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Chapter Text

His gloved hands twine in your hair, grunts escaping his lips as he pushes your mouth further down over him. You keep the back of your throat open to take him as best you can, but Papa knows your limits. He knows how much of him you can take, and if it’s too much, he knows you’ll tell him.

Your name is breathed like a prayer as he basks in the pleasure of your warm mouth around his cock. Muttered Italian curses escape him as you focus only on the sensation of him filling your mouth again and again, not letting up.

“Mmm—mmmm...” you try to moan. Your makeup is running, you’re drooling slightly. His toes curl as he enjoys ever second of it, watching you service him.

“Good...” he moans, “So very good, pet.”

You deepthroat him, ripping a low growl from his throat, when a loud knock at the door sounds.

“Accedere,” Papa says casually, and two nameless ghouls come in. One, Rain, hesitates slightly when they see what they just walked in on, but the other, Special, seems to expect it. You pause, looking back over your shoulder.

“Business?” Papa asks, resting his hands on your head.

“Yes, Papa. Sister wanted you to approve some more promotional shots of yourself for the upcoming tour.”

Papa nods, beckoning. “Bring them here.” You make a small noise, a blush heating your cheeks. You’re only in tiny panties, nothing else, and what you’re doing with your mouth is rather explicit. He languidly looks down to you, tilting your chin up. “Did I say you could stop?”

You moan, and tentatively go back to sucking him off as the ghouls gather closer. As they stop by the side of the bed and hand Papa the shots, you can feel their eyes on you, watching how you take his cock down. Each time you falter, Papa’s hand is there to guide you back, the desperate sounds caught in the back of your throat lost in the saliva, precum, and spit-slick glide of the frontman’s thick member.

“Molto bella. I like this one,” Papa mumbles above you, pointing out one of the photos as if he wasn’t getting his dick worshipped. “My dear-- I look very dashing here, no?” He gestures for the photos to be shown to you, and you sigh as you see the picture of Papa in his full getup, holding the staff with his arms raised. Dashing is not really how you would put it—he looks positively evil, which is all the same to you. Another moan from you as Papa tugs your hair, grunting as you pay special attention to the vein up the side of his shaft. The ghouls stand there uncomfortably; they don’t know what to do. On one hand, if they watch you too intently, they’ll catch hell from Papa for coveting what is his. If they don’t look, they’ll feel disobedient. It’s a tough position to be kept in, and you almost feel sorry for them. You’ll have to speak to your lover later about how he tortures his poor ghouls so.

You begin to whine, grinding against Papa’s other hand. Papa opens his arms to the two semi-welcome guests. “Anything else?” Special rubs the back of his neck.

“Well... there is one more thing. The matter of our masks.” He puts his hands up, almost pleadingly. “But we can come back later!”

“No,” Papa says simply. “This one knows her place. She will continue until I tell her not to, regardless of you watching her suck cock like a whore or until I decide I want my privacy. Won’t you, mia dolce?” You moan again, jacking what you can’t fit in your mouth. Special lets out a nervous noise, a little bit of steam radiating off of him.

“Aha. Yeah— she sure is a whore, Excellency.”

Papa’s eyes flash. “Pardon?”

“ANYWAY! As you know, I’m in charge of promotion and interviews and such, and I just thought... if we had masks that were easier for talking, perhaps all black... option two in the clergy approved catalogue might be the best?”

Papa looks over the options himself, and you glance up. He seems so disinterested. Usually, that was fucking hot, but today, you’re giving it your all, and you want some attention.

You take him all the way down again, then pop off, kitten licking down and over his balls. Papa’s eyebrows raise, but he continues discussing business in complete ignorance of the tricks you’re about to try. While Special is pointing out the benefits of the new costumes, Rain pretends to look anywhere but you. His gaze however constantly returns to your talented ministrations, how you work the Antipope’s cock so well. He begins to heat up too, but he knows from your scent and the obscenely obvious scene before him who you belong to.

You frown. Papa still won’t pay any attention to you? Fine. You swirl your tongue around the head, playing with his slit, and give a long lick to the underside. You then nip down below at the slow flesh of his perineum, tongue licking a stripe down, and a surprised, low groan spills from his lips. His eyes flash down to you, letting you know with a small smirk that you had won this round.  

Then he thrusts his hips up. Unprepared, you choke on him, but he holds you there as he pounds his hips up a few times. Feeling lightheaded and used, you pray for his orgasm, and finally feel the familiar warm burst at the back of your throat. Another wave of wetness drips down your thighs as you swallow it all, and wipe the excess over your swollen red lips. Papa’s gloved fingers patter over your dripping cunt, carrying a promise of later.  

“—And that is why I think functionality wise at least, and I think it’s safe to say we all agree on this, that it would be beneficial if we had the robes, just more temperature conscious. You know, your dark Eminence?”

“I did not hear one word you just said, ghoul,” Papa sighs, glaring. “Out. Now.” The door closes, and his head rolls back as you take his soft cock back into your mouth, beginning to tease him once again to hardness, no easy feat for a man his age. You smile wickedly up at him from between his legs as he shoots you a warning stare.

“You never said I could stop, Papa.”

Chapter Text

Your wimple and veil are the only things you have on.

Working away, your quill glides across the page, signing letters for your lover as you do when he doesn’t feel like doing it himself. He loves being Papa—he was always chomping at the bit for it to be his time to ascend—but he hates the bureaucratic side of it. Which is where you came in.

Papa employs you to sign his documents, stamp and seal his letters in dramatic red wax, tend to his monetary affairs, much like a personal assistant or secretary of sorts. Lately though, things were becoming a little too much. The tension between yourself and Papa III was off the charts. Every time he looked at you, it was as if the man had reached a fist up inside you and, for lack of a better description, tickled you internally. You were constantly wet for him. And if his close proximity and flirtatious behaviour was anything to go by, he felt the same.

Of course, Papa was flirtatious by nature. You may not be an exception. The thought made your face fall a little... but your spirits are lifted as you look down and regard your disrobed state. You would find out soon if he wanted you, and just how badly.

You hum the tune to one of his songs, ‘He Is’, as you sign your last paper with a large P and E, and move onto stamping the letters. The door clicks, creaks open, and an aggravated sigh fills the room.

“This fucking day is kicking me in the ass, Sister!” he growls, “What I wouldn’t give for a nice long, hot bubble bath... mmm, yes. A little red wine, some hors d'oeuvres from the kitchen, a little something for my poor aching neck—” He pauses, frozen on the spot. You smirk, keeping your head down as if you’re hard at work. “Evidently, my neck is not the only thing aching,” he mutters under his breath, and swallows. “Sister?”

“Mm?” you ask casually, fighting your smile.

“I cannot help but observe that you are...” His voice cracks. “Revealed of cloak.”

“Really?” you play along, “What gave that away?”

His breathing picks up. “Is this for me?”

You pretend to take offense. “Awfully self obsessed, to think I stripped down just for you,” you say. Your growing smirk is becoming more and more impossible to keep off your face. Worry hits the poor man behind you like a freight train.

“Ah, shit. Yes. Yes, of course, you’re right, I...” He waves both his hands, walking over to his bed to shed his jacket, “Forgive me. It was boorish and rude to assume you did not simply wish to enjoy the, eh--” He regards the closed patio doors in bewilderment. “Pleasant breeze.” You bite your fist to keep from giggling.

“Papa?”

“Yeah?” he asks, the response coming out more like a wanton sigh. You stick your chin up.

“Would you be so kind as to light a candle for the wax seal?”

He rubs his hands together, fetching a box of matches from his dresser drawer and a black candle for you. He brings it over, unable to stop his eyes from roaming down your gorgeous body, naked in all its glory save for your unholy headdress.

“Papa?” you ask expectantly. He all but moans.

“Yes." 

“Candle?”

“Mmm. Oh. Yes, here you are.” He sets it down, running a hand through his hair. “Is there... anything else you need, Sister?” His voice drops a few octaves as he smoothes back his hair suavely. “Anything...?”

“What might you be referring to?” you ask, holding the flame to the stick of red wax and watching it drip like crimson blood onto the black letter seal. You stamp the official church seal of a flowery E for Emeritus into the pool, watching it harden as fast as the Antipope behind you.

“If you were in need of... eh...” he tries to word his sentence poetically, pinching his thumbs and middle fingers together as he reaches for eloquence. “Corporeal relief.”

“I am in no such turmoil. But I do thank you.” You hear him whine, and you bite your lip. Your teasing is getting to him, you can tell.

“I see. Not a problem! I am going to read then, my dear. I have to brush up on some religious text, my brothers have been on my ass about it for days.” You register that he’s walking backward to the bed, and you straighten up a little more, stamping the rest of the envelopes as he settles in.

“Mmm... I hope your neck feels better Papa,” you say, stretching a little for show, “My own is giving me trouble.”

His mismatched eyes dart up over his book, wide as a frog’s who just spotted a bug. “Yes?”

“Mmm, yes. Oh, it’s so sore...” You get up. “Matter of fact, my back isn’t doing too well, sitting here all day.”

“Believe me, I know how it can hurt. Teenage years spent sitting through unholy gospel and endless ceremonies, ah...” He shakes his head. “Feel free to use my shower. Or bathtub, if you would like. I know a nice soak with some rose scented oils can be simply hellish.”

“That does sound nice,” you say, moaning as you stretch your ass back and arch your back his way. His eyes widen even more, lips parting. Not even any panties on.

“Mhm? Shall I run you a bath then, Sister?”

“You’d better not, Papa.”

