Archive of Our Own

“Damnit.”

You groaned, rolling onto your side, then to your back only to return to your side once again.

The night dragged on heavy, seconds stretched into hours. It felt like you’ve been awake for an eternity.

Frustrated incoherent grumbling and rustling sheets filled the small space, and the eerie stillness that pressed down on your room only furthered the ache. Sleep was just out of reach, refusing you even a chance at rest after so many nights prior ended up exactly like this.

You glanced over at your phone laying on your nightstand with its charging cable connected. You reached a hand toward the device, lightly tapping the screen to turn it on.

2:02 A.M.

You’ve gotta be kidding me. You thought, flipping over onto your stomach and stuffing your tired face into the plush white pillow while wrapping your comforter tightly around your body.

It's been days since you’ve gotten any proper sleep beyond the one-to-two hour naps that occurred at random. Those silly methods the internet offered with a quick search didn’t help.

You counted sheep, did breathing exercises, even made the environment colder than usual by turning on an old fan, pointing it directly in front of your bed and visualized yourself laying upon soft clouds dipped in the moon’s pale glow. It felt ridiculous to fight with yourself like this, but you were desperate.

None of it worked. 

Every time your mind went quiet giving the false hope you’d finally been granted peace, it wandered off back to that morning in the confessional booth. Back to him.

Father Silco.

A week had passed since then, since you entered the church with the simple intention of repenting after a pointless argument with your parents left you drowning in unjustified guilt. Since you set foot inside that booth. Since his deep gravelly voice drew you in, his calculated hands opening you to the Lord—to him, unraveling you in his lap until your supposed sins bled out of you in pleasure and tears.

You bit down harshly on the insides of your cheek, gnawing at the soft flesh to keep yourself from falling further in your mind. Your heartbeat was unsteady and your chest grew tight, wave after wave of shivers that had nothing to do with the polar temperature of your room rolled down your spine.

The memories of him were too sharp. Too heavy. 

Ghosts of his touch lingered, haunting your skin not enough to satisfy but enough to make you hyperaware of everything else around you.

Your silk bedsheets felt dodgy, wrong— too slick when you needed to hold onto something solid; the plush pillow you nearly suffocated yourself with was the opposite. Rather, it was too thick, too hard like sinking your face into a grainy block of clay when you yearned for something softer.

Everything felt too much, but never enough.

The harder you tried to bury these feelings beneath denial or reason—or more pathetically, prayer—that hole in the pit of your stomach only dug deeper. The hollowing ache he left behind consumed you whole.

And worst of all? You haven’t set foot in the church all week.

There was no need to, no sermons or celebrations, nothing worth enduring except the occasional bible study group. No way in hell would you be attending those. Those weren’t going to get you anywhere near Silco. To your knowledge, Silco didn’t waste his time sitting in those musty rooms reciting bible verses with his overly zealot attendees.

Even if he was there, what then?

On the off chance your parents gave you the opportunity to leave the house unsupervised, you still had to inform them of your whereabouts. If they so much as heard a whisper you wanted to head to the church without them pushing you to go, they’d light up, gushing about how their disobedient child who’d been previously drawn to sin from the city life was turning to God.

You could already hear it, those bastards raving pretentiously, bragging to every neighbor on how after a long battle with the demons that infested you, you were finally turning to the Lord.

Yeah, no, fuck that.

You let out another sigh as you turned onto your back, your mattress creaking beneath you at the sudden aggressive movement. Your limbs sprawled over the sheets now a jumbled mess from tossing and turning.

The more you thought on it, the more what ifs tore you apart.

If there was the slightest chance you decided to attend bible study when Silco was there, and your parents didn’t react in the way they most definitely would, there was no guarantee you’d be able to meet with him afterwards.

What the hell would you say? Would he even agree to see you? Does he want to?

Silco hasn’t called you to come back to the church all week.

Surely there was more to what happened that morning last Sunday. You entered that church a virgin struck with misplaced guilt and you left with smudged makeup, without your panties, and an odd limp you stupidly explained to your parents was due to you tripping over your own feet.

“Ugh,” You whined into your palms, sickly clammy despite the icy isolation, “I hate this.”

Though with every frustration you spat, you couldn’t get him out of your head no matter how hard you pressed the heel of your palm into your eyes hoping to rub the images away.

‘Do you believe you’ve sinned?’ Silco’s deep voice came first, slipping into the growing cracks of your mind. His mismatched eyes boring into you from beneath the candlelight had your thighs instinctively pressing together.

A shiver raked down your body again, another breath came out more shaky than you realized.

Slowly, you dragged your hands from over your eyes to your chin, fingertips tickling your jawline. Your skin felt cold, even with the heat unmistakably forming down below barely contained between your tangled legs.

You swore you could still feel the imprint of his fingers at your jaw where he held you firmly, lifting your chin so your eyes met his.

‘Let us search for your redemption together.’ His voice echoed again.

Every flash of him strengthened the ache burning inside of you, its feeling of empty dread turning into something so different yet so familiar.

Need.

“This is so stupid…” You murmured, squeezing your eyes shut. That only made it worse.

This was wrong.

God, this was so wrong.

You told yourself to stop thinking about him, to stop replaying the way his labored breath ghosted over your ear, the harsh grip of his fingers digging into your soft flesh holding you steady when he thrusted, the command in his voice when he prayed over you whilst committing the most sinful act.

Silco’s your priest, for fucks sake. The man who stood at the pulpit every Sunday, holy book in hand, eyes sharp and voice unyielding as he spoke of restraint and virtues to a fairly large crowd.

He wasn’t supposed to be the reason you laid awake at night, the reason your body betrayed you as you tried to fight this unexplainable need to see him again, even if just for a moment.

You needed to forget. You needed to sleep.

Yet your hands traced down your throat, going past your collarbone and pressing softly into the center of your sternum. Your heartbeat quickened, the harsh thump knocked against your ribcage.

“Damnit…” You repeated, breathy and meek as one hand shifted just a little to the side.

‘Beautiful.’

You remembered the way Silco’s lips pressed between the valley of your breasts, his fingers pulling down the top of your flowy sundress you wore to reveal your lacy bra beneath.

‘Truly a vision fit for God.’

Your fingers moved, hesitant and full of shame as they grazed over your nipples hardened from both the cold and the flashbacks of him.

You imagined his in place of yours, those long fingers—rough with smoke and experience took the pert buds, rolling them gently between your fingertips through the fabric of your nightgown. 

“Haa…” A soft breath escaped your lips. 

Your technique was stiff and unsure, pinching and tugging at your nipple trying to memorize the way Silco had touched you.

Your other hand moved from the space between your tits, cupping and giving the gentlest squeeze to your opposing breast. You could feel the warmth through the thin nightgown, squeezing again to let it fully settle in your palm.

It felt so strange—not like you hadn’t touched yourself before—but that was always to the made up image of faceless or fictional people. Never have you recounted back to any sexual experience as the furthest you’ve ever gone with anyone before Silco was a kiss, and that only lasted a few minutes.

Another shiver ran through you. Your eyes remained closed, though not as tightly the more you relaxed.

‘You taste absolutely divine.’

You continued to fondle yourself to the sensation of his cold tongue swirling circles around your tits, switching so your other nipple sore from neglect got a taste of your desperation to feel Silco again.

It wasn’t enough.

Carefully, you slid both hands down, going over the curve of your ribs to mimic how his hands raked along your torso. You pressed the tips of your fingers into your clothing, whimpering softly as you traced shapes with your thumb.

You remembered how Silco’s hands trailed with purpose. Every press of his palms and fingers intending to undo you.

How could such a man of God know exactly where to please you?

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, half frustration, half plea. Goosebumps prickled over your now bare stomach as you tugged your nightgown up.

You glanced down at his… no— your hands resting over your hipbone, your breath growing hasty watching them tremble. It felt like something—or rather, someone—was possessing you, guiding you towards the tight space between your closed legs.

Why him. God, why him? You thought, eyebrows furrowing as you swallowed down another whimper.

Uncertainty pooled in that pit of your stomach he left behind. Your hands shouldn’t be recreating the paths Silco carved into your body.

You laid your head back onto your pillow and squeezed your eyes shut again. The war waging in your head never ceased. Yet this doubt wasn’t enough to keep your hands from pushing into your thighs. 

You pressed your palms flat on the inner area, prying your legs apart as though it were Silco himself opening you once more.

“Shit-” You gasped at the wetness already soaking a large spot in your panties. Your gaze fell to the space between your legs since you didn’t expect your body to react so eagerly to the mere thought of him.

You pressed your middle finger into the center of your clothed pussy, shuddering as you dragged your fingertip up and down along the wet fabric. You kept your hand there, repeating the same shy movements whilst the other raised back to your chest, slipping beneath your clothing to tease your nipples properly.

‘Quiet, little lamb.’

Silco’s voice never left. You bit down on your bottom lip to muffle the moans and whimpers each slide of your fingers pulled out of you. Your technique was stiff and hesitant, but you didn’t care. 

You just wanted to see him. 

To feel him.

You pressed a second digit against the wet spot, pushing a little firmer to slide the fabric between your slick labia the same way Silco did. You moaned, the rise and fall of your chest grew heavier.

Slowly, you hooked your fingers into your panties, tugging it to the side leaving your pussy bare. That blush in your cheeks deepened, spreading to the tips of your ears and throughout your entire body. Your fingers returned, sliding up and down, and you moaned softly when your palm rubbed against your exposed clit.

