Epilogue #3
‘Now,’ he orders, and every part of my body is probed harder, rubbed harder, tongued harder as the bishop stills and erupts in my mouth, roaring out his pleasure and shooting jet after jet of his hot seed as my clit explodes and I shake, shake, shake, shuddering my orgasm out helplessly as my skin is soothed and stroked and the bishop moves his hands to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
* * *
I’m still reeling from my second debilitating climax as the bishop pulls out of my mouth.
I brace on the hand I was using to grip him and flex the fingers of my other one.
Ouch. Wrist-ache. One of the guys takes it and rubs my hand, my wrist, my forearm as the others continue to smooth and pet the rest of my body. I smile at him gratefully.
‘You did so well, little one,’ the bishop says.
I look up at him, at the intensity on that handsome face. ‘Really?’
He pulls a tissue from a box on the table next to him and wipes my mouth with it before handing me a glass with a straw. ‘Drink.’
I take a generous sip.
‘Fuck, yes, really,’ he continues. ‘Taking us in all your holes like that and sucking me off like a champ? Hottest night of my life. You, Sister, are intoxicating.’
I bask in the welcome warmth of his approval as I wonder just how hot this senior cleric’s nights tend to get.
‘And now I’m going to fuck you, like I’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Ever since they told me about you. That pussy must be so puffy and wet and ready for me.’
I’m two orgasms down. I could easily lie down and fall asleep on this bed in front of everyone here.
I have no idea if I can come again. But all I know is that I want this man inside me.
I want him to claim me in the most decisive way possible.
I want him so desperate to use my body again that he unleashes his selfish greed and desire and needs inside me.
‘It is,’ I tell him, looking up at him with all the seductive submissiveness I can muster. ‘It’s yours. Do what you need with it.’
He studies me, a muscle pulsing in his jaw as he considers just how to use me, before blinking and looking around.
‘Everybody out,’ he orders. ‘Go on, get lost.’
The priests rise up from the bed and shuffle out, but I don’t take my gaze off him. His eyes glitter ominously, and a thrill of anticipation runs through me at being left alone with this predator.
It’s me and him.
One on one.
And he’s made it very clear who’s in charge.
He’s dangerous.
The door shuts with a loud click.
‘Let’s get a proper look at you,’ he says. He puts his hands in his pockets, probably to stop his still-undone trousers from falling down, but the studied casualness of the gesture has my poor sex clenching again.
I’m his possession. To peruse. Inspect. I’m his plaything. He begins to stroll around the bed.
‘Did you enjoy your orgasms?’ he enquires.
‘Very much, Your Grace,’ I say.
‘You were very responsive.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
He comes up to the side of the bed and puts one knee down, reaching around me so he can cup both breasts.
Fondle both nipples. They’re sensitive and a little sore, but in a good way.
In a way I know will make whatever friction he sees fit to bestow upon me even more delicious. I shiver at his touch.
‘That feel good?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Fucking beautiful,’ he murmurs. He releases my breasts and stands up again. If I tuck my head, I can see his legs between my thighs. He’s standing right behind me, looking at my exposed pussy.
‘Legs further apart,’ he orders.
I quickly open my knees further. My legs are still shaky after the orgasms, and from holding this position.
‘Sister Belina,’ he says, his voice low and ominous, ‘you don’t know how long I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.
They’ve told me so much about you. About your great beauty, as well as your willingness to give and receive pleasure.
And I hear that, during the day when the priests see you at Mass, you are demure and chaste. It’s the perfect cover.’
He moves forward, the bed taking his weight, and runs a finger around my entrance, and every part of me pulses.
‘Fuck me, this cunt is even prettier and greedier than I’d hoped.’ He pulls it away and smooths a hand over each of my cheeks before pulling them apart, exposing every hole and every intimate fold for his viewing pleasure.
Oh my God. My body has already forgotten its two orgasms, because the way this man is inspecting me and touching me and praising me, and the power, the dominance, inherent in everything he says and does, has my body weeping for him already.
I relish the delectable shame, the vulnerability of being in this position with him.
He can humiliate me. Tease me. Test me. I don’t care.
He is a man who gets everything he wants, but he won’t have to fight me for a single thing. I want to give it all to him.
