knew the chaos she stirred within me.
The curve of her lips haunted me, soft and inviting, a whisper of sin against brown skin. Her laugh, like she was daring me to fall further, echoed in my mind, looping endlessly, a cruel siren’s song dragging me deeper.
No.
I growled under my breath, shaking my head as if that alone could sever the ties binding me to her.
My hand twitched, instinctively moving toward my length, aching to ease the maddening pressure, yet I froze… my fingers hovering just inches away.
To touch myself now, with her image burned into my thoughts, would be an act of surrender. It would be giving her power over me—power I couldn’t afford for her to have.
She already owned too much of me.
My thoughts.
My control.
My soul.
I exhaled through gritted teeth, my breath hot and uneven, as I forced myself to pull my hand away. The ache didn’t ease, and neither did the vivid, torturous image of Celeste.
This was madness.
No, she was madness.
I was a fool for wanting her anyway.
I must do something. This cannot continue.
My cock bobbed up and down as I stumbled to my dresser and reached for the drawer.
I must punish myself until this temptation is gone.
My breath was uneven, my heart still racing from the dream that had branded itself onto my very soul.
The drawer creaked open, revealing my knotted whip resting atop a pristine pillow of white silk.
The whip was a thing of harsh beauty—its braided leather gleamed like onyx in the faint moonlight, polished and supple from years of care.
Tiny golden studs punctuated the knots along its length, each one engraved with a cross so small it was almost imperceptible. Each one easily cut into the flesh whenever the whip struck.
The handle, carved from dark mahogany, bore intricate etchings of thorns and roses.
It wasn’t just a whip.
It was a tool I used when the weight of my humanity threatened to pull me away from God.
A special crystal jar of ointment lay next to it, gleaming faintly in the dim light, as though it held something otherworldly.
Inside was a substance that seemed to defy categorization—a thick, opalescent ointment that shimmered with an ethereal glow, shifting between hues of pearl and silver as the light played across its surface.
Its scent was a strange and intoxicating blend of sacred and sensual, like incense burned during confession and the faint trace of rose petals crushed underfoot.
This was no ordinary balm.
At its core was holy water, blessed by the Pope and imbued with the prayers of his most trustworthy monks. This sacred element was married with oils pressed from rare and ancient herbs—myrrh, frankincense, and lavender—known for their healing properties.
Together, they created an elixir that could mend torn flesh, soothe aching muscles, and rejuvenate even the most brutalized skin.
I grabbed the whip and ointment, knowing what I must do.
This ends tonight.
I gazed down at my hard cock as it still pointed out—thick, veiny, and throbbing with need. The pulsing, swollen head glistened even more with pre-cum.
Enough.
I sneered at my cock and gripped the whip’s handle hard.
It is time to repent.