The bud was much more sensitive than the rest of your cunt as it throbbed, clenching around nothing wishing he was here again.

‘Open yourself to Him, my lost little lamb, to me.’

Your lips parted just as your index and middle finger carefully spread yourself open to the empty air, remembering all too well the way Silco’s slid between your slick folds with such precision. You moved down, swirling some of your wetness around your finger and pushing a single digit in.

“Oh God…” You exhaled a shaky sigh and blinked softly. The sensation was a whisper compared to how Silco’s finger felt, even as yours nestled knuckle-deep inside of you.

You began to pump in and out with sloppy rhythm.

‘That’s it, dear.’ Silco’s dark voice purred through your mind, caging you like the hazy smoke his cigars emitted.

You shivered, pushing another finger into your cunt, curling the tips to stroke that sensitive spot. Each pump came harder with frustration as though faster movements would solidify the illusion his presence was there watching you, guiding you.

It was surreal. 

The hot puffs grazing over your flushed earlobe, the scent of tobacco and burnt candle wax making known inside your lungs. You could smell the faint trances of his musky cologne as it ignited your temples, your eyes buzzing further.

“Silco–oh fuck-” Your other hand teasing your nipples quickly moved from underneath your nightgown and slapped over your mouth to muffle your desperate cries.

You pumped faster, angling your wrist to grind yourself up into your palm, simultaneously pushing those digits deeper, ideating your touch with his. That insatiable ache burned hotter. Wet squelches of your pussy coupled with your barely contained noises further fueled that sinful craving.

‘Pour out all your guilt and shame to the Lord.’

You pushed your heels into the creaking mattress to hold yourself steady as you practically fucked yourself onto your hand, murmuring, pleading for a man who’s yet to summon you.

For a man you weren’t even sure thought of you after that morning.

None of that mattered. Logic was the last thing operating your filthy mind.

Between the regret coiling in your belly alongside your building pleasure, the memories of how a single grasp or prayer was enough to make you tremble stomped on any sense of reality.

“F-Fuck– Father Silco—” You moaned, eyes rolling back when you forced a third finger into your cunt, writhing at the ecstasy coursing through you. “Forgive m-aah- forgive me…”

It was wrong, it was so damn wrong, but wasn’t Silco the one who told you redemption demanded sacrifice?

You could feel yourself reaching higher the more you fingerfucked yourself.

Your legs trembled, struggling to stay in place as you shook underneath your touch you so desperately wished was his instead.

‘Yes,’ You remembered the way Silco hissed into your ear through gritted teeth, how his mismatched eyes that glowed beneath the shadows flicked down to watch you ride his hand like some needy whore.

You scrambled to push yourself upright in the center of your bed, grinding against the sweet curvature of your palm. Your glazed over eyes watched your fingers disappear into your cunt over and over again, and a clear puddle was forming on your frumpled bedsheets.

‘Show your devotion, my sweet lamb.’

With your other hand you shoved your fingers into your mouth, the joints scraping briefly against your teeth before you curled your tongue around them and sucked. In your mind, it was no longer your hand—it was Silco’s tongue—bitter with whiskey and herbs dragging shamelessly over your tastebuds.

Saliva coated your skin and drool beaded at the corners of your mouth as you gasped.

“Please, Father Silco…” You whispered around your fingers, all choked and breathless continuing to ride your other hand stuffed between your thighs, “Forgive me, please- ohh God–”

‘Show me how much you ache for salvation.’

Hunger twisted tighter inside of you, that euphoric feeling had you practically keeling over as you fingered yourself.

You pumped harder, faster, as deep as they could go while moving your hips back and forth. Repeating whiny pleas for forgiveness from a holy man so far out of reach.

You needed his fist in your hair again, you needed his mouth stealing the oxygen from your lungs. For every inch of him to take you once more, all the while he whispers such sweet innocent prayers over your whorish being.

Fuck, what would Silco think of you right now? If he saw what deprived acts you were committing to yourself at the filthy memories of him, what would he do?

More importantly, what would he do to you?

That thought cracked through you like lighting. You tore your hand from your mouth and gripped at your bedsheets like they were your rosary beads, the same rosary beads he once used to bind your wrists stinging from melted candle wax together.

“Fuck–!” Your body trembled and your heartbeat ran wild. “Father Si-lco–!”

Saliva fell from your glistening lips landing on your thighs, going over the curve of your supple flesh and towards the inner area to mix with the juices of your pussy.

Nothing else mattered anymore. Not the guilt or regret, not the worry of what ifs, not even the possibility of your parents overhearing you through the thin foundation. 

Your decision came with the rush of your climax. Damnation. Salvation. Whatever it took, you were going to see Silco again.

Your shoulderblades tightened as you shamelessly fell apart on your own hand. Wetness trickled down along your forearm, staining the sheets in a filthy puddle.

You stayed there breathing heavily, palms slick and trembling and your chest heaving. The room spun slowly as your orgasm faded into a dull, humming ache. When your mind cleared enough to move, your eyes widened as you glanced down.

The sheets were completely ruined—wrinkled and damp with a large dark spot beneath your exposed form. Your heart dropped at the sight, a sharp pang of embarrassment cut through the afterglow, grounding you in reality.

You pulled your hand up from between your thighs, feeling the heat in your face deepen seeing strings of your cum connecting between your fingers glisten in the moonlight.

You didn’t mean to let go like that. And yet, here you were, sitting in a puddle of your own release.

After a little moment longer, you slid off your bed with your legs wobbling beneath you. Every step you took towards the small bathroom connected to your bedroom had you reaching for the wall, steadying yourself like some drunkard desperate to appear sober. 

The cold air bit at your damp thighs. You leaned against the door frame, taking a quick glance back at the tangled sheets. A mess. Your mess. One created to the thought of him.

To Father Silco.

“Damnit.” You muttered. You went to clean away the evidence on your body, avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. You didn’t even bother flipping on the bathroom light, using the moonlight seeping through the small window to scrub yourself with baby wipes.

When you returned back to your bed you tugged at the comforter, grimacing when the damp spot touched your skin as you bunched it in your arms before shoving it into your laundry basket.

The mattress sat bare, exposed like you had been just moments earlier.

You dragged a pile of spare blankets from your closet and threw them over in uneven layers, more makeshift than comfortable, not caring how haphazard they looked. You crawled beneath the covers, murmuring curses as you pulled one of the blankets tight around your shivering form.

You shifted around for a few seconds, eventually getting comfortable laying on your side. But when your eyes drifted to your phone on your nightstand, you reached a hand over and tapped the screen on impulse.

2:22A.M. 

Only twenty minutes had passed.

For fucks sake… You thought, closing your eyes and letting out a heavy sigh.

For a fleeting moment, you thought it was over, that the craving inside you would quiet now that you finally caved. But the need didn’t vanish. It lingered, faint and deep. Silco’s voice still haunted the edges of your mind, that low commanding rumble promising absolution through total ruin. 

It wasn’t enough, not without him.

Exhaustion began to drag you under. It wasn’t peace nor relief.

Even the emptiness behind your eyes couldn’t block out his volcanic orange pupil in a sea of darkness watching you from beneath the quiet.

You grumbled something incoherent, your body continuing to betray you as your breathing evened out allowing you to drift off after days of torment. As much as you tried to rationalize it in your head, the phantoms of his hands on you already decided.

You were going to see Silco again.

Two mornings after that sinful night, you were here in the church once again.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat in the backseat, your parents’ car pulling into the parking lot and picking a spot closest to the front of the church. The tires crunched over loose pebbles, the sound digging beneath your skin like what you had done just two nights before did.

Every bit of suspension had you painfully aware of every little thing.

“No complaints.” Your father’s voice snapped you out of your silent spiral. “I don’t want to hear it, understood? We’re going to be here all day.”

When he practically jabbed his finger towards you to emphasize his words, you shrunk into your seat. Your mother, ever spineless and eager to echo him only nodded, adding softly as though she were instructing a stubborn child, “Yes, no silly arguments. Today’s the day for the Lord.”

“Understood.” Was all you responded with, voice flat and eyes fixed on the entrance of the church. You waited until both of them climbed out of the vehicle, slipping out from the backseat when their backs were turned towards you.

The crowd gathered around the church’s entrance already spilled into the building, buzzing with restless eagerness you could never understand. Men in stiff suits shook hands and exchanged laughs, while women in soft colored dresses clutched their Bibles to their chests, tugging their whining children along down the church pews.

Greetings and talks of falsified blessings filled the air making that suffocating feeling in your chest tighten further. All of them were zealous, almost hungry in a way for the sermons the day held.

But you?

You couldn’t get Silco out of your head. This impatience of yours was completely different.

Each step closer toward the large open doors only twisted the pit of your stomach further. The front of the church loomed over you, casting shadows while its steeple cut through the still Midwest sky. For a moment you swore you could feel the weight of Silco’s gaze from somewhere inside.

The second you stepped into the doorway, an obscure image hit you—the familiar burgundy crumpled curtains parted, the dim flickering of candlelight that somehow solidified the already intimate undertones of the area. Silco’s breath hot against your ear as you remembered the way he whispered temptation and salvation in just a few words.

‘Let us search for your redemption together.’

