Epilogue #2
And then fingers are on my clit, two fingers, it feels like, and the hands on my nipples are mercilessly squeezing them, and every nerve ending in my body is on fire, and the stimulation on my clit is so extraordinarily perfect that it sends fiery waves of pleasure coursing through every last millimetre of my body, and I can’t withstand it. I can’t, I don’t stand a chance.
I soar. My body’s nervous system builds and builds before exploding in a detonation of white light and deafening noise and sensation that comes and comes and comes.
And it’s not until I start to descend from wherever heavenly plane I’ve visited that I’m aware the priests are holding me down and my body is bucking and my mouth is spouting gibberish.
The strokes on my skin grow softer. The hands working my nipples palm my breasts in stillness. The fingers that brought me so much pleasure pull out of me, and I whimper at their departure. The bishop laughs.
‘That little cunt won’t be empty for long, Sister, don’t you worry. Now, get her on all fours for me. Just the way I like it.’
I’m rolled gently onto my stomach, a whole host of hands tugging me up so I’m on my hands and knees.
There’s the clip-clip of shoes on hard floor again, followed by a jostle of bodies and the unmistakable clank of a belt being unbuckled.
The man now in front of me is the best thing I’ve ever smelt, and I’m too busy anticipating his next move to be self-conscious about the fact that I’m exposing my still-wet, probably still-quivering pussy to a roomful of men.
He hasn’t asked any of them to leave. Maybe he likes to be watched? Or maybe he’s not finished getting them to tend to me yet? The thought makes me clench internally.
The sound of unzipping has me licking my lips, Pavlovian style, because these men have trained me well. Then there’s the rustle of fabric and the unmistakable scent of man.
They pull the sleep mask from my eyes.
* * *
Dear Lord in heaven. There’s a very hard dick right in my face, and it’s enormous. Easily bigger than any of the priests’ appendages I’ve seen over these past few months. I blink, then let my head fall back and my eyes travel upwards, over an untucked black shirt to the bishop’s face.
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever, ever seen.
This is a man of God? What a waste. What a dreadful waste.
Although, given how he’s spending his evening, it seems a few lucky women get to sample him, me included.
His jaw is square and stubbled, and eyes that are practically black gaze down at me appraisingly.
Suddenly, earning his approval matters more than anything.
My eyes flick to his cock and back upwards again, and he smiles, amused.
‘See something you like?’
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ I say.
‘Fuck.’ He tugs his lower lip between his teeth before continuing.
‘She’s even more magnificent than you led me to believe,’ he tells the men watching quietly before tugging his attention back to me.
‘I very much enjoyed watching you come, Sister. That pussy of yours is so greedy. I know it can’t wait to take my cock, but right now you’re going to suck me like a good girl, and these guys will take care of you. Yes?’
I nod my head. ‘Yes please, Your Grace.’
‘So obedient.’ He drags his thumb across my lower lip. ‘And so fucking sexy. Look at the way the candlelight plays over your skin. And your arse is swaying a little, did you know that? Like you already need more than what we just gave you. Un-fucking-believable.’
I stay silent and watch him, loving the commanding way his thumb rubs at my lip. Like he knows my mouth is his.
My whole body is his.
By day, this man leads flocks and commands congregations and performs the miracle of transubstantiation, turning bread into Christ’s body and wine into His blood.
That I’ve already reduced him to this animal tonight, without laying a finger on him, sends a surge of power and desire rushing through me.
I can’t help myself; my tongue darts out and licks his thumb, and he draws his hand back as if burnt.
‘Get to it,’ he barks.
And I do. I brace myself on one hand, and I cup his balls, massaging them gently.
They’re so high and tight already. My gaze flicks upwards through my eyelashes.
He’s standing stock still, his entire body vibrating with need, watching me.
I lick at the moisture weeping from his crown, swirling it around with my tongue.
His dick twitches so hard it evades my mouth for a moment.
He must give some sort of nod, because I’m conscious of the other men kneeling down on the bed beside me. Behind me. A couple slip their hands underneath me and begin to massage my heavy-hanging breasts. My stomach. To roll my well-oiled nipples between their fingers once again.
