6. Maddening, Tormented Desire
Chapter six
Maddening, Tormented Desire
Cassian
I had to get control of this tonight.
My whole body had been taken over by deranged horniness—a raw, all-consuming hunger that left me trembling, breathless, and absolutely ashamed.
My cock was so damn close to exploding, straining against my will as if it had a mind of its own.
The mushroomed tip throbbed with a ferocity that mocked every ounce of restraint I’d spent decades cultivating.
More pre-cum dripped from the tip as if I’d been stroking it.
Over and over it dripped with each step away from my bed like this constant erotic faucet that I could not turn off.
Stop. Now.
For years—decades—I had resisted.
I had kept my body in line, my soul focused on God’s path.
Not once had I allowed myself to waver.
Even in my youth, when the temptations of the flesh were at their strongest, I had walked the straight and narrow. I had turned away from women’s flirtations, averted my eyes from the allure of bare skin, and fought through the lustful dreams that occasionally plagued me.
I had conquered my flesh!
I had thought myself immune!
But tonight, all of that crumbled.
What was it about Celeste?
I want to fuck!!!!
The word echoed in my head like a chant—vulgar and undeniable—stripping me of my priestly decorum and reducing me to a man drowning in his base desires.
Not just a man—a man who craved her .
I licked my lips. “Celeste.”
No. Stop it.
But how could I?
I wanted to rush to her house right now, storm into her bedroom, yank the sheets off her sleeping body, and take her.
Fuck her.
Not gently.
Not lovingly.
Not even with her consent.
The thought was abhorrent, monstrous, but it lingered, curling through my mind like smoke.
I could see it so clearly.
Her startled gasp as I threw open the door. The way her dark brown eyes would widen in shock before softening with understanding.
Would she resist me at first?
Try to fight the intruder in her sanctuary?
Or would she surrender immediately, arching her back and opening her legs to welcome the man who had been stalking her thoughts as much as she had invaded his?
I’d grip her wrists, pin her to the mattress, and thrust my hungry cock into her wet pussy—claiming her, ruining her, until she knew she could never belong to anyone else.
God, forgive me.
A groan tore from my throat and I gripped the sides of my head as if I could physically rip the thoughts from my brain.
There could be no more sacrilege dreams of Celeste or even moments like at the pulpit where I lost control earlier today.
This will stop. I am in control.
Holding the whip in one hand and the ointment in the other, I went to the center of my massive bedroom and dropped to my knees.
Cold marble smoothed against my skin.
Moonlight spilled over me like the eye of God, unflinching in its judgment.
When I started service at the cathedral, Celeste had already been in college.
As the years went on, Celeste had never come to the cathedral when she visited her mother. I would just hear about her visits from Mary. There would always be so much joy in Mary’s voice, but nothing to hint at how seductively beautiful her daughter truly was.
Would Celeste have tempted me back then if I had seen her? Or is something happening to me right now?
This seemed to be a mystery I would never be able to solve because when Celeste returned this year and finally walked into the cathedral. . .that had been my undoing.
Stop trying to figure this out. It doesn’t matter anymore. Just get rid of this temptation now.
My breaths came in ragged gasps.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break free from my chest.
What is happening to me?
This wasn’t who I was.
For twenty years, I had been faithful.
Faithful to God.
Faithful to my vows.
Faithful to the flock that looked to me for guidance.
I had denied myself so much—pleasure, intimacy, the warmth of another’s touch—all for the sake of something greater.
For Him.
And now, one woman was undoing it all.
Celeste had become my torment.
Her name was a curse, a prayer, a temptation that gnawed at the edges of my sanity.
Since her return, thoughts of her had already been haunting me during the day, but now she was invading my dreams at night.
I didn’t know what to do.
How could I look at myself in the mirror and see a priest, a man of God, when every fiber of my being was screaming for her wet pussy?
How could I stand before my congregation and preach about righteousness and purity when my thoughts were anything but pure?
They were nasty.
Dirty.
Full of sinful lust.
I set the ointment down in front of me, and then raised the whip into the air.
I couldn’t give in.
I wouldn’t give in.
My cock twitched.
“Lord.” I looked up at Christ’s image painted on my ceiling—a masterpiece that spanned the vast expanse above me.
His face was serene yet sorrowful and rendered with exquisite detail.
The surrounding sky around Him was an explosion of gilded clouds, their edges kissed with 24-karat gold leaf that shimmered in the dim moonlight.
Angels, draped in robes of lapis lazuli and crimson, flanked Him, and their wings were dusted with fine silver.
The ceiling itself was framed in ornate moldings, carved from Italian marble and inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Tiny cherubs were etched into the corners.
I looked at them all. “Help me. Please.”
No divine comfort came.
Only the echo of my own ragged breathing and the maddening throb of my cock, my sweltering unfulfilled lust.
“I must repent.” The words trembled on my lips as I raised the whip higher above my head. "Father, please forgive me.”
Fast, I brought the whip down sharply against my back.
The sound sliced through the stillness of the room like thunder.
Pain bloomed across my skin.
I gritted my teeth, and my hard cock bobbed from the whip’s impact to my back.
Dear God!
The pain was agony, yes, but it was also clarity. I hoped to God that the fire in my veins would begin to burn away the remnants of the dream.
“Forgive me, Father,” I raised the whip, and again lashed it hard across my flesh.
Unbearably , horrifying pain tore through my body.
My eyes watered. “Cleanse me of this darkness. Make me pure again.”
Again, I made that whip sing through the air.
Strike!
My back burned.
No, it blazed in terrifying agony and chewed deep into my flesh, radiating outward in the most torturous way possible.
Oh God. It hurts so much, but I deserve it!