You blinked hard, shoving the memory away as you quickened your pace, trailing after your parents to their unofficially claimed spot which—of course—was one of the pews closest to the pulpit.

The rest of the crowd filed in with ease. People filled the pews, their backs straightened and expectant. You sank into the polished wood, folding your clammy hands into your lap.

Your mind was in shambles.

Just two nights ago you decided you’d see him again, but part of you still wondered, would Silco want to see you?

What the hell would you even say when you had a moment alone with him? Would he be disinterested, disappointed? Or worse, angry if he heard what you had to confess?

A chill ran down your spine.

No.

You shook your head. You’ve made your decision. You were going to see it through.

But your gaze wandered. Those crimson colored drapes behind the pulpit looked too much like the curtains of the confessional booth. The flames of the tall candelabras flicked, droplets of wax trailing down along the candle sticks—all a reminder of Silco dripping hot red wax on your skin.

The scent of incense was intoxicating, swirling with the phantom traces of cigar smoke and whiskey. Every detail clawed at you, pulling your thoughts back to him.

Then, movement. Father Silco.

He emerged from the sacristy, his steps deliberately slow, his long vestments flowing behind him. The weight of his presence was enough to silence the murmur of the crowd.

Silco's usually impartial gaze swept through the crowds of devotees, clearing his voice for a moment to steady himself. A flicker of recognition struck him when his gaze brushed over you, though he gave no sign beyond the smallest twitch of his lips.

He ignored it, his voice booming in the tense, reverent silence. "Let the lord be with you." He honeyed. "And with your spirit."

“Amen.” The crowd prayed.

You mouthed the words, but they felt hollow in your chest. The rich sound of his voice wrapped too tightly around you, making the rest of the church feel like nothing more than background noise. Your palms rubbed against your clothed thighs, pinching and tugging at the fabric restlessly, the old wood of the pew beneath you suddenly too stiff and smooth.

"Let us put ourselves in the mindset, and focus our hearts on The Lord... I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned..." Silco’s cadence rolled forward unwavering, but it was already slipping from you, like holy water trickling through cupped hands. 

Your mind wandered. Flashes of velvet and the sensation of burning skin at your wrists pressed into you.

Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your dress in an effort to anchor yourself. You hadn’t even noticed when your lips parted, whispering breathlessly, not matching the crowd’s prayers. “Forgive me, Father…”

You dug your fingernails into your palms, the nipping pain barely snapping you out of the confines of your own mind. Silco’s voice became a blanketing baritone, the words becoming impossible to decipher, a siren’s lure—drawing you from the safety of the shore into the dark sea.

A song only meant for you.

The room blurred. Candles bled into halos of white as faces melted into unclear pictures. You weren’t entirely sure if you were still in the pew anymore. The world condensed to Silco’s breath and your trembling pulse. Your chest rose and fell too quickly, as if you forgot how to breathe without his guidance.

Then, movement again. 

The shuffle of shoes, the rustle of coats. Benches creaked as people stood. You blinked hard, glancing around in confusion. Your parents were already rising beside you, and your father muttered something incoherent about the closing hymn.

You hadn’t heard a single word of it.

You moved on instinct, standing after your parents stood, idling somewhat far behind them as they led the way. You lingered behind the crowd funneling down the aisle toward the pulpit for final exchanges with Father Silco before heading outside to join the festivities. But when your mother looped her arm around yours and tugged you along faster after the crowd cleared, your stomach dropped.

You knew exactly what she was going to do.

No, not like this. You thought, heartbeat drumming in your ears. Damnit, mother!

Your hands curled into fists, every step that brought you closer to him had your throat tightening. You wanted to see him, sure—ached to, in fact—but on your own terms. Not when you were cornered at your parents’ side like some pathetic dutiful child.

By the time you reached the front, your nerves were stretched so thin you could hardly lift your gaze from the floor.

“Father Silco,” Your mother greeted warmly, “thank you for today’s service. It was moving, truly moving.”

Your father nodded as he chimed in. “Yes, thank you, Father Silco.” He stood opposite of your mother, effectively keeping you trapped standing directly in front of Silco.

He inclined his head, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “It is my pleasure.” Silco said smoothly.

Your father’s hand clamped around your shoulder, urging you forward with the smallest shove as if you couldn’t speak for yourself. “And our child, they’ve been so much better since their meeting with you last week. A blessing, Father. We can’t thank you enough.”

Your muscles tensed. Your father’s hand on your shoulder felt like sandpaper. Silco’s presence pressed against your skin, and you hadn’t dared look at him just yet, the praises of your foolish parents drowning out for a moment. But when you did, his gaze caught yours, a knowing flicker flashing beneath that carefully constructed mask of calm.

Before you could open your mouth, it was gone.

Silco’s expression smoothed over into something serene, innocent, untouchable.

“Guidance is all I can offer.” He spoke, bowing his head just slightly, his voice silvery, ringing with false purity. “The rest is their own strength of will.”

Your mother clasped her hands together, her shoulders relaxing with an exhale of relief. “Truly, Father, we couldn’t have asked for a better shepherd after moving here not too long ago. You have such a gift for reaching the lost.”

Pretentious bastards. Your nose twitched, fighting the urge to flinch at their words. Treating you like your existence was simply a testament to their devotion. How willing they were to give up anything for the Lord’s blessings.

“You’ve done more for us in one meeting than we ever could in years worth of prayers.” Your father added, his other hand splaying over where his heart was.

You fidgeted with the skirt of your flowy dress, your lips pressed into a thin line as you tried to keep your eyes on Silco. Though, every now and then your eyes would wander along his angular features, tracing the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth that shamelessly stole your breath. Each glimpse pulled back flashes you’d been fighting to bury until just the right moment to let them spill.

“Go on,” Your father urged, his firm hand giving your shoulder another light shove. “Show Father Silco your gratitude.”

“Yes, go on, darling.” Your mother said insistently. “He’s done so much for you already. Don’t be rude.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed back the bitter taste of protest. You didn’t want to give your parents the satisfaction of their control over you—even as a now adult—but when your eyes met Silco’s again, that need to defy them melted away.

Heat crept up your neck, spreading across your body as it remembered his touch all too well.

Oh, if only they knew.

“...Thank you, Father.” You mumbled, soft and uneven.

Silco remained unshaken. He glanced between your parents for a short moment indulging their praise before looking back at you.

“Of course. May He continue to bless this path.” Silco said calmly with a subtle bow and a raised hand in the motion of benediction. 

Your parents accepted his words eagerly, both dipping their heads as one final thank you before turning to head outside the church where other attendees were congregating. 

Your mother tugged on your sleeve, urging you to follow without pulling you along this time. “Come on, dear. We shouldn’t keep Father any longer.”

Your lips parted ready to object only to remain silent, watching your father loop his arm around your mother’s waist, smiling widely joining the crowd’s little after-mass fellowship.

You lingered, your heart thumping so hard you could feel it climbing up your throat to choke you.

You glanced over your shoulder, watching Silco head for the hall. He didn’t join the others, not even for simple pleasantries. His stride was steady as he moved into the dimness of the narrow passageway, heading to his office at the back of the church.

Two nights ago, you already made the choice when you laid awake, your hands buried between your thighs drawing out the filthiest sounds to whispers of Silco promising such sweet penance. You told yourself you’d see him again.

Now there he was, just a hallway away. The decision you made in the moonlit secrecy of your room burned fresh in your chest, heavier now that the chance was within reach. A chance to confess.

To see him alone.

Your eyes were fixed on that hall until Silco disappeared.

You stayed there for a few moments more. The longer you remained, the colder the air grew, and the more distant those voices outside the church sounded. The rest of the world was peeling away, leaving you with nothing but desperation.

Your legs finally carried you forward. Every step of yours echoed in the hallway.

Silco didn’t turn around, only pausing with the slightest tilt of his head to exchange a polite word with an older parishioner. His stride never faltered once even as yours wavered multiple times.

He was aware. He was always aware.

God, what would you say when you finally faced him one on one? I can’t stop thinking about you? I’m losing my mind because of you? I touched myself wishing it was you?

He didn’t stop at the end of the hallway, instead slipping into his office like it was the most natural thing in the world. The door softly shut behind him, though not completely. It’d been left ajar, just enough to allow you to peek inside.

You stopped just in front of the door, your pulse throbbed in your ears.

Inside you could hear faint movement—the metallic scrape of a drawer extending, the rearranging of papers, the hushed clink of a glass against the burgundy wood. Silco was busying himself, pouring bourbon into one of his crystal tumblers. Those small, ordinary noises only made the silence in the hallway louder.

It would’ve been easier to turn around and rejoin your parents, but no. Hell no. You weren’t about to suffer being dragged around by your parents like some beaten ragdoll while they ranted about the smallest mishap you made the day before.

You needed to see Silco.

You slipped inside before any more doubts could stop you. The door creaked, but Silco didn’t look up right away. The latch clicked shut, cutting off the faint hum of distant voices from both in and out of the church. He was standing behind his desk, one hand adjusted the neat stack of paper while the other tugged at the heavy fabric draped over his shoulders. With a slow roll, he shrugged out of his priestly robes, the black cloth sliding over his frame in one fluid motion.

“Ah,” Silco spoke smoothly like he’d been expecting you. “One of my faithful. Did you enjoy today’s sermon?”