“If it is discretion you are worried about, I swear before Satan I won’t tell a soul you bathed in my quarters. Anything that happens in this room does not have to leave this room.”

“Anything?” you ask, biting your finger.

“Oh, anything...” he groans.

“I just...” your eyes slide shut, and you settle back into your seat. “I have so much work to do. Maybe another day.”

That does it. He’s hard in his pants and he’s emotionally drained, and despite his eternal talent for being a perfect gentleman, those two don’t make for a very patient Papa. Lascivious eyes rake down your body as his tongue darts out to sweep his bottom lip.

“Get over here.”

You shiver at his darkened tone of voice, a swell of pride forming at the fact that you finally broke him. “Papa?” you ask innocently, arm brushing your breasts as you turn to him, blinking.

“Do not ‘Papa’ me. You fucking heard me.”

You gasp at his words, lust practically dripping from them. Still, you place a hand over your chest. “Wouldn’t you have me finish my work for you?”

“Get. Over. Here.”

“But—”

“I wasn’t asking,” he growls, and suddenly, you feel a familiar tugging sensation in your mind. It’s as if he’s probing into it, covering it in a sheen of pleasant fog. You can tell he’s only nudging with it, as all mind control under the rules of the Satanic worship must be consensual. You have to let him in first for it to truly work.

And you do.

Surrendering yourself to the haze, his control overtakes you. Your mind feels intoxicated and your body’s arousal from before is stratified. His essence inside you guides you to stand, your eyes glowing the same spirit blue as his one white eye now, and you walk over to the bed. Crawling up, he has you turn, presenting your ass to him.

“That’s a bad ghuleh,” he breathes, two gloved hands grabbing either side of your ass. He rolls it around a little, then brings a hand down on one cheek. You moan, grinding back, and he spanks you again. “Very bad, teasing her Papa. What will my beautiful ghuleh do to make up for this, hm?” His lips find your shoulder, kissing down your back. Your breath hitches as his lips leave a wet trail along sensitive skin.

“Tease me how I teased you. Make me feel as desperate as you did.”

He chuckles, the wicked sound all consuming as he gently guides you into position for what he has in store.

“Shhh, shh shh. Leave it to Papa.”

Chapter Text

His hand is a blur on his cock, moving so fast you don’t bother to fixate on it. All you care about is how those swollen lips fall open, gasping for breath, begging you to let up just a little.

“That feel good?” you ask. He’s watching you from his position on the floor, beneath you.

“Yes, padrona... so good.” He grunts, biting his bottom lip. They’re spit slick from where you had slid your fingers in and out of his mouth, urging him to suck on them until you were satisfied you could open him up with them. But you hadn’t. You had told him to sit down, take down his pants, and start to touch his cock. Only his cock—no fingers, not even close to where he wanted to feel you fill him up with the strap on. He’s such a little slut. Your little slut.

“You want to show me how good you can be?”

He nods eagerly. You open a drawer, and take out a remote control vibrating dildo, spreading some lube onto it. He whines as you make a motion, telling him to spread his legs. He’s uncertain he can take it without finishing, but willing to try for you. That’s what you love so much about him. His ambition.

“Take it nice,” you whisper in his ear, easing it into him. His own cock twitches, and he forms a ring at the base with his fingers, doing his best. Once all eight inches are fully in, he settles his body, obviously doing all he can not to fuck himself on the large toy.

“Remember what I said,” you say, tilting his chin up gently, “If you cum, I’ll put it in a cage for a month. A cage, where it belongs.”

He whimpers at the thought, moustache trembling. “I-I do understand. Ahh-- yes. I will do as I am told.”  

“Good little rat,” you nod, observing him like royalty watching someone entertain them. “No grinding. And slow that hand down. I want to help you keep your promise.”

He moans, slowing his fist down to leisurely, long strokes up his throbbing erection. You can see the pre-cum leaking down his length, but for his part, he’s being good. He’s not losing control, or begging just yet.

All that is lost when you remove your top, exposing the lacy red bra he loves to see you in so much.

“Please...” he begins, swallowing hard, “May I...?”

“No. No faster.” He nods, and keeps going at his current unhurried pace, hips arching up every now and again out of reflex. He starts to falter after a minute, and you watch the sweat trickle down his forehead as he tries to keep himself under control and hold his orgasm as bay. You’ve had him like this for 9 minutes, and he’s been ready to cum for probably about 5 of those. “Slow... slower...” you ease, “stop.” He takes a much needed break, letting his cock fall onto his sweat-shined abdomen. It twitches, and he groans, pinching one of his nipples. “Ah ah. My job,” you say, slinking over. He removes his hand quickly.

“Apologies. All yours, padrona.” You advance, and drop down, raking your hands over the smattering of light brown hair on his chest. Your mouth dips, and your tongue twirls the peaked nipple up between your teeth. Behind your back where you can’t see, his hands are waving wildly as he tries not to let the sensations overwhelm him. He knows what kind of trouble he would get in if he finished before he was allowed to.

“Look at this,” you say, moving down between his meaty thighs, “Look at how hard you are for me. What a slut.”

“Yes...” he breathes, body flushing pink, “I am such a fucking slut for you. I’m so dirty, fucking hell—” He throws his head back and buries his fist in his hair as you lick a long stripe up the underside of his neglected cock. “Please, for the love of all things unholy, do not do that again,” he begs, “I swear to Lucifer I will lose it if you do.”

“Did you just give me an order, you filthy little rat?” you ask, tone warning. His eyes widen as he puts his hands up, getting off on the name as he tries desperately to backtrack.

“No!”

You switch the vibrator to its first setting, and watch him jolt at the sensation. “It sounded an awful lot like you were telling me what to do.”

“No, no... ah...” He grimaces, trying not to grind down into the dildo. The head is right against his prostate, and with the low vibration, it’s all he can do not to blow. “--I was... I was simply, eh... ah, shit... requesting? Asking! Nicely... heh...” He blinks up at you with those pretty, mismatched eyes. He looks so innocent from the neck up, but the state of the rest of his body tells a different story. He sticks one of his fingers deep into his mouth, and tilts his head up. He’s wrecked, desperate, eyes rolling back, delirious. “Please. I just want to m-make you proud. Hm?”

You raise an eyebrow, and stand fully up, walking back to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know what you want. You want to cum, don’t you?”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “I—It is all I want...”

“I know.” You watch him struggle for a moment more, and smile, satisfied. “You’ve been a good little rat. Cum. Now.”

With a drawn out groan, all he has to do is jerk his cock once. Within seconds he shoots his heavy load up his chest, getting some on his neck and chin as his whole body reacts to the powerful waves of relief. He knows what to do. Dragging his finger through it, he licks it all clean, and joins you up on the bed.

“Did I do good?” he asks softly, resting his sleepy head in your lap. You stroke damp hair out of his face.

“You did perfect, Cardinal.”

Chapter Text

His position can't be comfortable, though complaints could easily be disguised within the moans from between your legs. 

Thankfully the ministry showers are spacious, those in the Papas' chambers even more so. It was against every rule in the book for Terzo to have you here in his quarters, but his repulsion for rules was almost as strong as his repulsion for Christianity. He didn't even bother to hide you anymore.  Everyone and their mother had seen you visiting him and had heard the sounds of delight coming from you two nearly every night, so it was no big secret. No one dared protest or run to Sister Imperator about it, since Terzo was the queen of gossip, and had so much dirt on everyone in the clergy that he could easily start a social war.

His nails dig into your ass, and he gives you a few quick spanks. Your head falls back under the blissfully warm shower spray, as his tongue traces circles around your clit. Swiping up and down, he draws another moan from you.

"You want it, don't you?" he asks, that infuriating smirk on his lips. You can't even bring yourself to answer, breath stolen. He moves position ever so slightly so that he can spread your legs even wider over his shoulders, and the shocks of pleasure washing over you are almost unbearable. Your arousal is only stratified by the sight below you. Terzo's dark hair flattened down his face, water dripping off the ends down his chest. "I know you want it." He has the nerve to chuckle, fingers gripping bruises into your thighs. "I can see your wet little cunt tightening and tightening around nothing... you wish it was my tongue, yes?" His smirk grows. "No. You wish it was my cock."

Your moans convey the accuracy of his statement, and your hands take his hair hard, fisting in it and tugging. His masochistic side rears up, loving the pain of your pull, and the resulting vibration of his approval draws another gasp from you. 

"Ah... ah..." you gasp, and he laughs again, mocking your whining. "Listen to you. Moaning for me like Papa’s little slut. Ah... ahhhh, oh ahh, Papa! You know what you sound like, tesoro mia?"

You bite your lip desperately.  "Wha...?" You manage out, cheeks heating up from his mockery.

He growls. "You sound like a Sister from one of Secondo's harems." He goes on, slowly inserting one of his fingers into your pussy. "Yes, hmm. Do you know, I happened into chapel one day. I was a young boy, 16 years of age, no older.” He closes his eyes, licks another stripe up your bud and draws his lips away. “Brother was in there, had a girl bent over the altar table, and was..." He dances over his words as he curves his finger up, "Fucking her. Taking her from behind. Thrusting... pounding even, hard and fast, and very, very rough-- without I must mention, the finesse of my own lovemaking talents, though I cannot hold that against him-- but he was doing a good enough job to make her... moan." He pauses his story momentarily to twirl his tongue over your bud again, and starts to slide his finger out and back for a make-do pumping motion. "I stayed and watched until they were both finished, both at the same time, and I got to hear her pleasure. You know, I fantasized through the rest of my teenage years about that. I imagined myself in my brother's place, standing behind her as he was, cock buried inside with one hand grabbing the meat of her ass, sliding my hand up her supple back. Thrusting, making her scream for me to fill her up." He lets out a shuddered breath. "I would touch myself nightly thinking of what I saw that day. But there was one thing I had to use my imagination for. You see, her screams and moans were quite annoying."