Hands stroke my flanks as if I’m a skittish horse, rubbing and soothing, before a warm tongue presses against my sex and starts to lick me like an ice cream, in long, decadent swirls. My body responds immediately, unfurling under their touch, blossoming at the delicious dirtiness of this situation.
I’m supposed to be that most chaste, most devout woman, a bride of Christ.
Instead, I’m allowing nameless men to put their fingers and their mouths everywhere they please while their bishop prepares to fuck my mouth.
It’s the most profane, depraved sin I could conceive of, and yet this pleasure—this fleeting, intoxicating pleasure of the flesh—is, in this moment, the most sacred act I can imagine.
I know that, within moments, these men will help me to transcend this realm of consciousness in a way that prayer, despite my most fervent efforts, simply doesn’t.
Two fingers jam harshly inside me, and the unexpected breach is so perfectly invasive that my head jolts forward, taking the bishop’s cock deeper into my mouth.
He moans and rakes his fingers through my hair, gripping the sides of my head and holding it in place.
I flutter my fingers over his sac before gripping his shaft hard.
There’s no way I can fit him all in my mouth, and I want this to be as intense as possible for him.
As intense as it is for me.
I breathe in harshly through my nose as I attempt to accommodate him, to tamp down my gag reflex and make him proud. I pull him out of my mouth, lap at his crown with my tongue, and then plunge back in. He makes a harsh male noise at the back of his throat.
‘Harder.’ His voice is strangled.
I take that as a directive for me, but it seems the other men hear the same command, for they step up their ministrations.
My breasts are massaged, my still-sensitive nipples tugged hard.
Whoever is going down on me licks harder, his tongue sweeping rhythmically over my clit as his fingers probe harder.
Faster. Another finger is added. I’m being filled up at both ends in a way so perfect it seems I was made for this.
I was made to be a vessel of this sort, to bring these men release while they do the Lord’s work.
My back is being rubbed with more oil, my feet kneaded, my inner thighs fondled.
The sensory overload is simply extraordinary.
There’s nothing else like this. Like being used and defiled and worshipped. I’m a plaything and an icon. I’m incidental and the star of the show. I’m a whore to be used and a saint to be venerated.
The more they work my body, the harder my mouth works.
I suck, I lick, I dare to drag my teeth up His Grace’s beautiful, slick shaft.
I take him deeper, deeper, and I know he’s close.
I can feel it. I am too. Everyone in the room can feel it.
The men are all breathing hard; the bishop is grunting and blaspheming and gritting out fevered praise.
Good girl, good girl.
That’s it.
Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking dirty.
Look at you, taking his fingers and my cock.
You can’t get enough, can you?
Suck me harder.
You know you can, Sister.
Then there’s a buzzing sound, and something cold and wet is being held right at the entrance to my most intimate hole, teasing and tickling the puckered flesh that protects it. I gasp around the bishop’s cock and try to wriggle away from the threatened intrusion, but he grips my head harder.
‘Now, now. You must have known we’d want to take all your holes tonight. You’re ours. Mine. This is small—it’ll fit right in. Do you feel nice and full right now?’
I look up at him and nod as best I can. He runs a thumb down my jaw.
‘Good girl. This will make you feel even fuller. Trust us. Use your safe word if you don’t like it.’
I focus on relaxing. Breathing. Sucking. The object, which must be a skinny wand vibrator, tickles my entrance in a way that makes me feel unpleasantly squeamish, but then it’s breaching that barrier and sliding inside me with surprising ease, and oh.
Oh my God.
Now I know what he meant. Everywhere possible is filled up, the warm, wet parts inside my body are full of cock and fingers and now a vibrator, and they somehow all add up to a sensation that’s sublime.
Boundless. The vibrations make the feel of the tongue on my clit echo more deeply through my body, they heighten the power of the fingers inside me and the pulls on my nipples.
I can’t bear it. I can’t last. The pleasure is so all-encompassing, and the matter of being gagged by the bishop’s enormous cock makes it all the more intense.
I can feel myself starting to unravel in the most glorious, spellbinding way.
He’s begun to thrust harder, holding my head as he feeds me his cock, and I take it as best I can, my eyes watering, while the rest of my body readies itself for detonation.