Your lips parted with a soundless inhale, watching as Silco eased off his priest stole, folding it neatly and placing it on the desk. Beneath his robes, he was no less imposing. The crisp black collar at his throat tugged open ever so slightly, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows exposing his forearms.

Silco looked less like a distant shepherd of the faithful and more like the man you remembered in the confessional booth—dangerously real and terrifyingly close even now with one less layer of clothing to separate you.

You swallowed. “Yes, Father. It was… enlightening.” That came out more unsure than you realized.

He hummed amused, lifting his glass to take a slow sip. Purposefully weighing the silence to relish in your squirmy demeanour. 

“Enlightening.” He echoed. “The Lord’s word always prevails amongst His people.”

You forced a thin smile, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Your fingers bunched at the fabric of your dress. Silco was intensely impassive. You hated how small you felt, just like you once did writhing on his lap a week ago.

“So, what brings you here?” Silco asked, setting his glass down beside the pile of papers.

Silence stretched. You scrambled for something, anything else to say. “About what my parents said… I, um, wanted to thank you for your guidance last week.” The words tumbled out clumsily.

Only then did Silco look at you, his good eye narrowing the slightest fraction, a twitching smile pulling on his lip. One hand still rested against his desk—calm and composed, a contrast to the sharp glint which pinned you in place. He only moved to lift the cup to his lips to taste the bitter amber liquid swirling inside.

“Guidance.” Silco mimicked a second time, his sickeningly sweet tone making that word sound like both a joke and a sin.

Your fingers dug into your dress as if that alone could ground you. All the words you rehearsed tangled on your tongue, not that you had much of a plan in the first place. Your mind was too hazy from cumming two nights before to approach this logically.

Your mouth opened then closed again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, opting to focus on the glass in his hand instead. “I… I’ve been thinking a lot about it—”

Silco cocked a brow with a subtle tilt of his head. “Hm?”

“About you.” You corrected, stiffening under Silco’s intense stare.

It went quiet again. You bit your lip, glancing around his office suddenly becoming more aware of just how small it was. Or rather, it felt. “I, um… I did things I shouldn’t have. I touched—” The words were stuck in your throat.

You glanced up at him, desperation and guilt evident in the way you practically clawed at your arms. You hoped he’d understand without you damning yourself outloud.

Silco hadn’t moved an inch beyond lifting a hand towards that pectoral cross hanging from his neck. Yet, you could tell he already put the pieces together long before you set foot into his office. He knew. He wanted to hear it straight from the sinner themself.

“Irecreatedyourtouchwithmyown.” Your voice cracked as your confession poured out of you in one rushed breath.

For the first time, Silco’s raised brow ticked, a flicker of fond annoyance breaking through that cold mask—he knew alright. His grip on that cross necklace tightened for just a moment before letting it continue to dangle, shortly followed by his gruff ominous chuckle.

“Easy, now.” Silco drawled, his fingertips tracing the rim of his crystal glass, “I didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat yourself?”

Your stomach knotted. He wasn’t asking you. “I… recreated your touch with my own.”

Silco’s eyes lingered on you, unblinking and unreadable as he examined every bit of you. He lifted his glass to his mouth and took another sip, much slower to savor the burn going down his throat like he had all the time in the world. When he set it down, the soft clink dug into your skin.

You stood there stuck, your hands curled so tight into your skirt your knuckles whitened.

You confessed. What’d been suffocating you for days finally laid bare at his feet. 

Silco remained quiet. Only the faint groan of his desk gave him away when he pressed his palm flat against the polished wood, pushing himself upright intentionally slow. Then, his lips curved. “Show me.”

You blinked confused. “I— I’m sorry, what?”

Silco held your gaze for a beat too long. Then, he moved.

His long fingers dragged languidly over the edge of his desk as he circled around it. His steps towards you were calculated and soft, working with the flickering candlelight to darken the intimate ambience his office exuded.

Silco kept his chin lifted and shoulders squared. Every moment imbued with the kind of authority you were raised to never question, only to obey. The quiet command of a holy man who expected you to kneel simply because it was his due.

You held your breath as he stood before you, his shadow engulfing you. “Show. Me.”

Silco’s presence was enough to have you stumbling back, only leading to him advancing another step forward. His gaze never left yours, and every pace carried the force of his will until your calves brushed the loveseat behind you.

You stiffened, half expecting him to press you down onto the cushions.

His voice deepened, becoming a gruffer rumble. “My love…” His gaze flicked down along your front for longer than it should've—only to flick back up to meet your gaze, his own darkening lasciviously. “What was it that had you committing such sin?”

You opened your mouth to speak once again, but nothing came out. Silco smiled at the hesitation.

Silco stepped nearer, his chest brushing yours. He leaned in, reaching a hand out to hover over your forearm. “How often did you call for me in the dark with no one to hear but Him?”

Your legs trembled. You wanted to speak, you had to.

“You confessed, but… my sweet lamb,” Silco’s hand ghosted near your shoulder, tickling your sensitive skin promising connection you’d been craving for days. “—half-words will not suffice.”

You gazed down, watching his other hand lift with leisure precision. Long fingers stretched toward you, those same fingers that once lifted your chin. Your shoulders twitched when he made contact—soft, gentle contact.

Silco angled his head closer, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear. “Was it here?” His fingers pressed into your wrist, trailing a slow line up the side of your arm.

“Father Silco—” You yelped the instant his fingers closed around your wrist with a firm grip pulling you flush against his chest.

“Or perhaps, lower?” Silco moved his hand down, brushing his fingertips over the space between your trembling legs. “Tell me, child of God.”

The air between you thickened. The oaky tang of whiskey clung to his breath, undercut by the smoky trace of cigar herbs still woven into his clothes, overstimulating your senses in the best way possible leaving you hazy, memorizing how it once tasted on his tongue.

His other thumb dragged along the inside of your arm. “You dare reduce me to half a memory, to something to be… imitated.” Silco rasped, the final word dripping like venom.

Before you could muster a reply, Silco turned you with startling precision, your back colliding with his chest for a brief, dizzying moment. His palm pressed between your shoulderblades, guiding you toward the front of his desk with a hard shove.

The wood nipped at your hips; you instinctively braced against the wooden surface with your hands splayed wide along the desks edge. Every nerve felt exposed, every heartbeat made itself deafeningly known.

Behind you, Silco was a wall of heat, his chest brushing into your back as he leaned in. Fabric rubbing on fabric marked each movement. Just the touch of his fingers alone made it difficult to breathe, grounding you and unraveling you all at once.

“Do you think repentance is a game?” Silco’s words came rough, you could hear the barely contained growl.

His hand slid down from between your shoulders, tracing along your spine before moving up again to grab at your nape, fingers threading into a few strands of hair with quiet threat.

“F–Father Silco, I— I can explain-” You whimpered. You tried to twist your head toward him, to catch even a glimpse of his expression. “—ah!”

His hand was quicker. Fingers tangled sharply into your hair, yanking hard until your chin snapped upward and your gaze was forced back to the blank stretch of the wall before you. Stinging flared across your scalp, drawing a strangled cry from your lips.

“You come here and confess,” Silco said, his tone measured, almost calm—but there was no mistaking the contempt layered beneath. “and yet…”

Silco pulled tighter, bending your neck just enough that every tendon screamed. “...you profane the sanctity of my guidance by twisting it into something unholy.”

The pause he gave you was cruel, meant to let the weight of his words burrow into your bones. 

“You think you can simply toy with salvation? To mimic me?”

His thumb pressed against the tender base of your skull, forcing your head to still as though you were nothing more than a disobedient pupil.

The edge of his desk cut mercilessly into your hipbone, caging you in discomfort while his body loomed impossibly close behind yours.

There was nowhere to go. Every angle was him.

“Father Silco, please, I— I can explain.” You winced, your pleas breaking under the strain. 

Silco’s hold only tightened, the pull on your hair hard enough to make your eyes water as he angled your head back further, granting you the torment of a single glance into that molten mismatched gaze of his.

“I’ve been thinking about you since last week,” You admitted in a rush, each word tearing from your chest before you could think. “I couldn’t—agh! Couldn’t get you out of my head!”

Your scalped burned beneath his grip. He twisted his knuckles in your hair to keep you tethered to the truth you refused to fully speak. Your heart thundered wildly, frantically hitting against your ribcage as Silco pushed you down until your chest was brushing the surface.

“Did you cry for me?” Silco asked. The unexpected gentleness of his question made your skin crawl.

You swallowed hard. “I—I prayed.”

His laugh was humorless. “Prayed?”

Silco shifted, a creak of wood and shuffling of feet on tile sounded as he reached past you, opening a drawer with a slow scrape. When he straightened again, one hand still holding you down by your hair, the weight of something solid thudded softly against the desk.

A Bible. His Bible.

“Tell me, did you beg for forgiveness?” Silco pressed on, lifting the holy book. “Or did you beg for me?”

The heavy tome traced along the side of your hip, its thick curved spine dragging over the fabric of your dress. The cold edge contrasted brutally with the heat radiating from Silco. He moved it in a steady line, up to your waist, moving to draw vague shapes on your side, then back down again.

He was mapping you. Every dip. Every curve.

You shuddered, tensing when he tapped the spine of the book lightly on the side of your hip. “I didn’t mean to! It wasn’t— I only thought…”

“Vague excuses, childish deflections.” Silco spat, the bite of authority threatening to swallow you whole. “You reduce me to half a shadow in your mind and think to pass it off as piety?”