Then his tongue is on my sex as he continues to hold me wide open for him, running experimentally over my clit, cutting a decisive line through my folds, thrusting deep inside my pussy and finally, most shamefully, probing and teasing at the entrance to my puckered hole.
I can’t help myself. I flinch and try to pull away, but his hands hold on to my hips. ‘Don’t fight it,’ he says, his breath warm and gallingly seductive against my flesh. ‘I saw how much you fucking loved having that wand up your arse. Don’t forget I saw how hard it made you come.’
He licks me there again, and I make myself lean into the feeling, because he’s right. It did.
I did.
‘All your holes belong to me tonight,’ he says. ‘Remember that. I’m only going to fuck this one’—he slides a long finger into my pussy again—‘for now, but you’re here for my pleasure. Got it? I’ve wanted you for a long time, Belina. And I always get what I want.’
It’s the power in his voice. That sternness.
The indomitable will that’s so attractive, so obvious from a mile away.
And right now, I’m alone in a room with this man so he can do what he likes with me.
The thought of putting myself in his capable, demanding hands fills me with so much pride and joy and pleasure I can barely contain myself.
‘I understand, Your Grace,’ I say, my voice sounding breathy to my ears. Needy. Desperate. ‘Please, do what you want with me.’
He inhales sharply and crooks his finger inside me before sliding it out.
‘Fuck me,’ he says. ‘So fucking wet for me. Turn around, just for a minute. I want you to watch me.’
I scoot around on the bed so I’m sitting up and facing him. He’s such a pleasure to watch. He’s a feast for the eyes. A Caravaggio. A Titian. A masterpiece I could look at all day long.
‘Back on your elbows,’ he orders. ‘Knees up a bit, and let them fall apart.’
I do so, aware that I must look the picture of submission, of temptation, with my hair messed up from his hands and falling over my shoulders, my breasts visible, and my sex swollen and exposed for him.
Please let him fuck me hard. Please let him fuck me hard.
‘Good,’ he says. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he tugs off the dog collar and unbuttons his shirt.
Firm, tanned skin comes into view. As he pulls the shirt off, I’m able to enjoy the sculpted perfection of his chest. His arms. His stomach.
A trail of dark hair leads to his cock, already hard and jutting again.
I eye it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
He shoves down his trousers, bending to tug them and his shoes off, and then he’s naked.
Naked and glorious and masterful and utterly perfect.
He takes his dick in his hand and pumps it slowly, his eyes not leaving mine.
‘Like what you see?’
‘Yes,’ I breathe.
‘I’m going to fuck you very hard with this.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
’Play with your tits for me—no. Play with one of them, and touch your pussy with the other hand.’
I bite my lip and take my weight on one elbow as I use that hand to pluck and pull at my nipple. The other hand I slide down, over my slippery stomach and between my legs, and God. The second it hits my clit, I know I can go again. A low moan escapes my lips.
‘How does that feel?’ he grunts, still working that dick of his with slow, decisive pumps.
‘Not as good as having your cock inside me will feel,’ I tell him honestly, and his face contorts.
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Sister, you’ll be the death of me. Turn over. Fuck’s sake. Get on your knees. Now.’
I don’t need to be told twice. I remove my hand and roll onto my front.
He’s on the bed, sliding a hand under my stomach and tugging me up onto my knees before I can do it myself, kicking my legs further apart with his knees.
I just have time to brace myself on my hands again before he’s lining his slick, swollen crown against my equally slick, swollen entrance and pushing in.
Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s so big—he’s huge. He has one hand gripping my hip, hard. The other, I assume, is helping him feed that monster inside me.
‘You thought you were full earlier—you have no idea,’ he grits out. ‘This is fullness—me filling you up with my cock. Can you feel it?’
‘Yes,’ I manage, because God is he right. His size and this angle are conspiring to stretch me beyond all my limits, to fill me so completely that he’ll drive the breath right out of my lungs.
And then he’s in, he’s bottoming out and grinding into me, and he’s deeper inside me than I could have ever dreamed of having another human being. I let out a low, shuddery wail because this kind of overwhelm is the best thing I’ve ever felt.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he says, and he pulls out, just a bit, before driving back in. Just that movement and I’m practically shooting off the bed. I tense my arms harder.
He does it again. I’m more ready this time, but despite my best efforts, he nudges me forward.