For thine is the kingdom,
The power, and the glory,
Forever and ever
Amen.”
He throws back his head and howls, long and deep, into the cave around us. Angel joins, though he’s not wearing a wolf mask this time.
I fuck her faster and faster, rutting into her wild and frenzied as an animal, until I feel the pressure building like a volcano about to erupt from the roots of my very being.
“I’m going to cum,” I grit out, panting between words, sweat beading on my back at the pace and force I’ve exerted.
“Bless her with your sacred flow,” the Master says, reaching to spread her open further, pulling her apart so we can watch my cock punch into her stretched flesh for the final times. I force myself to the hilt, grab her arms, and grind. My cum rises like an eruption from deep inside the earth, barreling up through me, contracting my balls before erupting in violent jolts through my cock. I empty deep inside her, throbbing out more and more with each spasm. I tear my mask off and toss it away, breathing hard, sweating, shaking.
I stand and stumble back, and Heath steadies me. I throw an arm around him, then wipe my face, which is soaked with more than sweat. For once, he’s still, silent. He holds onto me, lets me lean on him.
“What a good girl,” the Master says, sinking a finger into Mercy’s gaping ass, gathering a glob of my white cum. He pushes it back in, then unbuckles her mask and pries it off. It rolls away, and he hauls her onto the altar and turns her over. Her knees are filthy, her cunt swollen and glistening with arousal. Her face isstreaked with cum and tears, her hair sticking to it. Her lips are pressed together.
“Pass this blessing to him,” the Master says as Angel approaches.
He lifts her to sitting, and Angel kneels at her feet, tipping his head back and opening. Mercy leans forward, holding her hair back, and spits a stream into his mouth—her spit mingling with our cum.
“Now pass it back to her, and feast on her sacred flesh,” the Master orders.
He lays her back, and Angel dives between her legs, letting our cum fall into her hungry cunt at last. He pushes it in with two fingers, leaning forward at the same time and sucking at her clit. She cries out as he fucks her pussy and her ass with fingers and tongue until she loses her mind, giving her something I never allow myself to—relief.
When he’s done, he stands back, displaying her defiled flesh for the Master.
“Good boy,” the Master says, and then he turns to me. “I’m proud of you both, my sons.”
eight
The Merciful
“I’m proud of you too, my good girl,” says the voice behind the bird mask. “You’ve done beautifully.”
For the first time, I hear it, clear and unmistakable. In that moment, a wave of pure anguish crashes over me. It’s not just the familiar tone when he says those words. It’s the faintest whiff that makes it through my delirium and makes me dizzy with fear and lust. That’s the knowledge that’s been nagging at me, the familiar masculine scent of sandalwood and leather, the familiar, soothing way he spoke, even with his voice disguised.
“Father?” I ask through shaking lips, my voice high with fear and the hurt of betrayal.
“I’m here, lamb,” he says gently, his thumb stroking over the swollen bud of shame that still throbs even though Saint is done using me for his pleasure; Angel is done forcing mine. It’s torture enough for them to see, to know what I’ve done, but knowing that Father Salvatore is here, seeing me like this, doing this to me…
Even with his mask blocking my view, I have already seen, have learned more than I want to know. I should know a father can never be trusted.
My birth father abandoned me when I was so young he’s nothing more than a shadow in my mind, a paper cutout of a man with a splotch of cayenne on top, the only thing I know came from him besides my life.
My adoptive father abandoned me because I wasn’t as real to him as my brother since he didn’t give me life. I wasthe porcelain doll of a daughter he thought he wanted until she turned out to be real, a daughter of flesh and blood, carved by the beckoning hand of sin.
When my brother told me to keep quiet about Heath that first time, when Dad said boys would be boys, when the church told me they’d talk to him and then nothing ever came of it, I kept my mouth shut. I trusted them. And I knew that, as confusing as it was, that hunger was waiting inside me, a wild animal crouched to spring. But no one else ever knew.
This man knows. Though I’ve only known Father Salvatore for a short time, this betrayal is the one that rends my soul. He’s not just a man, he’s a holy man. It is not only an abandonment by a man, but by the church itself, by everything I’ve ever been taught was sacred and holy and profound. He has seen me be anything but. He has known all along I’m not. But not only did he see it, he used it. All the times I thought he was guiding me to help me with my sin, he was sacrificing me to the hungers of these boys, these animals.
When I went to him for help, he steered me towards them, led me further down this path. From the very first day I stepped into the confessional and told him about the cravenness of my wanton flesh, he saw the opportunity in a naïve, trusting, lost lamb and led her to this slaughter.
Now that they’re done, Father wraps me like a sacred vessel, as if I am something to treasure instead of degrade and demean. Someone lifts me into his arms, but I close my eyes, refusing to see who it is. I am done with them all, even the one man I thought was on my side.
I should have known.