“No, Father Silco, that’s not it at all!” You scrambled for any sort of leverage that’d save you from this mess, unaware of the Bible in Silco’s hand being raised.

“Hm.”

The Bible descended in one merciless arc. The impact was ear-splitting against the clothed and supple skin of your ass, ricocheting off of wood and stone.

Air fled your lungs in a ragged gasp. Your body lurched forward. A stinging sensation bloomed across your lower back in a mixture of overwhelming pain and strangely enough, clarification. Your mind reeled—shock, humiliation, and guilt mingled in the pit of your stomach until you couldn’t tell them apart.

But even with this burn flaring your skin red, why did it almost feel like relief?

Relief to be forced out from the shadows and spill all the filth occupying your mind. You carried the weight of your sins in silence, trying your hardest to bury them beneath evasions and reason in hopes it’d ease your ever growing need.

And now it was out in the open, ripped raw from you by Silco’s hand.

“Enough.” His voice cut through the silence, both rich and resonant and full of barely restrained anger. “Do not waste my time with this cowardice.”

“Father, please I—mm!” You pressed your lips tightly together as Silco slammed the book onto your ass again without warning, this time targeting the side. Tears threatened to fall and shame seared through you.

It was back resting on your spine, not yet striking but kept poised. Its presence a terrifying reminder of who was in control. And then, movement again.

The quick slide of cloth. A sudden swathe of silk brushed your cheek before plunging the world into darkness. A priest’s stole—Silco’s stole—heavy, sanctified, and pungent with the smell of incense had been fastened around your eyes.

Your hands jerked reflexively toward it, desperate to claw away the blindfold, but Silco captured your wrists in an instant. Grip like iron forced your hands back onto the polished surface of his desk.

“This will not be removed.” Silco growled along your shoulder. “Do you hear me? Until you speak the truth, you’ll languish in the dark.”

You could barely contain that stupid little cry when Silco delivered a third hard spank, this time on your other asscheek to even out the sting.

You wanted this. 

God, help you, you wanted this. Wanted his fury carving across your skin if it meant he’d claim you wholly once more. Yet another part of you deep down burned with mortification.

For once, you felt like a child caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

You hadn’t felt this small and truly pathetic in years.

“Confess.” The word pulled you from your thoughts. “Recapitulation is tiresome.”

Before you could stammer out another foolish defense, the Bible’s spine slammed across your ass. You yelped, body jerking forward only to be forced back into place by his hand fisting your hair again.

The pain pierced all along your back, rippling up to your shoulderblades then down to your chest to set your lungs aflame. Your lips parted, ready to protest, but all that came out was a choked whimper.

Weak, insufficient.

He’s not going to stop. He won't spare any mercy.

Though with every nerve lighting on fire, some vile part of you ached for him to carry on.

Another harsher blow slammed down ripping out a cry. Pain unfurled throughout your entire body leaving you scorched and raw. Then another wallop, stealing your breath before you had the chance to speak. 

“Enough of this stammering.” Silco’s voice poured over you like poison. “If your tongue cannot confess, then it will recite.”

His Bible dragged menacingly slow along your spine, promising another strike if silence or meaningless deflections was all you had to give.

“Proverbs.” He commanded. He shifted to your side, his shadow looming as tall and oppressive at the church’s steeple. “You were raised on them, they’re carved into your marrow. Now speak!”

Your chest heaved at the weight of his sanction boring down on you. It wasn’t a request.

The first words tore from you ragged and broken, “Whoso loveth instruction love–eth knowledge, b-but he that hateth—ah!”

Your cry split the air as another merciless strike slammed down to cut your recitation short. Your legs wobbled beneath you, unable to take anymore of this punishment. With it came the demeaning realization of something darker blossoming low in your belly.

You could feel the increase in pulsing down below. That vile, treacherous need that’d been building up since last week was now unfurling between your aching thighs.

“Louder.” Silco spoke. His vexation cracked like a whip.

You tried again, words spilling out wet and uneven between little sobs. “H-He th–that hateth reproof is brutish—!”

Another whack silenced you.

The book crashed into your ass with such force it rattled through your legs. Spittle slipped from your lip as you gasped, drool dampening the desk beneath your chin.

“Another.” Silco tugged your head up, his eyes focused on the sight of tears staining his priest stole.

He was testing your faith. How far you were willing to go for his penance.

Your thoughts scrambled like startled doves, fragments of scripture flashing in between sinful memories before dissolving into panic. 

Silco lifted the Bible again, waiting to descend.

“He tha–that spareth his rod hateth his— his son!” Your voice cracked underneath fear and expectation.

Silco delivered the brutal blow regardless.

“Agh–! But he that lo–loveth him–” A sob fractured the verse. “correcteth h—him betimes!”

You sounded like a devotee chastised, a sinner dragged bare before judgment. Beneath the tears however, that craving continued to twist. Your body thrummed, each impact of Silco’s Bible on your skin ignited sparks where ruin should’ve been.

Silco noticed. Of course he noticed.

His chuckle rolled low and scornful, though you caught the faintest hint of satisfaction. “Pathetic.” He hissed, savoring the sweetness of your labored breathing, bracing for another spank.

Your tears pooled faster leading you to squeeze your eyes beneath the stole. “F–Father Silco, please…” You murmured.

“Weeping, drooling, shaking like a penitent…” Silco’s hold on your hair loosened, his hand sliding away at last.

Your head fell forward under its own weight. The muscles in your neck burned with relief. Silco stepped back, posture austere, his gaze raking over your trembling form to assess the damage he’d wrought.

He moved the spine of his Bible underneath your dress to flip the skirt up in one practiced motion, revealing the filthy sight of your panties absolutely soaked. Cold air rushed against heated skin, forcing a shaky sigh from your lips. You shivered violently, desperate to shield yourself but too afraid to move your hands off the desk.

“Ah,” He purred triumphant, “there it is.”

His gaze lingered in silence for what felt like an eternity, drinking in the sight of your ass now bright red from his relentless spanking, and now the molten gooey mess waiting for him.

You couldn’t see his expression, yet you could feel the weight of his scrutiny.

Carefully, Silco pressed the edge of the Bible’s spine into your clothed cunt, drawing lazy circles over the wet spot. He moved it with slow delicacy, each languid pass sending quivers throughout your entire body still reeling from the pain.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip at the contact—merciful in its gentleness, but oh so cruel in its intent.

Silco chuckled again, much quieter, though no less barbarous.

“My sweet lamb… you feel it, don’t you?” He murmured. The dangerously intimate tone had your knees buckling. “The lash, the lesson. Even as your tongue falters, your body confesses more eloquently than you ever could.”

Silco applied the slightest bit of pressure, smirking at the little stutter in your whispered plea.

You were still recovering from Silco’s punishing spanks. Every tremor in your limbs betrayed you, each ragged inhale unraveling with what bit of composure you had left. 

“Look at you.” He spoke, his cock twitching hungrily at the sight. “You kneel in spirit even when I’ve left you standing.”

The edge pressed more firmly into your panties, pushing up against your swollen clit. He tilted it, dragging the corner in a measured line up and down to spread the slickness between your labia, slow enough the anticipation burned hotter than the sting of any strike.

“Father Silco…” You shuddered helplessly.

Silco brought his itching free hand up to graze upon the pitiful sight of your ass, slowly writing the names of the twelve disciples with his fingertips into the heated flesh. It was both a comforting and a chilling reminder that every sensation belonged to him.

He nudged the spine of his Bible, parting your wet lips beneath that fabric of your sodden undergarments and began to slide it back and forth, the edge just barely grinding over your sensitive bud.

You let out the softest whimper. Your fingers dug at a few loose papers strewn across his desk.

God…

It felt so strange, and so damn amazing. This wasn’t the same as before. 

No… it was worse.

Much more depraved than what happened in that confessional booth.

That cramped wooden space where the world first crumbled around you, leaving you caught in the sea of Silco’s prayers. Where your knees pressed into that small, stiff wooden bench and his voice crooned through the lattice like smoke.

Where your hips were once flush on his lap.

You remembered how close he leaned in to kiss and suck every ounce of misplaced guilt from your lost soul. How his breath tickled your neck when he buried his face there, all while rutting into you like nothing else mattered.

‘Pour out all your guilt and shame to the Lord.’

You entered that space torn between sinner and saint, and left marked forever.

Now, in the hush of his office, you felt it again. Only this time were you truly ridden with filth, being opened once more by the man who himself walked a fine line between righteousness and damnation.

Your fingers clenched around the crumpled pages as you choked back another mewl. Silco’s pace was unrelenting, and his hand reached up to your nape again, keeping you pinned while carding tenderly through your hair.

Behind you, Silco smirked, watching your composure falter. He could see the restraint, the futile effort to hold yourself back as he continued to stroke the tome’s backbone into your sensitive cunt. The thin layer of laced fabric merely a flimsy shield.

“My, my. The truth you refuse to fully speak, your body confesses without hesitation.” Silco chuckled darkly, gleaming with sacrilegious amusement when you bucked your hips, beginning to grind hungrily against his Bible.

Your stomach clenched at his words. You squeezed your eyes shut, moaning as the tome pushed insistently into you.