Something wet began to drip down my back and I knew that it must be blood. It was warm and thick.
My now ripped-open back ached so much that tears spilled over my eyelids.
Sweat dripped down my face and chest.
More blood oozed from the new wounds on my back.
But I knew that I still was not done.
“God, please hear me.” With shaking fingers, I raised the whip in the air again. “Father, guide me, because I have failed You. I have failed myself.”
I cracked the whip against my back HARDER than ever before and blood sprayed out around me.
I screamed and doubled over.
Fuck!
The pain was a consuming fire, spreading with every lash like molten lava beneath my skin.
But I didn’t stop.
Even doubled over, I whipped myself again.
Strike!
Strike!
Strike!
Each lashing felt as though a thousand tiny razors had ripped through my flesh, leaving ribbons of torn skin and bloodied welts in their wake. The horrifying sting didn’t just stay on the surface; it tunneled deep, gnawing at my muscles and radiating down to my bones.
More warm blood spilled down my back.
Slick and unrelenting.
Snaking down like molten rivers carving through a battered landscape.
The coppery tang of it filled the air, mingling with the sweat that poured from my trembling body.
The blood tickled as it flowed over the ridges of my spine before dripping onto the marbled floor.
My vision blurred.
I tried to imagine what my back must look like.
Was it a war zone? No, probably worse—like the aftermath of a massacre.
Shredded and raw, the flesh was probably in tatters, hanging in jagged strips as if clawed by a feral beast.
Surely, there were deep crimson gashes sliced through the ruined landscape of my skin.
Surely, the edges of each wound was angry and inflamed.
Glistening wet with blood.
Some lashes must have struck the same spot more than once, creating craters of exposed muscle and raw tissue that oozed with thick, slow trails of blood.
Panting, I lowered my hand holding the whip to the floor and gazed at it.
Blood coated the whip.
Flesh stuck to the golden studs. They must have bitten deeper into my back than I’d realized, leaving punctures.
I closed my eyes and could almost see the streaks of gore running diagonally across my back, crisscrossing in a grotesque pattern, each line telling the story of my failure, my shame. The thought made my stomach twist, and for a moment, I wondered if my spine itself was visible beneath the mangled flesh.
Would my body hold together or had I pushed it too far?
I opened my eyes and put my gaze onto my cock.
Damn you!! Damn you to hell!
It was still hard.
It was still dripping pre-cum.
It was still hungry and ready to be stroked.
No. . .
Meanwhile, blood dripped in steady rivulets, now, pooling onto the marble floor beneath me. It painted the pale stone in jagged arcs and splatters, like some deranged artist’s masterpiece of agony.
My back felt like it had been flayed open with a butcher’s knife, the air stinging every exposed nerve, each breath a fresh invitation for the pain to surge anew.
The unbearable heat of the wounds mingled with the coolness of the blood now coating my back and the contrast sent chills racing up my spine.
A priest undone.
Shaking, I gazed back down at my cock and even more pre-cum dripped from the tip, mixing in with the drops of blood.
There, it unbearably throbbed for Celeste’s pussy.
And. . .I swore my cock was enjoying the whipping too.
This can’t be.
I sneered. “I will fight this, God. I will fight this darkness with everything I have.”
I drew the whip high above my head with a shaking hand.
More pain. More atonement. That’s all I need.
"Cleanse me, Lord. Please.” I brought down the whip on my back once more.
A choked sob escaped me as fiery tormenting tendrils of ripping pain spread across my back.
It was pure suffering on its highest level.
More blood trickled down making my back slick.
I could feel it now streaming down the curve of my spine before spilling onto the floor and subtly pooling around me.
Warm and sticky.
Yet my arousal refused to dwindle—my cock stood firm and relentless.
I can’t torture this out of me. . .
Because regardless of all the pain. . .the agony. . .the blood and torn flesh. . .the murderous whip. . .regardless of it all, I still desperately wanted to fuck Celeste.
My breath hitched when an image of her flashed through my mind—her lips, moist and inviting; her body, a tempestuous landscape that demanded exploration; her eyes holding the promise of a pleasure so profound that would lead any man to damnation.
I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots as if this physical pain could displace the raw lust coursing through me.
"Enough." I looked back up at the painting of Jesus on my ceiling. “Forgive me. Cleanse me of these wicked thoughts, these. . .desires.”
And yet, deep within me, a darker voice whispered back.
“Forgive me, Father.”
The words felt hollow, empty.
And so I whipped my back some more.
Insane pain bloomed across my back, sharp and immediate, but it still wasn’t enough.
I struck again.
And again.
Strike!
Strike!
Strike!
More blood pooled on the floor, and each lash tore through my resolve, exposing the raw edges of my need because with each strike, I still thought about her name and even through the pain, the sound of that name slipped from my lips like a confession.
“Celeste.”
The pain was supposed to cleanse me, to purify me.
Instead, it only fed the flames.
Her image burned even more brighter in my mind with every strike—the curve of her lips, the softness of her brown skin, the way she had looked at me in that dream as if my cock was her salvation.
Damn this all to hell!!!!!!!
I dropped the whip with trembling hands.
The braided leather was soaked in my own blood.
The crimson streaks shone under the moonlight.
My back screamed in horrid pain, every nerve alight with fire, yet of course none of it dulled the throb of my cock.
Still, it stood, defiantly hard, glistening with even more pre-cum.
I want to fuck!!!!!!
My breaths came in ragged gasps as I looked back up at the ceiling. "God, why won’t You take this from me? Why won’t You cleanse me?"
No answer came.
Only the maddening echo of my own heartbeat, pounding like a drum.
Then, I know. . .what I must do. . .
But would it blacken my soul?