Despite yourself and the state you're in, you giggle. He laughs too, then adds a second finger into you. "Yes, I was not partial to the sound she made. To each his own, of course. Perhaps to my brother, she sounded like the perfect bedfellow. Perhaps not. Secondo is distant, cold, it is impossible to tell what he enjoys. But to me... mmm, no. I did not enjoy her moans. I imagined something more like..." He curves his two fingers deep, and you let out a long, passionate moan. He smiles. "Yes. That." His tongue sweeps out to taste you once again. "Musical. Like I can hear your heart in your voice, cara mia. Everything I used to come undone thinking of and more... and now you are mine." He begins to inadvertently imitate you again, only in a deeper tone of his own. "Ahh... ahhh..." His hand is on his cock, which he's stroking slowly, enjoying every savoured moment. "Ahhmmm."

His last moan is muffled as he dives back between your legs, thrusting his fingers up just as he attaches his lips to your clit and sucks. With a nearly hoarse whine, you cum hard, listening to the wet noises of his insatiable slurping as he licks and sucks you through the high, tasting every last drop of the evidence of your orgasm. His hand hurries, and after a moment, you see his shoulders tense as cum drips down his cockhead to mix with the water of the shower.

He stands, cupping your face with his forearms and burying his hands in your wet strands of hair. He shares a kiss with you under the spray, before he draws back and sighs, touching your nose.

"What do you say I get a ghoul to bring us up some fluffy robes and hot chocolate, eh?"

"Hot chocolate," you muse, "You mean your second favourite thing to taste?"

He chuckles wickedly as he gets out of the shower. "Ah, dolce (y/n). How I--" He slips on the wet floor in an unsightly flail, taking the towel rack down with him. You sigh, opening the shampoo bottle.

"This is why you need bodyguards on stage, il mio amante goffo." 

Chapter Text

Papa was terrifying, but the thought of speaking what was constantly on your mind was even more so.

At first, you had questioned your state of mind when it became evident you wanted the Antipope. Were you under some sort of hex? Then, the fog had cleared when you had realized something. Why shouldn’t you be attracted to him? The head of the church, the leader who reigned over you all. What he lacked in charisma, he made up for in wisdom, power, and the intensity with which he addressed his acolytes. When he spoke, he spoke deliberately, no idle babble or stupid rhetoric. He knew all there was to know about the Olde One, and his reservoir of arcane knowledge drove you mad with lust.

That, among other things.                           

A smoking thurible swings from gloved fingers. “And the invisible and the visible, and in his son begotten of father by whom all things will be unmade, who for man and his damnation incarnated rise up from hell...”

As he speaks at the front of the chapel, your fingers squeeze a little tighter on your exposed knee through the slit down the leg of your habit. He’s leading a prayer, and all your mind can fixate on is what he might look like under those robes. Was Papa well-endowed? You had heard rumours around the church that the Emeritus brothers were extremely gifted in that area, rumours born most likely of the infamous tales of Papa Nihil’s prowess back in the days of the Satanic Panic. If their father knew how to hit it right, then they must too.

But while Papa didn’t strike you as a particularly sexual creature, there was a hypnotic sense of appeal about him. He had a quiet confidence, a way of ever-so-subtly quirking his eyebrow to indicate he was in full control of any situation and every soul in it, make no mistake. The fact that he was too many years to count your senior was oddly arousing to you. 

“Oh...” you let slip, the low moan coming out from under your breath. He’d stand over you, that evil glare sweeping down your naked body presented to him. Utterly in command of your every move, your every little quiver, he’d order you to purr for him. “...Papa.”

“Yes?”

Your gaze sharpens on his standing figure, eyes widening. As you open your mouth, you suddenly try to think of anything other than what you were going to say, anything less terrifying. For better or for worse, your originally planned compliment comes out.

“I was just admiring your vestments. They suit your form quite well, Papa.” There’s that eyebrow quirk again, and the dear actually takes the time to glance down over his robes, wondering how exactly you could make out his ‘form’ beneath them.

“I... I thank you. I sewed them together myself,” he tells you, chest puffing just a tad. Your heart melts a little, and you run your tongue over your bottom lip.  

“You never do cease to amaze, your dark Excellency.”

Papa’s not stupid. He understands when someone is coming on to him, but above all carnal reactions he may be having to your flirtation, duty is priority. “I appreciate your flattery Sister, but it is unfortunately misplaced.” He raises a finger. “When our saviour Satan led Eve on her path to salvation through the glory of her damnation, the sin of the seven he employed was not lust, but gluttony.” 

“Papa, do you live by the Seven Sins?” you ask. He once again looks at you, and frowns.

“Of course. As do we all.”

“Which one do you find yourself partaking of the most often?” you ask. It’s an innocent question— you’re simply trying to get to know the Papa’s secrets, blur the divide between leader and acolytes. His face however, is dumbfounded. You can tell he’s never really been asked to speak about himself before.

“Well,” he says slowly, looking more than a little disturbed (more so than usual), “I am partial to the effects of lust, if one must take the forefront.”

“Funny you should say that Papa,” you giggle, uncrossing your legs. “That’s my favourite sin too.”

A flash of surprise crosses his sinister features, before he lets it sour on his face back into his resting intensity. “If I may return to our prayer, Sister?” 

Papa watches the crowd of Siblings of Sin listen to his Satan prayer, some uncrossing themselves, some kissing their grucifixes, some whispering words of unholy hail. Throughout, his gaze continues to snap back to you. You never look away from him, eyes full of mystery and something strange he can’t decipher. You’ve always been so interested in his sermons as well, drinking in his teachings like fine Italian wine. Papa prided himself on being a learned man, even more so than his younger brothers, and your interest in the macabre academia he had to offer was intriguing to say the least. You’ve always been one of his darkest disciples, and for that, he’s taken notice of you.

His interest in you goes beyond the teachings of Satan, however. He has thought of you at once or twice during the dark hours of the night. He has dreamt of disciplining you however harshly you deserve, then having his way with you. It’s a selfish fantasy, one he could never know for certain if you shared to that degree, but he doesn’t indulge often, so when best to finally do so than with thoughts of a beautiful young thing preening for him? Besides, he hadn’t felt this level of carnal lust since he was back in his prime, since the days he used to have torrid affairs of legend with some of humankind’s most prolific killers: Elizabeth Bathory, Catalina Lisperguer...

But you, the mystery of the Church. He wanted to take control over you, make you bow to him. And judging by your display today, you may not be opposed to the idea. Swiftly dismissing this and tearing himself back from his fantasy, he focuses on spreading the incense of his thurible.

“Fom sitteth on the left hand of his father, from thence he shall come to judge,” Papa quotes, dropping his left arm to point downward, “Out of one substance with Satan whose kingdom shall haveth no end.”

You close your eyes, listening to his voice and imagining his encouragement as you would sink to your knees before him in prayer.

“Pray to me,” he would say, “Pray for Papa to fuck you.”

“Nema,” Papa finishes with, bowing his head. The Siblings all bow their heads in turn, closing the Satan prayer.

“Nema.”

You quickly whisper it too as those around you rise. When most are preoccupied with lighting a single black candle on their way out of the chapel, you take the opportunity to walk over to him. Papa looks a little startled to see you.

“Sister,” he greets with a nod.

“Papa,” you smile. He waits, and at your notably impure gaze, he sighs.

“Did you have a matter to bring to my attention? I must remind you, my ghouls are available for any church business, as I am very busy.”

“Too busy to talk to your favourite Sister?” you pout, and run a hand down his robe. His eyes widen. It is punishable by excommunication for a Sister to lay a hand on the Papa, unless it is within the boundaries of consensual romantic or sexual relations.

Well. You’re working on that.

 “I... have made no such declaration of favouritism,” he practically blurts. You sigh as he turns to light a few candles himself.

“But I’ve seen you looking,” you go on. He sets down his thurible, giving a slight shrug.

“It is a sign of respect to meet the eyes of my subordinates.”

Fine. If he wants to play dumb, you’ll just have to be blunt about it. “C’mon, Papa,” you whisper, “You know how badly I want you to fuck me.”

He freezes, chin lifting in an expression daring you to repeat yourself. “Scusi?”

You shudder. “You heard me. You spoke of Asmodeus the other day... follow him, and indulge in my lust.”

He puts an awkward, tentative hand on your shoulder, his insecurities fighting his arousal down. “Sister. I understand your desires. It is only natural for you to feel this way toward me, for I am the head of the church, and I am powerful. But I assure you... I cannot satisfy you in that way.”

“Why not?” you moan, biting your lip.

He bows his head. "I am far too old to spoil a creature like you." 

“If it’s stamina you’re worried about, I can do all the work.” You move in closer, tracing the Leviathan’s cross that had been stitched into his red and black robes with care. “Papa, I can take control.”

That has the desired effect. His gaze snaps up, all traces of the humble old man turned to ash. “You will not take control,” he says, voice low and threatening, “That is my job.” Your breath hitches.

“Show me?” Like a magic word had been uttered, he takes you by the shoulders and guides you over to the alter. You lay back against it and spread your legs, Papa trailing his fingers down and under your habit to find you soaking wet.

“La ragazza disubbidiente. Sinful little ghuleh,” he mutters. Reaching up, you part his vestments to reveal his hardness straining against undergarments you’re about to remove. He’s even more well-endowed than what had been described.  

