Satan's Whore Ch. 04

When the spasms had passed, the priest helped her to her feet.

"Have you been practicing?" she asked. "That was..."

"Only in my dreams."

She raised one leg and wrapped it around his back, presenting herself to his waiting erection. He adjusted himself and she soon felt him at her entrance, spreading her lips, a promise soon to be given. He held himself there on the threshold as he always did, as though willing himself to halt his inevitable advance. Isabel held herself still, though she wanted nothing more than to have him within her again. She felt herself thrumming in anticipation. She closed her mind to the signals that emanated from the priest. She would allow herself no nourishment from him save the emotional.

***

The priest held the succubus still. As always, he'd approached this particular precipice gladly, only to balk at its edge. Had he sold his soul for the pleasures of the flesh? Perhaps yes. Had it been a bargain? It depended on the consequences and at what time he asked himself the question.

Now, basking in the heat of their union, he couldn't imagine suffering eternal damnation for such basic intimacy. If God had made mankind in his own image, then the greatest insult to that creation had to be the denial of pleasure that the body was designed to give and to receive.

It was all rationalization, of course. Intellectual gymnastics that allowed him to land in this position time after time, with his hands wrapped around this woman's... no, this demon's waist.

Of all of Satan's works, this was the one before which he trembled, for it was so subtle and so closely approached perfection that he could discern no fault in it and felt no sin in his enjoyment of it. It was a work so sublime that it made him, if not forget his vows, then to seriously question their relevance.

If there was a price to pay, he would pay it and consider it a bargain.

The priest sighed and rammed himself into her.

***

Isabel gasped in surprise and pleasure.

The priest's hands grasped her ass and she raised the other leg, twining one in the other and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her pussy clenched around him.

"Oh, God," he moaned.

"I love it when you talk dirty."

The priest laughed then. It was one of the things, so rare, that she loved about him -- that they could laugh during the act.

He continued to thrust into her with the stamina of one half his age.

When it looked as though his energy was flagging, Isabel lowered her legs to the floor, trapping his engorged cock between her legs.

She closed her eyes. "Don't move for a minute," she said.

She knew that he enjoyed this as much as she did, this concentration on what connected them. His eyes were closed and an expectant smile lit his face. She tightened her muscles around him, gently at first and then with more force. Gradually she shifted her weight from foot to foot, an action that served to move him subtly within her.

"You're a witch," he whispered.

Isabel laughed.

"Stop or you will have cast a spell from which there is no return."

She did as asked and released him.

There was hunger in his eyes as he led her to the chair on which she'd been sitting earlier. He turned her around and she bent over it and perched one knee on the armrest. Arching her back, she presented herself to him. She knew this was a view he enjoyed and a position in which he loved to finish. He had taken her picture once, positioned like this. She wasn't worried about it getting out; it was more damaging to him than it could possibly be to her.

He had shown her the picture once. It was strange, viewing herself from such a perspective. The picture featured no more than legs, ass, and hairless pussy. The labia, spread by previous penetration, glistened with juices. Her wings were visible too, slightly out of focus, spread out as though in flight. Her head and horns were not captured in the image. In their absence, she looked like a winged angel. Perhaps therein lay the appeal.

"This is my forbidden altar," he explained at the time. "You are my forbidden idol."

He entered her smoothly from behind. His hands grasped her wings, pulling her to him. He was more forceful than usual and she felt a thrill at his mastery, pinned between his ramming cock and the hands that held her.

He fucked her deeply, with skill and appetite. She grasped the arms of the chair tightly and her breasts shook with each thrust.

"Fuck me, father," she moaned. For anyone else, the moan would have been artifice. For the priest it wasn't.

He was playing her expertly, hitting all of the right notes.

She clenched her muscles around him, thrilling at the hard, hot length that filled her.

He was close. She could feel it. On this night, she was right with him. She arched her back yet more, allowing him to stroke that blessed spot within her.

Their gasps came almost simultaneously. With a shuddering groan, he flooded her with his seed. He bent over her, hugging her to him as he spurted his essence.

***

He walked her to the door and bade her good night. She placed a hand on his cheek and disappeared into the night.

She knew that he'd be up until morning, praying for forgiveness. She knew that he would pray for the boy, Daniel, as well.

***

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