Silco leaned closer, his hot breath brushing over your ear. “Tell me, my sweet lamb, what was it you did when the candles snuffed out? Did you fold your hands in prayer as you’ve claimed, or did you ruin yourself wishing it was me, hm?”

His hand stroked lazily in your hair, giving a few strands the gentlest tug to coax out the truth.

“I… I touched myself.” You gasped at the feeling of his book drawing circles over your clit. “I thought of you— your hands, your voice—”

Shivers wracked you. 

The increasing speed and pressure of his Bible against your pussy, the steady caress of his fingers at your scalp, the weight of his presence hovering over your side—it all conspired against you to pull out the reality of what you’d done in the dark.

Your pussy throbbed, that coil low in your belly tightening with each pass of his sacred book teasing your clit.

“Is that so? Describe it to me, dear. I know you can.” Silco crooned, planting a kiss at the juncture between your neck and jawline.

“I fi–ah… fingered myself. And I—” Your own moan cut you off. “–touched my chest like you did.”

“Hm? Like this?”

His hand suddenly moved from your scalp to your chest, wasting no time in slipping into your dress to tug the fabric down. His fingers slid into your bra, finding your pert nipple and rolling it between his rough fingertips.

“Aah… yes.” You nodded only to whimper as Silco tapped the spine of his Bible on your clit to make you flinch, tsking with disapproval.

Silco clicked his tongue, “Haven’t you learned?”

Your lips parted, hesitating before giving him what he wanted. “Yes, Father Silco.”

He planted another kiss on the side of your neck, pleased by your correction to address him properly. “Good girl.”

He pulled down the sleeves of your dress with methodical care, revealing the lace beneath, all while sliding the Bible between your thighs to grind its weight into you like a relic consecrating flesh.

His eyes lingered on the intense rise and fall of your chest.

“Now,” Silco stroked the tome against your slick center to build the pleasure, though not enough to give you full satisfaction, even as you ground your cunt into the soaked leather. “what else did you imagine?”

You let out a shaky sigh, your eyes rolling beneath the stole. “I thought of your hands. Of how they held me last week.”

Silco hummed low, fingers brushing along the strap of your bra, sliding it down with a reverence that felt like mockery.

“My hands.” He repeated, tasting the words on his tongue.

You turned your head back just a fraction. Despite your world still being plunged in darkness, your eyebrows furrowed confused when his Bible was no longer dragging over your cunt.

Only then did you let out a breathy moan. Silco’s hand replaced the book, pressing two slender fingers against the soaked fabric, and he sucked in a sharp breath when you moved back.

Such a needy little thing.

You had stuffed your hands between your thighs just days ago, sloppy and uncoordinated as you tried to remember him—to recreate him. When you hoped to push away those filthy memories, swearing you wouldn’t crave it again, your body gave in to temptation.

How could it not?

His fingers, his breath, his punishment and salvation.

Every aspect of him had you yearning for more. And it was all yours to take once again.

Silco stroked circles on your clit, pushing up into the fabric to feel it pulsate under his touch. “Tell me exactly how you touched yourself when you missed me. Show me where.”

You mewled, rocking your hips back and forth over his fingers. “Right… right there.”

“Hm? Here?” He asked, dragging his fingertips up and nudging the fabric between your wet lips to prod at your entrance, purposely refusing intrusion you craved so damn bad.

“Ooh– mhm!” You nodded, your shoulderblades drawing tightly together.

Silco smirked seeing you tremble. “So eager to answer, yet you’ve not given me the whole truth.” His fingers toyed with the soaked lace, tracing the wet seam with maddening intricacy. “Did you spread yourself for me, even when I wasn’t there to guide you?”

“Y–Yes, Father Silco… I did.” The tickle of his palm moving between your still sore ass had your breath stuttering.

“Mhm. Like this?” He hooked his fingers into the fabric to peel it aside. His middle and ring finger slid between your folds, parting you open like he were exposing a secret you had no right to keep.

Another moan spilled from you.

“You imagined my fingers filling you. Say it.” Silco rubbed you intentionally slow, each back and forth like a litany.

“I… I imagined you, your fingers inside me, stretching me open, making me—”

Silco’s other hand on your bra tugged at the strap, pulling it back enough before releasing it to hit your back with a firm thwack!

You yelped, jumping upon impact.

“Careful,” He cooed. “Proper address, or we stop here.”

“Father Silco.” You corrected in an uneven whisper.

“Good.” Silco pushed just the tips of his two fingers into your entrance, circling but withholding. “And after you touched yourself here… did you rub yourself raw, chasing release like a desperate little penitent?”

His thumb continued to rub methodical circles on your clit that sent your head lolling back.

“Ye—Yes, Father Silco.” You confessed, hips twitching helplessly. So desperate for him to just fucking take you.

Silco unhooked your bra, letting the lacy straps fall down your arms before cupping one of your breasts now exposed to the cold of his office. He gave it the lightest squeeze, pushing his palm into your hardened nipple to tease it.

“There we go. Every penitent must name their sins before they can be absolved.” His voice dipped, all velvety and venomous. “And you are greedy for forgiveness, aren’t you?”

“Mmah…” Your mouth hung open as Silco finally slid his fingers inside your pussy, filling you like each inch was anointed.

The air left your lungs in a mewl and your spine arched. Your body clenched around him desperately, proving just how hungry you were for his guidance.

“Ahh.” Silco breathed. He relished the way you seized on him at the first pump of his fingers.

It’d only been a week since he last touched you like this, but oh how you missed it.

Silco bent to your ear, licking a few lines just below your earlobe. “Look at you… writhing like a soul starved of sacrament. You knelt alone, whimpering my name instead of your God’s.”

He angled his wrist to plunge those digits deeper, curling them to rub that sweet spot nestled inside of you. His movements pulled a breathy moan from you.

“Fa–ah- Father Silco…” That title broke from you in a pathetic whimper. Your hips rolled back onto his hand without a thought, chasing the merciless pumping of his fingers.

“You want deliverance, my little lamb? Then you’ll take everything I give. Every hit, every inch.” Silco trailed his tongue down your neck, continuing to fondle your breast. “And you will thank me for it.”

He pushed his hand harder into you. Your clit pulsed under his thumb as it rubbed faster in time with the curl of his thrusting.

Your moans grew louder following every movement.

Shame no longer coursed through you, not with the way your cunt clenched around his sodden hand. You could feel the pressure coiling deep inside. Every nerve strung taut. 

You pushed back against his hand with a needy cry. Your fingers were no comparison to Silco’s. Yours were smaller, awkward in their technique to bring you high. It took you humping your own hand like a damn dog to chase a release that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the one Silco gave you.

But his? His skill. The length of his fingers. It was too much for you to bear.

Your mind was growing hazy. You were so close you could almost taste it.

Sweat beaded at your forehead, trickling down the soak the fabric of his priest stole. Drool was sliding down your throat.

“So loud. So eager for deliverance.” Silco chuckled, driving his fingers as far as they could go.

“Oh God– please… please, Father Silco—” You gasped, your voice falling apart as your pussy fluttered around his digits pumping in and out of you.

That pleasure built higher.

His fingers thrusted faster.

Wet squelches filled the small office, mingling with your breathy moans. Silco switched his hand to your opposing breast, pinching and tugging the neglected bud causing your body to twitch.

It almost felt like you were back in the confessional booth. The heavy air, the smaller space. Traces of candle wax coating your burning wrists and his cigar wrapping puffs of smoke around you.

Silco pressed kisses into your shoulder, groaning into your skin. Although he hadn’t spoken just yet, you could hear his voice now.

‘Show me how much you ache for salvation.’

But just as that tremor built to a break point, Silco pulled away.

His thumb left your clit and his fingers slipped free. The sudden emptiness was a shock. You were left bent over his desk, your cunt clenching around nothing as a strangled cry tore from you.

“No! Damnit!”

What you’d been longing for had been ripped from you just like he did back then. Damn bastard.

“Tch.” Silco stilled behind you.

The silence that followed was heavier than any denial. Then, his hand left your breast, sliding up to suddenly grip at your chin and forcing your head back until your neck strained.

“Such language from my little lamb. Blasphemy on your tongue while begging at my altar? You should be on your knees for less.” He spat, digging his fingertips into your jaw.

His other hand didn’t stay idle. He trailed his soaked fingers between your thighs, skimming the slick mess. They ghosted over your clit, keeping your body on the precipice.

“You come in here to confess, only to give me half-truths. You ache for salvation, but listen to yourself—” Silco growled, sliding his hand down to wrap around the front of your throat. “cursing, demanding, ungrateful little sinner!”

“Aah–!” You choked out a sob as Silco delivered a merciless spank to your ass.

The strike sent fire racing underneath your skin, lighting every nerve alive with the ache. His hand closed harder at your throat, not enough to suffocate, but enough to control. A silent decree that you’d move only when he allowed it.

“You think yourself entitled to deliverance?” He snarled against your temple. “No. You’ll take what I give and thank me for it, or you’ll be left aching for redemption that’ll never come.”

He brushed his thumb over your pulse, pressing on it to feel its frantic beat. “Those are your choices, little lamb. Gratitude… or nothing.”

Tears stung your eyes. Humiliation mixed with need.

You knew what Silco wanted. For you to plead for forgiveness, for you to beg.

“I—I’m sorry, Father Silco!” Your words tumbled out of you. “I shouldn’t have cursed, I shouldn’t have demanded—”

His fingers stroked your clit again that made your apology collapse into a moan.