“So. The rumours are true,” you tease. He hushes you with a kiss, then makes quick work of your black panties, pulling them down and hanging them on one of your ankles. With a hiss, he buries himself inside you, grip on your shoulder tightening. He waits, and when you start to grind down for more, he takes it as his queue to move. His thrusts are slow and deep, putting every bit of his weight into his efforts. Lost in the feeling of him stretching you open, you wrap your legs around his back. He scolds you, takes you by your knee and lifts it for a better angle. You cry out as he slides even deeper.

“Enjoying my cock, ghuleh?” he asks breathlessly, and you look up into those piercing eyes. Your only answer is a moaned affirmation, as he thrusts again to bring you closer to your peak. You gasp, and his hat falls off as he increases the severity of his thrusts, holding you down. “Now you see who is in control, don’t you?”

“Ye-es,” you gasp, nearly sobbing with desperation. You’re already so close.  

“That’s a good girl. Taking my cock so nice,” he growls in your ear. “I feared I would not be so spry if I ever did get you into this position, but as they say, a leopard cannot change his spots... I always prided myself on my ability to pleasure the right way.”

“So you admit you thought of this?” He catches on, and swears under his breath at your realization. “Did you touch yourself thinking of me, Papa?” you grin, the image in your head alone making you flush with pride. He stays quiet as you go on badgering him. “Did you imagine taking control? Showing me who’s in charge? Handling me so rough?” He fucks you harder, shaking the table, and you’ve never felt anything so deeply fulfilling in your life. “Ah, fuck Papa! I’m yours to do with as you please! Fucking break me.”

His hips stutter, and he leans down, kissing you open-mouthed along the neck. His lips trail up to just below your ear, and tingles run through you. He wasn’t joking when he said he knew how to fuck just right, but you suppose he’s had many, many years of practice.

You begin to beg unintelligibly, head falling backward. Papa doesn’t say another word—the time for idle chatter is over, and he makes that clear with his authoritative hand that stays splayed over your throat, never closing, but kept there as a reminder.

“I...” you begin to roll your head feverishly. “P... I-I’m...”

“Tell me. Who is your Papa?” he snarls. Before you can answer, your orgasm hits you. He watches you come completely and wholly undone with no small amount of captivation, splayed hand moving down to caress your breast. Your rhythmic squeezing around him is too much—as you arch your back in another wave of pleasure, he pushes in deep, holding you still for a moment as he finishes, filling you with his seed.

Your eyesight comes back into focus, and you vaguely register that Papa, the head of the church, the unbroken and seemingly un-seduceable man, was still inside of you, slumped forward over your heaving body.

“Che macello,” (what a mess) he murmurs, slipping out of you and tutting. You smirk, standing as best you can and sliding his hand into yours.

“That’s the way I like it.”

“Mmm.” He pulls you forward, plants a small kiss to your forehead, then moves to speak in your ear. “Well. As my seed drips down your leg tonight, remember this little talk we had, hm? Remember that I am a part of you for the night, and keep me inside.” He exhales the tension he’d been holding, running a hand over his smooth head. “I do love when one shows such loyalty.”

You feel that tingle again over the marks he had left on your neck. “You’re a firm leader. You demand nothing short of loyalty, as any great leader should... and may I say, the stamina you had such little faith in was a pleasant surprise.” With a smile and a slight bow of your head, you turn tail, sauntering to the exit of the chapel. “I’ll see you in your dreams, Papa. Nema.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, my love, my talented little one... you are too good to me.”

His thighs are wrapped tightly around your neck, as his cock glides deeper into your mouth. He can’t maneuver enough to thrust his hips up, but you’ve got that taken care of, taking him as deep as you can with each bob of your head.

This is all a direct result of watching your lover seduce the crowd at his latest ritual here in Stockholm. He acted the part of the gentleman well until that act was promptly dropped and his hands started to feel up his tightly packed crotch for the entertainment of the audience. He frolicked up on stage in that white suit, in which you can always very clearly see the outline of his junk. Said bulge became thicker and more pronounced as the show went on with thrust after thrust into nothing and fingers strategically teasing, to the point where his frustrated cock was almost tenting those tight pants by the final bows. You couldn’t count how many times you had licked your lips during his performance, and you could be sure his arousal was helped along by noticing this.

His legs tighten around your neck, keeping you in place as he guides your pace. Your fingers clutch desperately onto his thick thighs, running up and down them as you moan. He tightens them again, watching you with intrigue.

“Mm—” you choke.

“What’s wrong? You can’t breathe?” You moan in response, and he smirks. “You know the word, mia dolce. It will not fall on deaf ears, you know this.”

Still, you keep your pace up despite his offered reprieve, invigorated by the dizzying feeling of his thighs limiting your air supply. He’s got so much power over you like this, choking you with his legs alone. The ache in your neck only inspires you to take him deeper, push harder, as tears gather in your eyes. His groaned appreciation turns to narrowed eyes looking down at you, one hand still buried in your hair.

“You love feeling these around you, hm? Surrounding you. Reminding you who’s in control. Yes... what if I...?” He tightens a bit more, and you let out a sound halfway to a moan, coming out just as choked as everything else. With the stimulation of him closing his gorgeous legs tighter around you, your mouth sinks deeper onto him, and he grabs your shoulder for purchase as his hips lift slightly off the bed.

“Ah, shit! Take it, ghuleh... take all of me, I want you to fucking suck me like you’ve never sucked before,” he growls, and you bob faster, eyebrows lifting. His commands are setting you on fire, but you know your orgasm comes later.

It’s not too far off though, if his thighs had any say in the matter.

 “Tighter?” he asks, feigning a cupped hand around his ear, “If you insist, my slut.” Waiting for any subtle sign you’re not into it anymore or you do not, in fact, want it tighter, he pauses for the fraction of a second. When he sees your hand snake down to relieve your ache, he proceeds. Your eyes begin to roll back, and he immediately eases his legs up ever so slightly, tilting your chin to meet his eyes.

“I want my little ghuleh safe, mm? You tell me if you need me to stop, or you tap out. Yes?” You nod and pop off, knowing he’ll make you go verbal on this one.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good ghuleh. That’s my very good baby,” he nods, and beckons with his hand. “Now. What are you waiting for? Does it look like I’ve cum?” You shake your head, biting your lip. “Exactly... so why are you not sucking my god damn cock right now?”

You exhale shakily, and go back down on him, getting all the way down so your nose brushes in the light brown dusting of hair at the base. He’s practically vibrating above you, but he keeps his handle on you.

“Mmm!”

“Would you like to try it one more time, just a little bit tighter?” he asks, tilting his head. You nod quickly, and he strokes your hair back as he brings his thighs around your neck closer. Your breath comes out in short puffs, and your fingers rub faster circles at the front of your panties. “Breathe for me, sweet ghuleh.”

“Mhmm,” you nod, and remember to take in air through your nose at a steady pace. Everything is a hazy blur as you work up and down, fast, no moment to pause, and as you flatten your tongue just under the head of his cock, you can tell by the usual throb that he’s about to finish. You swallow him down one more time, and he can’t help it-- his thighs involuntarily clamp as he gasps. The sound Copia makes when he orgasms was something you had to get used to, but now, you can’t cum yourself without imagining it. It’s a high pitched noise, almost like a quivering flurry of titters. It’s usually finished off with a virile grunt, and tonight is no exception. His hand flies backward to clutch the side of the bed as the other stays firmly clenched at the roots of your hair, and the pain of his clenching thighs ignites your orgasm. You let out a whine around him, and he realizes what he’s done with his legs. He lets go a little, watching you rock through your orgasm, and another spurt of warm cum runs down your throat.

His fingers open up, releasing your head, and you slide off of his softening cock with a pop. He uses his thumb to clean a drop of his seed off of your bottom lip, and smirks.

“Ah, look at mia dolce. Such a sight, it steals my breath, yes.” He sprays a few mists of his favourite pheromonic scent, and dabs it onto his neck. He sets it down, eyes darting back to you like a predator’s. “You know what good girls get, eh?”

“They get to sit on their Papa’s lap?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. He bites back another moan at how hoarse your voice is from being choked so extensively. It makes him proud to know you trust him so deeply with your safety and the handling of your pleasure.  

“I am not Papa,” he reminds.

You straddle him, getting in his lap and pushing him backward to lay down. Your hands run up those deliciously meaty thighs, all the way up to cup him again. “Tonight, we can pretend.”

Chapter Text

You can tell immediately by his body language that it had been another hard day in the office for your lover. Copia comes into your shared bedroom, eyes weary and fists clenched from the piled up work no one would let him escape. You’re reminded of how proud of him you are. He knows what he has to do to work toward the papacy, the one thing he would kill for in life, and he’s prepared to put the blood sweat and tears in for it. He nearly wobbles over trying to pull his boot off, and swears under his breath. You know what he needs... but tonight, you’re not in the mood to just give yourself to him as you usually do.

Like clockwork, he begins to tiredly unbutton his cassock, removes it, and is left in his undershirt. He discards his pants, sits down on the bed, and rubs his face with a soft sigh.

“I thought of you all day,” he murmurs through his fingers.

“Mm?” you ask from the bathroom. He hums an affirmative, and you hear the bed creak. He’s probably shifting his weight, reaching down to readjust himself.

“I just wanted to have a little fun. Take a break from the grind, bend you over something, and—” he mimes spanking. “I don’t know. Get jiggy with it.”

You suppress a laugh. He really does have a way with words. You walk out to see him in his boxers, a semi filling them out. You look down at it, lick your lips, but resist pouncing... for now.

