Say a Prayer Ch. 02

The gray head lowered ... it was so close ... she felt his breath on her lips. She smelled wine, spices, leather, cotton, and silver.

"Do you think I'll be a savage husband? Do you think you'll be thrown in a cupboard and forced to eat bread that's half sawdust?" He probably didn't realize it, but he had reminded her of a charitable organization he had been donating to every few months. He had once said something about how so many people couldn't afford good bread, or even bread at all.

"I ... Master!" Her eyes danced around the room as if she didn't know what to look at. "Great Master! Your bride has been foolish and ungrateful! You must punish this simpleton, please! I beg you!"

"Raise your skirts," he commanded.

Her eyes closed.

Gripping fistfuls at a time, Danetta pulled her skirts as high as she could, even taking up the chemise. The gently scented air, carefully perfumed for a woman's preferences, tickled and caressed her bare and moist womanly parts. Her palms and fingers were full.

"Perhaps you are foolish, even a simpleton."

Leather ... leather right there, right at her swollen labia, sliding up and down!

Danetta struggled to remain standing.

"But, ungrateful? No. Your eyes have too much sweetness for that."

Inside!!

Danetta made a squeaky breath of a noise. Her skirts made frothy sounds as her hands tightened over the material.

His fingers were already thick, but that extra layer ... that leather ... it made the digit thicker, spreading her muscles with more efficiency. She was already wet too. The sensation was dazzling!

"The only problem here," Erdgar continued, pushing his finger in and out of her fairly quickly, "is that you need to learn to accept your new life as Mistress here."

She couldn't stop herself from whining out, "Ohhhhhh please, pleeeeeeease!!"

The finger left.

The hand in her hair left.

Danetta opened her eyes, but she didn't have time to stare up at the gray head. Her husband scooped her up in his great arms and carried her to the bed. She was basically dropped onto the mattress. She bounced once, but Erdgar's firm hand against her belly settled her.

"On your hands and knees," he said with an intimidating growl.

She was very, very eager to obey. Her clothing rustled and tangled as she put herself in the required position. Her long hair fell over one side of her body. She felt Erdgar's gloves push her skirts up over her bum roll. Then the finger returned, plunging deep within her. A separate hand moved under the first to carefully nudge her clitoris with little strokes.

Danetta keened as her muscles spasmed. She licked a corner of her lips. Then she honestly started begging. "Please, pleeeeeeease, let me have your cock! I need it!"

The voice behind her was so amazingly rough. "I'm not sure if you're ready. You might not be able to appreciate it."

He then rubbed her clitoris so hard that for a second Danetta wondered if the poor little nubbin might come off. Her upper body dropped down, her breasts squished. Her fingernails scratched the quilt underneath her.

"Ah!! Aaaahh!! By the gods!! Please!!"

Erdgar didn't seem to be listening. He kept on and on, stroking, rubbing, pressing the leather into her flesh. He was stretching her feelings, dragging her cries out of her. "Do you honestly want your husband's cock that badly?"

He actually pinched her clitoris!!

Danetta howled.

"Yes!! Yes, please, Erdgar!! YES!!" She was cumming; she was definitely cumming. Electricity ran up and down her limbs. Her backside quivered. Her cunt was leaking all over the gloves.

Erdgar really did know how to throw her brain into madness.

She stilled. Then she was panting and coughing, but Erdgar didn't let her have a long break. He removed his hands from her wet pussy. Then he put one of those hands on her hips, spreading her moisture there. The swishing noise of clothing being adjusted pierced her brain.

Yes! He was going to do it!!

And when he did, Danetta shrieked out, "YES!! YES!! FUCK ME!!"

The entire bed, as large and sturdy as it was, seemed to creak and rock with their movements. The room seemed to blur.

Back and forth, a stroke, then another, and another, and even more ...

She felt as if every thrust inside her was a gift from the gods. His flesh was hot within her, nearly branding her. In a way, he had already done that long ago.