“And?” He flicked the sensitive bud, squeezing your throat tighter before loosening his hold just a tad.

“I’m sorry.” You yelped, shoulders trembling. “F–For what I did in the dark. For touching myself, for saying your name when I was alone.”

Each confession fed the hunger in his gaze and his cock strained in his pants. Your words hung between you, ragged and raw, and Silco drank them in like the fine whiskey he kept stored in his shelves. 

Carefully, he drew his hand from between your thighs. You heard the quiet click of his belt, the rasp of a zipper coming down. A shudder passed through you at the sound alone.

No more were the ghosts in the confessional booth going to haunt you. No more empty hands and whispered prayers.

The bulge in his pants throbbed against the plush curve of your ass as he stepped closer, his palm firm on your hip to keep you steady.

“Beg for me, my dear.” Silco groaned, his voice a rasp of command disguised as invitation.

You moaned, eyes rolling back, the press of his clothed cock against your slick cunt making your chest heave. “Please, Father Silco… please. I’ll be good, I’ll thank you, I’ll do anything—”

The scent of leather and cigar smoke filled your nose, and you could feel his breath against the back of your neck as he pressed harder, grinding just enough to make you ache for more.

“Mhm. Prove your devotion.” Silco hooked his finger into the band of his boxers. He tugged them down and his cock sprang free, the heat of him heavy and unyielding as it pressed between your cheeks.

He gave himself a few sluggish strokes before sliding the blunt head of his cock through your wet labia to smear you open, titillating every swollen nerve until your thighs quivered. The sudden weight of his cock poking you made your whole body tense. Your heart practically flipped in anticipation.

Your fingers curled against the burgundy wood, nails scratching shallow grooves the more he continued. He teased your clit with his tip, taking in your soft whines before settling against your entrance.

Silco’s hand rose from your throat to brush away the loose strands of hair at your face. The gentle act sent shivers throughout your body as he purred into your ear. “Feel me, sweetheart.”

Slowly, he guided his length forward in one measured thrust.

You whimpered all high and needy as inch by inch of Silco pushed past your entrance. “O–Oh my God…”

Instinctively you moved back, but his hand at your hip held you still.

“Patience.“ Silco hissed, pausing just to hear you whine. “You’ll thank me for every inch I give you.”

A moan broke from you as he sank deeper. The sensation was sharp, overwhelming, and just like how it’d been back in the confessional. It felt so damn good to be taken like this once again.

Your chest heaved against the desk as Silco fully sheathed himself inside of you, his hips settling flush against your ass. Your moan was caught between pleasure and strain, your muscles locked tight around his length.

“My little lamb, look how well you take me.” Silco rasped.

His hand returned to your throat, clamping with the slightest bit of pressure to make you dizzy. He withdrew only partway to drag his cock along your walls, groaning when your pussy throbbed around him.

“Ngh– Thank you, Father– fuck- Silco!” You moaned out as Silco slammed back inside, the thick stretch of him scraping that raw, tender spot that made stars burst in your vision. The force jolted you forward enough to mash your breasts flat on the littered surface.

Silco’s desk screeched across the tile with each violent snap, but you barely registered it over the shockwave of pleasure tearing through your thighs and belly.

Your body rocked in tandem with his thrusts, sparks being driven from deep inside you. Your ass stung as skin slapped against skin. He was keen on breaking you.

“Again. Say it again.” Silco growled, emphasizing his demands with a particularly harsh thrust.

“Thank you—ahh- thank you, Father Silco!” Your gratitude spilled between labored breaths. Your body shook under his fast pace. 

White-hot jolts of raw bliss lanced up your spine until your moans melted into sweet sobs following each slam of his cock, your cunt aching at the sensations twisting in your core.

Deep down you knew just how wrong this was.

Every catechism was destined to guide you to the Lord, every sermon governed you with sore sweetness. Those whispered prayers made to invoke a foul hunger—a foul hunger to be filled once more by the very man who stood at the pulpit every Sunday, delivering salvation to lambs lost in the fog.

A priest. Your priest Silco.

Nights spent alone laying awake only tormented you further. Attempts to hide need under logic or reason didn’t help. You told yourself to turn away, to smother those cravings in prayer, in discipline. But the thoughts refused to leave. 

Silco refused to leave.

The phantoms of him caused craving to form inside of you before you foolishly and fatally caved in. You welcomed the memory, touching yourself to the echoes of his voice, letting his ghost guide your inexperienced hand until you fell apart wishing—praying he was there.

And now, between the doubt and worry of what he’d do if he knew, if he even wanted to see you again, he was here.

Not a ghost, nor a fever dream. Just flesh, breath, and raw iron will driving you into his desk, determined to fuck the sin out of you.

Your head reeled when Silco slammed his cock deep inside of you. Pleasure coursed through your veins. Sin or not, your body clung to him greedily, soaking up every inch and groan he gave.

His other hand wound into your hair once again, fisting at the roots to yank your head back exposing your throat to his hungry mouth. He leaned in, canine teeth grazing your hot skin before latching onto the side of your neck beginning to suck. The suction drew a bruise, dark and claiming, while his hips never slowed their brutal pace.

“Ahh– do you feel it, my sweet- fuck— my sweet lamb?” Silco grunted against your skin, his breathing rough with the effort of ruining you. His brows knitted tightly together as he thrusted harder, stretching you open until your legs quivered. “How your sins huff burn away, how shame turns to devotion?”

“F–fuck— yes!” You moaned out rather loudly, drool staining your lips spittling onto his desk.

Silco pulled back from your throat, lips all slick and swollen. His eyes pierced into you as he wrenched your hair tight in his fist. With a growl, he yanked his pectoral cross hanging off his neck snapping the string, proceeding to shove the wooden cross into your mouth to silence you.

“Bite.”

The bitter oak pressed against your lips as you obeyed, digging in your canines to muffle your cries.

Silco’s hips snapped forward again, much rougher this time, groaning at your velvety walls pulling him in. Your knees threatened to buckle under his force. Your hands gripped tightly at the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles were turning white.

His pace became relentless. It was clear he had no intention of showing you mercy.

With a particularly harsh thrust, your body jerked violently to rattle the desk, your effort to keep yourself upright faltered. Your hand shot forward, accidentally knocking over the crystal tumbler of whiskey left at the corner half forgotten. Potent amber contents sloshed as it toppled.

You couldn’t see what happened, but heard liquid spill across the desk before dripping to the floor. Heady alcohol burned into your nostrils, mingling with the smell of sex permeating the office.

Silco slowed inside of you at the sight, still fully buried to the hilt. You turned your head, attempting to glance back despite the priest stole obstructing your view.

Then, a chuckle. Dangerous, rumbling deep in Silco’s chest as he reached over to pluck the fallen glass.

He raised it above you, swirling the few stubborn mouthfuls clinging to the bottom.

“Wasteful little sinner.” Silco hissed before tilting the glass over your bare back.

The whiskey poured in uneven streams between your shoulder blades drawn tight, searing cold against overheated skin as it trickled down to your dress scrunched at just above your hips. A few droplets managed to curve over the swell of your sore ass.

You gasped at the shock, clawing at the crumpled papers for leverage as your back arched.

Silco lowered his head, following the rivulets with his mouth, kissing and licking where the liquid stung cold. He lapped each drop like he was sanctifying you, drawing vague shapes with his tongue.

“Filth.” He whispered, pressing both hands on your back to keep you pinned as he began to thrust again. His tongue traced lower, savoring the taste of his favorite whiskey mixing with your sweat. “You spill, you soil, you disgrace yourself. Then you come here begging for absolution.”

He angled his hips as he rolled them forward, hitting that sweet spot wringing a broken plea muffled behind his cross he shoved in your mouth. Your body convulsed under the assault, your pussy going numb around his cock.

Your eyes rolled back. Tears beaded at the corners before slipping down your flushed cheeks. Your pleasure climbed higher, clawing at you from the inside.

“But you are mine to clean, to deliver.” Silco murmured, his lips brushing your cheekbone in a soft, almost tender kiss—a mockery that made you whimper and reach a hand back, gripping at his wrist to hold on.

The empty glass clattered beside you on the desk, forgotten.

Silco kept one hand on your hip, allowing you to grab his arm while his other rose to your shoulder, gripping hard as he moved faster, hit deeper.

His fingers dug into your flesh as his hips snapped forward. Wet sounds of his cock plunging into you filled the office, blending with your heavy breathing. His thrusts drove you further over the edge, your body jerking upon impact.

Juices mixing with Silco’s precum trickled down your inner thighs. Your breasts pressed flat against the surface of his desk. You felt your cunt squeeze around him like it was molded to keep him there. 

To never let him leave.

“Mmph—mm!” You muffled around the wooden cross. Drool and tears slicked your lips.

You couldn’t speak, even if you wanted to.

Silco gazed down at you, focused on your back sticky with sweat and whiskey. He snarled against your temple, pulling out of you until just his blunt tip remained before slamming back in. “Since you cannot manage it yourself, allow me to speak for you.”

His pace slowed just a little, grinding himself deep into your pussy as his voice dropped into a rasping litany. “I confess the sin– huff of mimicry in mhh-my life…”

His hips punctuated his words in a fierce rhythm. His hand slipped down to press flat against your stomach, feeling the bulge of him inside you.