“Come here, cara mia,” he mumbles, resting back on his forearm and dragging a hand through shaggy hair. You feel your heart race a little, watching his bottom lip disappear behind his teeth. Still, you resist.

“No.”

The look of shock on his face is worth it; he’s genuinely surprised. “Did you just say no?” You smirk, and you can see in his gaze that something has shifted. In the bedroom, the two of you like to use the term he hasn’t yet earned yet—Papa. It makes him feel important, and he always gets off on pretending he has indeed won his skullpaint. His eyes narrow into dominance, daring you to test him again. “Caro, please. I must have misheard, no?” Your dark gaze tells him he did not. “Would you care to explain your disobedience?” You blink at him pretty, and he beckons with two fingers and a clenched jaw. “Come here to your Papa.” His fingers point down in front of him like he’s calling to a pet.

“Make me,” you whisper. He lets out a low growl.

“I will not tell you again. You do as I say.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” you tease, hiking your shirt up a little. His eyes fall down to it, and you watch as his cock becomes even more interested. He gives himself a rub for relief, and you bite back a moan. You can see the outline of the swollen head through the thin fabric, and you just want to suck on him through it.

“Come, come,” he encourages, voice softer, “This charade, it is silly, hm? I know you are wet just thinking about the pounding I am going to give you, cara mia. No use in denying it.”

You squirm a little bit, but keep your mind clear. “I want to see your cock, Papa. Let me see it, and I’ll come over.”

His teeth bare a little as he debates giving in. On one hand, he needs to keep a firm hand, but on the other, he’s never seen you act like such a brat. It is turning him on a little.

“Bene. You want to see this?” he asks, voice gently sinister like the calm before the storm. “This cock, my darling ghuleh?” He takes it out of his pants and stands, and you can’t stop the sigh that escapes your lips. Your pussy clenches, desperate to feel that inside of you, but with a pained grimace, you stay put. “Do you like?” he grins, striking a pose and sliding a hand all the way up his length. You bite your lip. He’s like a goddamn peacock, showing off his feathers. “Wouldn’t you just like to... wrap your lips around it, taste what I have to offer you?” He rocks forward on his toes. “Or would you like to feel it stretching you open, hm? Yes... nice and big, you want to fuck yourself on Papa’s big cock, don’t you?” You can’t help it. Your fingers slide down, and you reach around your panties, starting with two fingers inside yourself.

Copia doesn’t stop you. In fact, he encourages you.

“Tell me how it feels, eh?” he mutters, stroking his own cock slowly to your display. “Spread those legs wide open for Papa and tell him how it feels to get fucked.”

You groan, and feel your wetness dripping down. You want him so bad it’s killing you, but you’re too far into this, you can’t give in now. “It’s warm,” you tease, letting your head fall back, “It’s warm and wet, and fuck—it’s so tight, oh...” Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the breath catch in his throat. “It’s so sinful, Papa.”

“Feel me inside you,” he says. “Feel me... fucking you, slowly, deeper. Reaching places you cannot reach yourself.” He rolls his R. You make the mistake of opening your eyes and seeing him glowering at you, eyes fiery behind that black paint.

“Papa—” you give a broken cry, and he drops down, removing your hand from between your legs and replacing it with his own. He gives a few pumps to slick his fingers, then brings them to his mouth. He seems lost in your taste, absolutely taken by it as usual, but focuses instead on taking what he needs. Tonight isn’t about rewarding you with hours of his tongue enjoying your sweet pussy... this is about teaching you a lesson.

“Do you want it?” he murmurs. His lips are so close to your ear, but he won’t touch your skin with them. You moan, intoxicated by his scent of endless cups of caffeinated tea and lingering cigarette smoke, a dizzying mix that no doubt kept him on his toes all day. The feeling of comfort this inspires only leads you to crave the satisfaction that awaits you. 

“I want it,” you moan, and he pushes into you. The slide is easy from how wet you are, and he buries himself to the hilt, mouth falling open. Another growl from him, and you brace yourself with one hand on his chest and the other on the floor. “Be rough with me, Papa. Remind me who I belong to.”

He mutters something in Italian before pulling out almost completely and pounding back in. His thrusts are deep, all-consuming. You’re teetering on the edge.

“Wrap your legs around my back, (y/n),” he rasps, grunting with another thrust, “Take what you need from Papa’s cock.” You let out another choked out moan, and grind yourself down with every pump inside you. Your back is braced against the dresser behind you two, the force of his thrusts knocking it back a few inches every time. Finally, he rocks your body so hard it moves the dresser out of the way, and your back hits the wall, sliding down slowly to the floor.

“We’re making an awful mess of this bedroom,” you whisper, giggling.

“I could not give two shits,” he laughs, and bends your legs back so far he’s almost bending you in half. He holds you by the ankles, pounding like he needs it to survive. Sweat trickles down his temples and flattens loose strands of mousy brown hair to his sideburns. Your hands grab for his undershirt, and you pull him into a searing kiss. He gives a broken moan as you move your hands down to grab his ass, and with one more graze of his pelvis against your clit, you feel the wave of pleasure.

“Ah, ahhh,” he gasps, grip on your ankles tightening, and he pushes in balls deep, stilling as you feel the twitch of his climax inside of you. After a moment of regulating your breathing, you peel off of one another, muscles aching from being so cramped up on the floor like that. He lets out a breath, and shakes his head. “You are a fucking brat.”

“Just the way you like it, apparently,” you snort, collecting his clothes from the ground to dump into the laundry basket. He heads into the bathroom for a shower, and you hear someone knock on the door. You keep quiet, but the knocks persist.

“I am very sorry for bothering you after hours Cardinal, but there is business of the utmost importance that I must bring to your attention!” It’s Sister Imperator.

You wait to hear if Copia’s heard her, but the shower is already running. Your overworked lover is not going to want to deal with whatever clusterfuck was being dumped on him this time... this means you can take matters into your own hands. You start to groan loudly, moaning obscenities and encouragement.

“Right there... right there, oh, yeah, please, don’t stop, YES!” you feign, bouncing on the bed. You hear Sister Imperator sigh as she walks away.

“That man has a permanent erection, I swear to Satan.”

The shower suddenly turns off, and a half naked Cardinal appears in the steamy bathroom doorway. He drops the towel wrapped around his lower half, posing seductively with one hand on his hip.

“Did I just hear you begging for round two?”

Chapter Text

You shiver again, pulling your robe tighter to you. You suppose you could’ve put some comfier clothes on to help heat you up, but you’re in bed now, and you’re not getting up again—that would just make you colder. The Ministry’s heat, however it happened, had shut off earlier in the evening. It had happened during Papa’s sermon, and thankfully he had candles lit, but the rest of the church had been plunged into darkness. After an hour or so, the biting cold had begun to creep in, and there was no getting rid of it until the handy ghouls figured out what they needed to fix.  

You had thought of running a hot bath for yourself, but then there was the matter of getting out of the bath wet and freezing even more. You’ve since decided now to just wait for your Secondo to come back from his service—normally you’d have been sitting in chapel with the rest of your Siblings, but after last night’s particularly rough session, he had ordered you a day of care and bed rest in his chambers, with ghouls to personally dote on you and bring you whatever you needed.

Well, you needed a couple hundred blankets at the moment, but the only ghoul who was warm enough to serve anything right now was the fire ghoul, and he’d be damned (again) if he served anybody.

The door opens and closes, and your lover finally enters the room, taking off his mitre. “Fa un cazzo di freddo,” he mutters. You open the black bed sheets to him.

“Here, get under here. I’ve warmed it up for you.”   

He discards his robe, thankful for the fact he had already cleaned his skull paint off immediately after the sermon. He joins you with a low groan, and you smile contentedly. “Ohhh... your arms are so warm,” you sigh in bliss.

“My robes kept me somewhat heated,” he mumbles into your hair. You wriggle back into him, and your eyes open slightly as you feel something. Satan below. Papa is the only one you know of who can maintain an erection when the heat gets turned off. You grind back against it, and you feel him still his body. “Quindi questo è quello che vuoi stasera.” (So this is what you want tonight.)

You nod, feeling a smirk creeping up. He hums.

“Pull down your panties.”

You do as he says. He hums his approval, and slides even closer in behind you. One hand leaves your hips, and you feel him shift, reaching down between your bodies. Your tongue darts out over your bottom lip as you prepare to receive him. His hand stills you, and the other one slides down the your abdomen in the front. He speaks against the back of your neck.

"You are not to move," he orders. "You wish to please me?" He mouths a soft kiss on the back of your neck. "Do as I tell you. Keep still for me."

"Papa..." you whine, grinding back onto him. His grip tightens, and he gently guides you back by your hair to speak in your ear. "That was not a suggestion."

If the lack of heating did not already, his tone of voice would make you shiver. "Yes, Papa. I am sorry, Papa." You feel his grip relax.

"No, no." He pats you. "Save your apologies for later, cara mia. You may need them."

"I promise, I won't," you say, biting your lip. You fear you're making a promise you can't keep, since you have no idea what he's about to do. Papa knows this too, but appreciates your submission. He takes himself in hand. His groan is faint as it is deep, but it still goes right to your core. Papa lifts your leg, making room for him to slide slowly into you. You feel the head of his cock alone enter, painfully slow. As if reading your thoughts, he trails a single finger down your neck, down your back. "Remember what I said, dolce."

"Yes, Papa." With a satisfied nod, he pushes the rest of the way in. It's just enough to make your body think it's about to get fucked. You close your eyes, willing yourself to stop clenching so tightly around him. You wanted to make him proud.

"Rilassare. Relax, ghuleh," he whispers, kneading his fingers into your muscles, "Sleep."