And one of his hands found the length of her hair again, reaching for it, clawing at it, pulling her head back. Every little movement he forced out of her put shock waves down her throat, bosom, belly, and then to her aching, well fucked cunt. "Do you like your husband's cock in you? Hmmmm?"

"Yeeeeeeeees!!"

"Do you think you'll continue liking it in the future?"

"By the gods!! Please, yes!! I'm going to die!!"

"You won't Darling, not without me."

No mercy. There was absolutely no mercy after that. He pounded hard, putting all of himself in and taking all of himself out. He hissed and cursed. He told her she was going to have his child. There was no other option. She was going to take a nice, good fucking, and accept his seed. Even once she was pregnant, he'd still fuck her senseless, just to prove the point to her.

There was no way out of this.

Her thighs seemed to vibrate.

She was like an overflowing wine glass. She was like a twig thrown into a fire.

She was cumming so hard that hurt for a few seconds.

And he followed her, shooting deep inside, exclaiming a combination of joy and violence from deep in his throat.

***

It was time for prayer again.

Delma Abnelon was in a prayer room in the temple, again. The door was cracked, again. She was being a good, respectable priestess, again.

It was a normal, peaceful morning, nothing special.

That is, it was normal until the masked man returned to her, closing and locking the door without even asking if she would be comfortable with it. The snap of the door's latch was what first alerted Delma to his presence.

His voice was very civil. "Good morning, Child of Hope. Has your morning been pleasant?"

She was kneeling, but she turned to look up at him. "It's been very pleasant, thank you Sir." Her smile was very honest. "How may I help you?"

He bowed. It was a very subtle movement, but it was a bow. His cloak fluttered. "I need comfort, but I don't think a prayer will help me. I need something else."

Delma swallowed a viscid knot of ambivalence. "You must tell me what to do, then, so that I can give you hope."

The man's pulled his cloak back, revealing his clothing. It was rather ordinary, gray and black with occasional brown things. There were wasn't anything ostentatious, flashy, or even joyful about his outfit. He didn't match the season at all. "I need to have a chat." He walked to the shelves to get a pillow.

Scooting away for him, Delma asked, "What do you need to chat about?"

As the masked man took his seat next to her, he said, "Tell me about what happened after I left you yesterday."

Shrugging, Delma said, "Nothing important happened."

His head lowered. The hood shifted about, but it didn't fall. "Tell me anyway, please."

"Well ... after you left yesterday, I prayed alone for a few minutes. Then a young girl asked to pray with me. After she left, I walked home and made a small lunch for myself."

"What did you eat?" He genuinely sounded curious.

"Cheese and bread."

His hand flicked the air as if he was trying to shoo an insect away. "That's all? Did you at least melt the cheese?"

Shaking her head, Delma told him, "I didn't want to waste time. I had an appointment. After lunch, I walked to a customer's apartment complex to perform a ritual and leave behind a charm."

"Were you paid well?"

Delma nodded that time. "Yes, Sir. I was paid well. Three more appointments were after that one. I performed similar duties at a coffee house, a bookstore, and a dancing hall. Then I went home and had a bowl of gruel with beans mixed in."

She heard and saw the fingertips of his glove swipe against each other as if he was trying to test the texture of something. "Have you ever had pork stuffed cabbage?"

"I have." She wanted to giggle. "It can be a very nice dish."

"I can actually cook a decent meal. I know I don't look like it, but I can do it. Would you mind if I brought you some stuffed cabbage tomorrow?" His fingers lazily stretched out on his lap; then they curled.

Delma smiled and laughed into the heel of her hand. Some of her curly hair fell away from her braided hairstyle. For completely innocent, aesthetic reasons, she had wanted a prettier coiffure this day. "You wouldn't be the first person to bring a Child of Hope a gift, but a stuffed cabbage? I've never received that as a gift. It seems charming."

"Charming, eh?" A slow, smoky chuckle echoed from him. "Now my brain is grinding all the possibilities together. I could bring other gifts, couldn't I?"

"They should be simple gifts," Delma warned, trying to pin her loose curl back to its place. "It would be rather mortifying for me to take anything excessive."