“Recognizing it can be a form of spiritual prostitution—” Another sharp thrust had you whimper from the sheer force. “—a way of pushing aside Your presence.”

“Mmhp–!” You gagged, the cross biting into your tongue as you bit down harder. The word splintered faintly against your teeth, the harder you clenched the less you could even moan his name.

“Forgive them,” Silco growled, prying your grip loose as he twisted your wrist and yanked your arm behind you. “for any false teachings or practices they’ve participated in. Forgive them for imitating evil rather than good.”

You writhed beneath him as ecstasy rippled through your sore limbs. Your thighs spasmed, your cunt pulsed around his cock uncontrollably. 

Sweat beaded across your furrowed brows, running into the hem of Silco’s priest stole to soak the fabric.

“Grant them wisdom and discernment—” Silco grunted as he slammed into you so hard his hips bruised the swell of your ass. His cock punched against your cervix ruthlessly. “to fuck– recognize spiritual counterfeits and false religious teachings.”

Your vision blurred, shattering into sparks. The world outside peeled away until you were left with nothing but his voice. No church bells, no sermons, no foolish complaints from your parents.

Just Silco and the delicious burn of being split open on his length.

Nerves sang in delirium. Your eyes rolled back.

For the nights you fought against the memory of his hands in the confessional—trying to pray away the hunger—Silco’s cock buried deep inside you crumbled all doubt or reason to dust.

What was sin if it felt like salvation?

Slowly, and selfishly, your lips curled around the crucifix lodged between your teeth. It was blasphemy, sheer madness surging through you.

But Silco didn’t stop. You didn’t want him to.

You smiled shamelessly as he fucked you deeper on his desk, no longer caring how painfully the edge dug into your hips, or how it stung when his hips slapped hard against your ass.

Silco panted into your ear, each quick exhale damp and hot as he lost himself in you. His pleasure clouded his vision. The desk creaked and groaned in protest, its wooden legs scraping the tile under the violence of his movements.

“Say it.” He snarled, feeling his loins burn hot with impending release. “Say you repent.”

You tried. God, you tried. You were so damn close you could barely form coherent words.

“S—sor… Father— p-please— Silc-co… aahh–!” Your cry dissolved into a moan as Silco rammed into your sweet spot again, and again. Harder, deeper, faster—battering against the trembling walls of your willing cunt.

“Wash them agh- clean… from mhff their guilt…” Silco grunted, stuttering as he felt his own pleasure tightening in his belly. His hand left your stomach to snake up your throat, clamping firmly to pull you back into an unholy posture of worship.

Spine arched, chest heaving, mouth sucking the cross.

“Nnnh— y-yes–!” You tried your best to echo, nearly choking on your own spit and lack of oxygen.

“Purify them—” Silco’s final prayer morphed into a growl as his cock battered your insides. His fiery gaze narrowed, speaking his final words through gritted teeth feeling his orgasm crest. “from… sin!”

With a final, brutal thrust, Silco buried himself to the hilt, moving in shallow motions as his cum spilled into you. The warmth pooling in your womb pushed you over the edge, sending you into your own orgasmic spiral. Your overstuffed pussy gripped him like a vice, milking every drop whilst your climax tore through you like revelation.

“F—fo… forgive— aah! Father Silco—!” You pleaded all muffled and broken by the crucifix.

Silco held you steady as you went limp, rolling his hips in slow shallow thrusts to prolong the overstimulation. Your mouth hung open as you cried, and the cross fell from your slackened lips to clatter against the desk, leaving a wet sheen of spit where it landed.

Silco remained inside of you for a little moment longer, savoring the feeling of your hot flesh wrapped around him, allowing you to go completely cockdrunk on being stuffed so greedily full of him.

Only when your cries turn into incoherent whimpers did Silco begin to pull himself out of you. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged every inch free, leaving you hollowed and aching. Your sore cunt clenched around nothing, and the obscene mixture of your juices and Silco’s cum trailed down your thighs.

Carefully, Silco let go of you, and you collapsed forward onto his desk with a thud before sliding bonelessly to the floor, your arms too weak to keep you upright. You crumpled on the tile in a desecrated heap—your flushed cheeks damp with salty tears, your lips parted and wet with spit, and your thighs slick with sweat and Silco’s seed.

You laid shivering on the cold tile even as your skin burned feverishly hot.

Silco stepped back, his softened cock twitching with a final drop of cum sliding down his length.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He stood over you in silence, his shadow stretching long across the floor as he watched you shake in the remnants of euphoria he wrung from you. His eyes—one volcanic, burning with smoldering hunger, the other a pale greenish sea-glass and unblinking—took in every detail.

The spasms in your legs, faint quivers in your belly, your skin glistening with sweat and droplets of drying whiskey he failed to lick up.

Oh, if only you could see how beautiful you looked, ruined by the hands of your priest.

Sinful, debauched, utterly filthy. And yet, Silco saw no shame in it. Just a tableau of undoing only he could so delicately craft.

Silco continued to look down upon you, the glint in his eyes holding both pride and possession as he feasted on your current state.

Then, he descended. He stood on one knee in front of you, reaching a hand out towards the damp priest stole still fastened over your eyes. He tugged it loose, letting the soaked fabric slip away onto the floor beside you.

You whimpered as light filtered back into your vision. His face came into focus above you. “Father Silco…”

Silco’s gaze softened, just slightly, as he studied you. With his other hand he cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb over the sticky trail of dried tears. He searched your eyes and the barest flicker of something human passed through the priest’s mask of brutal power.

“My sweet lamb.” He cooed, brushing away the sweat slicked strands of hair plastering to your damp forehead.

His thumb lingered at your cheekbone, slowly tracing down to your trembling jaw. He tilted your chin up and leaned in without hurry.

“Fa–mhh!” You mewled as Silco captured your lips with a deceptively soft press.

The familiar taste hit you instantly. Fancy whiskey that clung to his lips was bitter on your own tastebuds as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Laced within were faint traces of his expensive cigar, the herbs making your head spin.

It pulled you back into the suffocating darkness of the confessional booth when you first dared to taste him. The same flavor, the same ferociousness that threatened to consume you whole.

You mumbled little thank yous between the kiss, angling your head slightly to deepen it.

And just like that, he pulled away. Slow, methodical, and smirking with approval. Relishing in your pitiful whine knowing just how hungry you were for more.

“You endured.” Silco said, rough and husky, filled with something close to pride. “My little lamb. My perfect devotee.”

But before you could look up at him once more, his softness vanished in a heartbeat.

Silco snatched the discarded priest’s stole from where it laid on the floor and bunched the heavy fabric in one hand. He gripped your chin tightly enough to force your lips apart, shoving the wet cloth deep into your mouth until your incoherent protests muffled into silence.

Your eyes widened, but his sharpened, steady on yours daring you to resist.

“Shh.” He hissed, placing a finger over his lips gesturing you to remain quiet.

He rose to his feet to loom over you again. You squirmed weakly, gagging on the priest's stole only for him to shift his boot, planting it firmly between your legs.

The polished leather pressed up into your soaked abused cunt, grinding slowly on your clit. You felt your muscles tense at the sensation and your hands flattened on the cold floor. You did your best to resist the humiliating urge to cling to him, to rut his boot like some desperate animal.

His boot pressed harder, rocking against that swollen bud to watch you squirm.

“Pathetic.” Silco spat. He ground that delicious curve of his shoe in punishing circles, eyeing the way your hips twitched despite yourself. “Still begging even when I’ve stolen your voice.”

A muffled sound clawed its way up your throat. You tried to restrain yourself, you were still recovering from Silco’s earlier force, but your body betrayed you.

You arched into the pressure, grinding your cunt over the front of his boot.

Silco drew in a long breath, exhaling with a growl that rumbled deep in his chest. He kept his movements going, stepping closer to tug at your hair with a sharp jerk. His silent command was unmistakable. With trembling obedience you lifted your weak hands from the floor to wrap around his calf, digging your fingers into his trousers.

You pressed your cheek on his thigh, humping his leg, smearing your wetness across it.

“I should leave you like this. Beautifully purged.” He murmured more to himself, though his words sent shivers down your spine.

You whimpered, clamping your thighs tight around his ankle not wanting him to leave.

“And yet…”

Silco licked over his bottom lip and his hand drifted to the base of his cock beginning to pump himself slowly. You glanced up at the lewd sound, gazing all doe-like and needy for more.

“You’re not finished, are you, little lamb?”

His question hung heavy.

Just a few nights ago you laid awake, tormented by the selfish need he left behind. Guilt gnawed at you, leading you to clutch your rosary until the beads cut into your palms despite initially rejecting this religion altogether. You told yourself to forget, to push away the filth of your imagination.

His hands branded ghosts on you. His voice forever stuck in your mind.

And then, you gave in. Weak, craving for his hands to have replaced yours that night.

You came to him carrying your shame like an offering. You sought deliverance for what you’d done.

But as you knelt at his feet, continuing to hump his boot like some cheap whore while he watched, stroking himself at the naughty sight—you knew deep down you hadn’t come to be cleansed nor to confess.

You came to be claimed.

Wholly. Irrevocably his.

You shook your head, moaning when he angled his foot up. “Mm-mm.”

Silco smiled fondly, his gaze alight with hunger as continued to stroke his hardening cock. He brushed his fingers through your hair, chuckling deeply at your needy whimper.

“Good.”