Despite the fire he had started in you, your fullness at the moment wasn't even enough to deny the warmth Papa's closeness was providing. His lulling massage is making you sleepy. "That's it," he murmurs, "A good ghuleh. You know the importance of taking your time. In the morning, we will take care of this. Right now, we rest." He puts his arm around you, and shifts ever so slightly. His cock grazes your g-spot, and you bite back a moan. Don't move. Just enjoy the heat and dream of morning. Your eyes close again, and you drift off in Papa's arms. Behind you, he smirks, watching your struggle. He knows his expectations are high, but patience is a virtue. Like the finer things in life, waiting always made things better. Darkness clouds your vision  until you open your eyes again.

You're tied up, a spreading bar keeping your body completely open to whomever put it there. You've got a ball gag in your mouth, and it's just tight enough to ache as you try to speak. Looking down with a little more awareness, you see that you're completely naked, on display. Your cheeks burn, and a voice startles you from the dark corner. "Mia bella." Papa stands, and walks over. All at once, you can feel the evidence of flogging along your inner thighs. You squirm, and he glides forward. "Exposed to me. Only me, hm?" He asks, holding your chin. Your gaze flickers down to where he's holding himself in gloved hands, cock weeping over black leather. The memory fades in and out, but his dark, skull painted form is clear.

"Let me take care of that, Papa?" you moan, gag suddenly gone. He lifts his chin.

"I will satisfy myself with you as I see fit."

"Please?" you sigh. "I want to taste." He archs an eyebrow.

"What you want is what got us into this little mess." All you latch onto is 'mess.' You want to be covered in his mess, head to toe, or at least where it can be seen. Your wrists twist in your bindings. He chuckles, and you freeze in fear. Could he...?

"Do not worry yourself. I haven't bothered dabbling in the art of telepathy as my brother has. I have no power over your mind... only that which you convey through your carnal reactions." His eyes sweep over you, and he brings his opposite gloved hand to cup your left breast. "The body is very telling. If one would just... listen." He drags his leather clad thumb over your swollen nipple, and another moan falls from your lips. His fist moves along his cock as he closes his eyes and revels in the sound, like he's enjoying the most beautiful piece of music. "I love what your body says to me, mia dolce," he whispers, "It is dirty. Obscene, very depraved." He grins. "Just as I like it." You gasp as he cups your heat, so entranced in his words that you hadn't noticed his hand moving down.

"I want you to take what you need from me to satisfy yourself," he says, lost for a moment in taking in the sigh of you. "To satisfy this beautiful flesh."

"But you said..." you breathe, trailing off. Your mind is confused, blurring the lines between what is real and what's a dream. All you know is the throbbing between your legs, and how good his hand feels there. "Would you like my cock?"

You purse your lips. "Mhmm."

"Prepare, then." He sinks into you, the stretch the most wonderful thing you've felt. You grind down as best you can. With every rock of your hips downward onto him, everything else in the dream fades into oblivion a little more. Soon, the restraints are gone. The room is gone. All you can feel is him inside you, claiming you, you working down with one single goal. You slam down onto him, and just as you're about to finally reach your peak, your body jerks awake.

You freeze, biting down on your fist. Panic hits you like a bucket of water as you realize what you've been doing. You take a few deep breaths, willing your orgasm back down. A small gasp later with the dig of your fingernails into the mattress, the sensation fades, and you're left with a dull, aching throb. Papa's cock is still inside of you, rock hard, but he's sound asleep. He's not making any move, because unlike you apparently, he has self-control. You're so close... maybe he wouldn't notice if you carefully got yourself off. At this point, there's really no way you'd be able to make it through the night otherwise. Papa is snoring behind you, which means he's in deep sleep. As your hand travels down however, the idea of what his punishment might be makes you hesitate. He moves an inch, and you force down a moan. Nothing he would do could be worse than this.

One finger rubs slow circles around your clit, and you try not to contract your walls around him. If he sleeps through this you suppose he may just think it's a wet dream  but you still can't risk it. You work yourself up again, and just as you're about to cum, you realize something. You can't hear Papa's soft snoring any longer.

You hold your breath.

"Did you cum?" he growls. You whimper.

"No."

"Good thing I caught you in time." His nose brushes your ear, and you have to fight not to finish just from his voice alone. "I explicitly told you not to move, and I wake up to this. Direct disobedience of my rules. Unless you have some sort of explanation?" You can't think of anything good to say in response, and he wouldn't appreciate an excuse about some dream. He sighs gruffly. "Is this what you wanted me to do?" Without warning, he rocks his hips into you. His cock hits a spot deep inside you, and you cry out.

"Papa! I-I didn't mean to... I thought..."

"You wanted me to fuck you like this. It was torture, hm? Feeling me inside you like this, unable to do anything about it. But you were able, so it would seem."

You moan. "I'm so-- ahh..."

"Such a little harlot that you cannot wait to get fucked in due time?" He lets out a disappointed sigh. "Che peccato. (Such a shame). And you were doing so well keeping me warm on this chilly night. Nothing for you tonight or tomorrow. Perhaps next time you will exercise restraint when I ask something of you." He goes to pull out, but you grab his hand on your hip. You look back desperately, and utter your safe word. He immediately turns back, stays. "What do you wish of me, my sweet?"

"Fuck me. Please, please fuck me." He presses a soft kiss to your ear, and obligingly starts pounding into you. Both of your grunts of appreciation fill his chambers, and it takes less than a minute to squeeze his hand tighter in warning. He coaxes out your moaning, and thrusts even harder, deeper, until he hears you gasp in relief as a shaking orgasm hits. Once he's sure you're taken care of, he allows himself release as well, growling into your hair as your clenching cunt milks every last drop from him. He gives a satisfied sigh, and you lean your head back against him as he wraps his arms around you comfortably. You sniffle.

"Are you all right?" he asks, sitting up and going to light a candle worriedly. "Have I hurt you, mia bella?"

"No," you assure, stopping him again. He looks down to you. "I just, I hate using the safe word. It was so hot, and... before I... fuck. It was just so overwhelming, I needed you so bad I couldn't even think, and... I feel so weak." He lays back down, and brings you into the sweetest kiss you ever thought him capable of.

"It is not weak to ask for what you want," he says sternly, lifting a finger. "We have rules for a reason, you and I. I would be even angrier with you if you had suffered needlessly and not said a thing. You would be in breach of our contract if you did not say anything, hm?" You nod reluctantly. "I would be remiss in my duties to you if I thought any less of you for doing so." He strokes your cheek. "Dolce. My strong girl. I am your master, but you are the master of this." His hand trails down your body, patting you fondly. You start to smile.

"Mm. Who knew the heat shutting off would lead to a heart-to-heart about consent?" He grumbles, fitting your body back against his.

"I will slit the throat of whoever is responsible for this tomorrow."

There's your miserable old wounded bitter man. 

Chapter Text

Terzo is the most agreeable of the Emeritus Brothers, in your experience. If you were ever to need a comforting hug, a late night chat over wine, or just a friendly word of encouragement, he could always be counted on to put a smile back on your face. Of course, he was also Janus in nature, in ways that made even Secondo wary. When his pride or dignity was taken into question, he was as volatile as a hurricane, and ghouls new to keep him at arm's length, lest they be extinguished with a snap.

 Terzo liked you for your boldness, your brazen will, your fearlessness, and your ambition. He admired that you one day wished to take over sister Sister Imperator's position, which was a likely event, as you were well-liked and highly regarded within the clergy. Terzo, knowing of your ambitions, had offered to personally guarantee anything you dreamt of becoming. But you had developed an attraction to him, and since you had decided to pursue it, you hadn't wanted him to think you saw him as a stepping stone. Still, you were working your way to the top steadily and deliciously, wearing it as a badge of honour that it was you who now woke up every day in the most sexually explorative Emeritus' bed.

Today was the meeting where you would vote on new ritual procedures for the communers.

"It is clear we need practices lustful in nature if we are to call upon Asmodeus," Sister Imperator says. You sit beside her, hands folded, and observe, Special Ghoul acting as scribe across the room. "Emeritus II. Your thoughts?"

"Sono dell'opinione che dovremmo impiegare i metodi di Aleister Crowley. Ordo Templi Orientis non delude mai." (I'm of the opinion that we should employ the methods of Aleister Crowley. Ordo Templi Orientis never disappoints.) Beside him, Emeritus I takes a long sip of sludgy black coffee, to the repulsion of his brother.

"I agree," the elder offers.

"Any specifics?" Sister asks, opening her hands. "Emeritus III. Your predilections and fondness for sex magick are well-known. Do you have a suggestion to put forth?" Terzo exchanges looks with you, and gives a noncommittal shrug.

"Communion with the dark lord is quite pleasant through eroto-comatose lucidity. Then again, there are less primitive, more... elaborate rituals that may suit our guidelines better. I confess I know absolutely fucking nothing about our guidelines, so Primo would be the best person to ask." Secondo shoots him a look, and Terzo flashes him a smirk in reply. Then Secondo begins to grin.

"If you are so versed Terzo, perhaps your concubine could provide some insight as well?" The room is silent. Special's quill halts, and his eyes grow large behind his silver mask. The middle Emeritus brother goes on. "What you lack in procedural discipline, she makes up for. Bella ragazza?" You arch an eyebrow, placing your hands on the table. All eyes are on you.

"I wouldn't know. The last time we tried anything ritualistic in nature, the ceremonial wine kept him from performing his best."

A flash of vindication runs through Secondo's eyes, and light titters go through the room. Terzo's jaw clenches, and you know that was a mistake. "Want to say that again?" he asks. You open your mouth, stripped of your confidence.

"Do not be ashamed, brother," Secondo cuts in, continuing to grin wolfishly, "With age comes such obstacles. At last you feel my frustrations." Primo grunts with a nod. Terzo grinds his teeth, glaring directly across the table at you. 

"I do not believe I asked you, Fratello." He never breaks eye contact with you. "What was that you were saying about my performance, cara?"

"I..." you stutter.

"Get up," he growls, and stands, meeting you at the door of the meeting room. Everyone sits around in continued silence before Special raises a finger.

"Shall I strike that little kerfuffle from the record?"

Outside, Terzo doesn't wait to bring you to his quarters. He slams you up against the wall, holding his forearm to your neck.

"I didn't mean to humiliate you, I--" you babble, but he silences you with a bite to your ear, then down to your neck.

"Unless you are prepared to grovel at my boots, I do not want to hear another word out of this mouth." He flips you around, and bunches your skirt up.

"Terzo, there's..." You blush, glancing around at the Siblings of Sin and ghouls pretending not to look. He brings a hand down on your ass, and the hard slap rings out.

"You will call me Papa." You bite back a sob.

"Yes, Papa."

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes, Papa!"

"And as for our unwitting audience... they will get to see what happens to a very bad ghuleh who does not know her place." He roughly handles your ass as he grinds his clothed cock against it. "You feel that?" he snarls. You suck on your bottom lip, beating a fist into the wall, and Terzo tugs your hair back. "Speak."

"Yes, Papa, I feel it Papa," you blurt. His tugging gets harder, arching your back. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you notice Omega walking by, ducking his head. Careless of this, Terzo rips your panties off, and holds them to his face. After pocketing them, he shoves one finger into you, curving it, getting it nice and coated in your wetness, before bringing it to his lips, tasting you as you would candy.

"Mmm. You like it when I am rough with you, no? You want it. You want me." You nod, tears filling your eyes. "You want me... right here." He cups your sex, inserting his index and middle finger into you. "That's where you're going to get it." He reaches down, and finally pops the button on his tented pants, freeing his erection. You feel him stroke himself a couple of times, and he grinds himself into the small of your back. You pound the wall again, clenching for him. Spectators be damned, you want him to fuck you raw in front of all these people, put you in your place, show them all who you belong to. Just as you're starting to worry his punishment would be leaving you like this, he thrusts into you. You rock forward on your toes, and push yourself back to receive him again. He wastes no time, tugging your hair back roughly and slamming into you. You try to reach down to touch yourself, but he spanks you so hard you gasp, keeping your palms braced against the wall.

"Papa, I--" He spanks you again, and you cry out. "Papaaaa..."

"Did you have something to say, or were you just going to babble and beg like a no-good slut?" he growls. Your response is garbled as your cheek hits the wall, your mind turning to mush. He takes his right glove off, and brings it down again on your red, stinging ass cheek. You wiggle your hips a little, and he stalls. "You like it with the gloves on, eh?" He slips them back on. "Nice and hard?" He spanks you for what feels like the hundredth time, and your knees buckle. He catches you, holds you in place with his hips as he thrusts with abandon. "Tell me, how would you say I am performing?" He spits, venom in his words. "How would you say I am fucking you?"

"G... g-good," you say, hazy smile developing. Your whole body shakes with each thrust he gives, and you're getting close. You grind forward against the wall for friction, and he squeezes your hips.

"Tell everybody how it feels. Tell your Papa how full you feel. Say thank you."

"Thank you, Papa!"

"I want to cum, Papa." He growls the word 'cum', and you feel your orgasm build.

"I... I want to cum Papa, please!"

"Fuck," he rasps, "You think you deserve to?"

"I'm so sorry. I should not have said it. You're the only man who can make me-- ah!" He reaches down to rub your clit messily, and you cum hard, feverishly gasping his name. He takes his finger out, pulling your hips back to fuck into you, and he cums too with a drawn-out groan of satisfaction.

You turn around when he pulls out, and he raises an expectant brow at you, holding his hand out. You kiss it tiredly, and he kisses yours in turn. "After you," he says, and the two of you enter the meeting room again as the ghouls that had gathered to watch pretend to look busy.

"Ah," Sister says, "Lovely of you two to join us again, though we will be missing the symphonic accompaniment to our discussion we've had for the past 15 minutes." Secondo gives a look of displeasure, and Terzo sits back in his chair chuckling.

"She does hit quite the notes when properly stimulated, does she not?"

Special Ghoul hesitates, thinks for a second, then strikes that from the record too.

Chapter Text

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It's a gift to see him like this. Shaking, damp from his own sweat, muscles spasming from holding the same position for too long. It wouldn't have been so long if he would learn that this is the one time, the one place, he has no control. Not here, not over you. Here you are his master, and he frequently has to be reminded.

You've been edging him for nearly an hour, and while he has a deep appreciation for the build-up that leads to the crescendo, tonight he was being particularly prickly.

"Papa... did you have something to say?" You unbuckle his ball-gag, and he struggles to look back at you.

"Fammi venire già. sai da quanto tempo sono qui?" (Make me cum already. Do you know how long I've been down here?)

"You're pushing your luck," you growl, keeping a firm hand on his back. "You of all people should know the importance of patience." He gives a bitter response under his breath, and you resist the urge to spank the pink handprints darker on his pale ass. You opt instead for a particularly hard thrust into him, and admire the ripple of his flesh as your hips hit his backside. For a man Papa's age, his body is considerably spry, and that shows ever presently in the perky ass you love to worship so much. He prides himself on his physique, but if you overdo the physical admiration, he gets grouchy. He doesn't like it too sweet, as you know very well.

You admire how the distinguished man before you has bent to your will-- quite literally-- how at your mercy he really is. He has a love-hate relationship with this fact.

"Look at you, Papa. So needy for me." His wrists tug at the restraint of his white satin tie as he tries his hardest to get out of it. You take him by the collar, arching his back up to whisper in his ear. "Ah, ah. The more you fight, the harder I want to fuck you." His lips part at this, and he gives a deep whimper that spurs your thrusts on faster.

"Per favore," he whispers as if in prayer, "No longer. It hurts, cazzo..." You lift your chin smugly.

"So quick to beg for mercy. You who gives all the orders, the head of the church. You, who so many fear." You lean down, so your chest is almost flush against his back. "But I don't fear you. I know that beneath that metre and those unholy vestments, you're nothing but a cockslut." He gasps, struggling back against you as the defiance in his eyes finally dies. You run your hand up his back, watching your cock sink into his messy hole rougher, faster. You feel Papa clenching desperately around you, thrusts sloppy from lubricant and pre-cum. "I'll give you a taste of free will, if you want it so bad. Fuck yourself back on this cock," you say. "You know you want to." Unable to deny his carnal desire in favour of his pride, he does as you say, acquiescing beautifully and sending you right to the edge. His biceps flex as he tries his hardest not to go pliant.

"It's too much, il mio bel..."

Your head falls back, and you piston your hips forward, fucking him nice and deep to bring him the pleasure he's earned. "Tell me how good it is," you groan. Papa's not vocal in bed often, but when he is, his moans are delicious to listen to-- enough to lead you to climax.

"Fuck, cazzo, fuck," he growls, "I need to--" You reach forward, wrapping your hand around his aching erection. He rasps your name, and immediately you feel him cum into your hand. The sight of his shuddering body fuels your orgasm, and he makes sure to clench around you just right through your release.

You pull out when you're both finished, and untie his hands. He takes your soiled hand, lapping up his cum from your fingers one by one until he's cleaned you properly. You reach up with your other hand to cup his cheek with a gentle reverence that rarely graces him outside of his time with you. He closes his eyes, savouring the touch, and places his hand atop yours.

“Aren’t you glad you let me finish what I started?” you smile. His heterochromatic eyes flicker up to yours with a salacious glint.

"It is a fact that I can't ignore, tesoro." He drapes his tie around his neck, letting it fall over his chest that you had covered in love marks. "No one knows how to fuck me like you do. Satan knows, I will never allow anyone to do so but you."

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the little church by the lake was vacated for the day.

Papa had pulled some strings, coerced the local pastor from the area into letting you two “engage in worship” for the day. He explained to the hilariously unsuspecting man that he was a travelling preacher and wanted to conduct a ‘private’ service with you, a true devotee. It had been tough, since a man painted like a skull saying he was a preacher would raise some questions. 

"You say you're from out of town?" the man had asked, scratching his head. 

"Oh yes. Very far from here."

"And the girl?"

"A blessed bright light. She has given herself to the da-- to the lord, so readily." You hid your smirk at his near slip up saying 'dark lord.' "And what you have here Father, it is a little slice of, eh..." He looks around, lips turning up. "Heaven. My faithful companion suggested we stop, and I am so grateful to the benevolent, ever loving holiness up there for bringing such a place to our attention. We simply must commune with the glorious bearded wonder in your charming chapel." You had nudged him at his dramatics, but he shushed you. Every good coercion required a little razzle dazzle, and no one was better at that than Terzo. 

In the end, it worked. He was as convincing as he needed to be. Appearing angelic was a specialty of his as much as appearing like the devil incarnate was, and his charm paired with a little smidge of mind control had saved the day. 

Now, with the place all to yourselves, you were taking advantage of the pretty little chapel to indulge in all the sacrilegious opulence you could muster. Papa never takes sex with you lightly, but today, he went especially out of his way for this. He wore his gold and white suit and white gloves, the outfit you’d told him he looks like a sexier Jim Jones in. He had agreed it would be perfect-- if you were going to roleplay, you were going to do it the right way.

All the crosses hanging in the chapel have been inverted (for peace of mind on his part). Papa is standing above you by the altar, circling, looking down at you. "You look so pretty on your knees." You blink up at him. You’ve got nothing on except a small white robe. "I have never seen you in white,” he goes on, voice honeyed. “Black is very becoming of you of course, but white... it displays your innocence to me.”

The little white robe is how you came to be here in the first place, playing the blushing virgin with undergarments that were the opposite of such-- vibrating panties. He had gifted the robe (and the panties) to you, and though you had been surprised the clothing wasn’t purple or gold as he usually likes to dress you in, he may have been onto something. Wearing it, you’ve become wide eyed and searching for salvation, and he, a faith-healer, can give it to you.

 You thought he would be wary of the scenario, since he is so opposed to what the church does to lure people in. Instead, he was enthusiastic about the idea, reiterating that exploring something sexually is liberating and as long as it is among consenting adults, the perfect place to explore the taboo of “stupeedly” forbidden Catholic lust.

Not that this was worse than some of the other shit you two have gotten up to.

“Tell me again what you need,” Papa says softly. You squirm at the sight of him towering over you, even though he’s not much taller than you when standing. Here, on your knees, he seems so powerful. His white gloved hand finds your chin, cradling it. “It is alright. I will not judge you so harshly. Tell me, dolce ragazza. Tell Papa.”

His voice is so gentle that you almost tear up. You tug on your nightgown, inadvertently exposing more skin. “I... I’ve been having these feelings, Papa.”

“Yes? And what are these feelings, my love?” You sigh, looking down with a warm blush spreading. He once again tilts your face up to him, grazing his thumb across both of your cheeks. “Ah, ah. There is no shame here. You tell me. Do not be afraid.”

You bite your lip, a wave of pleasure rocking through you as the vibrations reach your sweet spot. “Sometimes I want things. Dirty things. Things I’ve never tried before, but... but want to try.”

“And what are these things?” he asks. You notice he’s already half hard; you can see the outline of his bulge straining through his tight white pants. You sigh softly at the thought of him aroused by you.

“Sometimes I imagine...” a sly smile grows on your face. “I imagine opening my legs for someone. Feeling them inside me. Someone helping me, relieving the frustration I feel. I even like to imagine what it would feel like to have their seed... dripping out of me after they finish using my body for sin.”

Papa shudders, but buries his need to get his hands all over you in favour of the natural progression of his role in all this. He strokes your hair away from your face. “It is only natural to feel these things, you see.”

“Really, Papa?” you ask.

“Yes. It is a natural feeling for one who feels sexual attraction."

You smile in relief, insides clenching at the sight of his growing cock. It’s straining hard against the thin fabric, and your mouth is watering at the sight. He steals your attention back with his voice, deeper than usual. "Bene. I think I can help with you.”

“You can?” you ask, nearly whining. Your vibrating panties are soaked through, and the smug bastard above you knows it without a finger near you.

“My touch can heal all,” he says, and puts both hands on your shoulders.

“But Papa,” you moan, “I’m virginal. I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he growls, his notorious impatience finally coaxed out. “Your arousal is evident, cara mia, I can see it... and I can smell your sweetness." He breathes in, hips involuntarily rocking forward as his hardness chases touch. "You are wet... for me, cara? For your Papa?" You stammer, biting your bottom lip. He groans at the sight. "Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you do.” You exhale, and nod. He sighs. “Teasing me like this with your innocent words, when all you wanted was to feel my cock inside of you.” The fingers on his right hand are trailing down your torso, and the response to his touch is passionate to say the least.

“Please,” you nearly sob, “Please, I can’t... I don’t know if we should... ohhhmmff...” His hands travel down further, and you forget how to speak as two talented fingers finally curl into your dripping heat.

“Were you imagining me taking you like this as you confessed?” he muses, sliding them in and out in a tantalizing rhythm. He dips his face down between your legs to press kisses around the dips and dimples of your hipbones. “Taking you with my fingers? Showing you what it is to feel such pleasure?" He hums, the sensation of your wetness soaking his gloves making his eyelids flutter. "Tell me, were you imagining me taking what I wanted in this throbbing heat between your legs... satisfying my needs with you too?”

“Papa…”

“How does it feel, ghuleh? Tell your Papa.”

“It’s…” you bite back a moan. “I-I’m not sure you should be touching me this way, Papa,” you breathe. "You’re a man of the cloth."

"I have needs as all other men do,” he rasps. “And I will show you that no carnal lust is worthy of guilt. It is something to be celebrated and indulged in, mm?” You nod shakily. “So that is what we will do. We will indulge.” He unbuckles his belt, and reaches into the fold of his pants. Finally, the relief from his constraints makes him moan, and he loosely strokes his hand up his cock a couple of times. You long to wrap your lips around it and feel the hot skin throb against your tongue, but you try to keep the charade going as you grind down into the panties for relief. "What are you doing, Papa?" you whisper.

He can’t help but grunt as his thumb slides over the sensitive, beading slit. “Forgive me. It has been so long.” He bites his lip, and his chest falls with a breathy exhale. “You see… when you feel what you have described," he rasps, voice thick with arousal, "It is only natural to pleasure yourself. Using your hands… imagining you are thrusting into the object your arousal…"

"You're pleasuring yourself now?" you ask, unable to hide the smirk.

"You drive me to it," he groans, head falling back. "I feel that same burn in my loins too.”

Your stomach flutters as if it really is the first time. “You do?”

“Oh, I do. Only your warmth welcoming me in can satisfy this lust that burns inside me like the Dark Lord’s inferno.”

“Papa,” you admonish, biting your lip nervously. He opens his eyes in surprise, realizing how desperate he sounds.

“You trust me, yes?"

"With my whole heart." You blink up at him.

"Good girl. Trust me to satisfy these cravings of yours." You shudder, but he puts a thumb to your lips, tapping twice. "Open." You obey him, and he teases the soft head along your swollen bottom lip. "Have you ever sucked a man's cock before, dolce?" he asks. You ignore the memory of last time Terzo came all over your lips, and shake your head. He guides the tip just past the entrance to your mouth, and you tentatively lick the head. You draw back, glancing up.

"Papa? What do I do?"

"Hush, hush now. Trust me and take it between your pretty lips, like this..." He pushes further into your mouth, unable to resist any longer. “Take it, yes.” You choke as he settles his hand behind your head and guides you on and off his cock. You moan around him, and after only a taste, he leaves your mouth open, moving down to spread your legs. Something feral has taken over, a sure sign that Terzo is lost in the sensations. He tugs the vibrating panties off and tosses the garments away. With hurried motions, he buries himself inside of you.

"Papa, that's..." you gasp, your robe falling open. His hungry eyes fall to your breasts, plumped up and beautifully visible through the white of the clothing. The dirty bastard. He knew what he was doing when he bought you this.

"So beautiful. Does this satisfy your lust, my dove?" he asks. "Does it feel better?"

"Not yet. I need more," you moan. He pushes in faster, the slide of his hardness against your walls, out and back in deep, building you up to climax.

"I need you to let go," he rasps in your ear. "Allow me to bring you to the precipice, my dear. Allow me... allow me to make you cum for the first time, with me, together." You clutch onto his suit, threatening to come undone. Papa moves perfectly. He keeps his pace consistent to bring you to your orgasm, then wanes off in slow, heavy thrusts.

"I'm... oh god..." you gasp.

"Sing for your Papa," he growls, "Tell me how good it feels, fuck." He covers your exposed breast with a large hand, and you feel his release inside you accompanied by a guttural moan. You come back down from your high to him peppering kisses all over your face. When he releases you, you sit back up into a kneeling position on the altar steps, as Terzo’s back pops six ways to Sunday. “Ah, cazzo. I am not as young as I used to be.” His eyes snap up. “Do not tell Secondo I said that.”

You shake your head fondly, then look up. "You do realize god just watched us fuck?" You gesture up toward a fresco. Papa flicks under his chin up to the ceiling, and pats his bicep, the Italian ‘fuck you’.  

"The old party pooper has to get his jollies somehow, eh?" You burst into giggles, and he helps you up with a gentlemanly hand. "You know, I enjoyed that."

"Yeah?"

"It felt good to think of plucking the flower of your innocence." He makes a plucking motion with his soaked gloves, and notices with newfound interesting their state. A devilish smirk appears, and he licks all the way up two of his fingers while maintaining direct eye contact with you.

“Quit it, you’re making me wet again.”

“You are an endless river of Satan’s nectar, il mia bellissima.”

“That would sound absolutely repulsive coming from anybody but you,” you sigh, taking his arm. He pats your hand with a small bow, taking it as a compliment. "So. I guess in this circumstance, it would be fitting to tell you..."

"Yes?"

"It felt just like the first time." He shakes his head, and kisses you on the nose as you two exit the church for a stroll. “I'm just glad I didn’t have to use the fucking safe word.”

He looks at you, dramatically feigning offense. “It was a good safe word!”

“’Clappity clap frisco,’ is not a good safe word,” you huff, rolling your eyes. He shrugs.

“I might be mistaken, but it is not something you would typically cry out while making love. Therefore, it would serve its purpose.”

You bite your lip, hanging onto his arm as your thighs rub together. “I can feel you dripping out of me.” Another giggle. “I thought we agreed you would pull out this time.”

“That is true. In that, I failed.” He makes a motion downward. “Eh… obviously.” He notices the lake, and looks down at your white robe and lack of undergarments. “But I know just the place I can help you freshen up. Lo facciamo?”