"Don't be too humble. That's the first rule of being a woman." His palms slapped against his knees, and he bent over. "Humility is good, no doubt, but too much of anything is bad."

Delma's nose wrinkled. Her brown eyes bore the signs of a smile. "I don't know what to say to that, but I know I can say I still don't know your name, and if you want to give me food, then I must call you something."

"That's a problem, isn't it?" One of the masked man's hands rose. It rubbed at the covered face, as if he was trying to deal with an itch. "Alright. Call me Kuno."

"Mr. Kuno, then." Delma tried not to show too much anticipation, but her mouth honestly watered at the thought of eating hot stuffed cabbage. She gulped her saliva down.

Brushing little wrinkles out of his clothing, Mr. Kuno got up. "I'll come back tomorrow morning, alright?"

"I look forward to it."

***

The first person to visit her in the prayer room wasn't Mr. Kuno. It was Mr. Roiters, and he looked very dapper. He wore a coat of a raw umber color, and his waistcoat and breeches matched. Delma thought of a wild, brown beast staring at her with knowing, predatory eyes. He was grinning, though. His teeth looked unnaturally white. She was amazed that he seemed to have all of them. A man with his career was likely to be missing one or two.

He was holding a thick, wide bundle of white linen, and he held it out and down to her. "Hello there. I have a present for you."

Delma stood up and curtsied, giving him a placid greeting. "You're a kind man to give this Child of Hope a gift."

His eyelids jerked up for a moment, then down. His grin widened. "Ah, don't worry about that. Just take the thing."

Both of her hands took the linen bundle. It was very heavy. She unwrapped the thing, and then she made a very light and surprised, "Oh!"

She had expected something like a wooden mug or a set of pens. Even a plate of savory waffles would have been appropriate. What she found, though, was a plain box of wood. She flipped the lid up, and then she made an even louder, "Oh!!"

It was a tea set, a beautiful tea set. The porcelain dishes were carefully laid in sections lined with cloth so that they wouldn't break. The dishes' shiny, fragile material had flowers and birds painted onto it in colors of red, blue, and pale brown.

Tea was generally popular with everyone, but most people didn't have such beautiful sets to serve and drink tea from. Delma certainly didn't. She looked up at Mr. Roiters' expectant face, and she asked, "Why in the world would you give me something so expensive?"

Maino Roiters had won a nearly disgusting amount of matches in the Fighting Hall. Each win raised his rank in the hall, and each win had a higher cash prize than the last. Delma didn't think all that physically intense work was worth a pricey tea set, especially not when given to a Child of Hope.

How much literal blood did he have to shed for this gift?

Mr. Roiters' voice was bright. He put his hands over hers, touching her, holding the gift with her. "Come on, now. When I want to give a gift, I give it. That's how I am." His golden head lowered. His breath was hot on her head. "Don't you like it?"

"Why, it's gorgeous!" Her thick eyelashes flickered. "However, I don't think I'll have any use for it. I never host tea parties, and all the tea I drink is too ordinary for such a lovely set."

"Ah, don't say that." His hands moved slightly over hers, as if he wanted to caress her. His fingernails very lightly touched her. It nearly tickled. "Things might change one day." Clear mischief glowed in his light brown eyes. "Who knows what will happen?"

"Oh, Sir," Delma breathed out, gazing up at him with dreamy eyes. "I don't know what to do. It would be so embarrassing to accept this gift."

"Then don't tell anyone about it." He winked down at her.

Her cheeks turned pink. Then she nodded and retreated, taking the box away. "I'll have to find a way to repay you, Sir." She went to her cushion and knelt down so she could safely wrap the linen around the box. Then she put the box in a corner of the room, planning to take it home with her when it would be time to leave. "Would you like to stay for a prayer?"

His voice was very soft behind her. "No. I need to go. Do you still have the ticket to my next match?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Ah, that's grand." His footsteps echoed behind her. "I hope to see you again. Goodbye."

She thought she heard him mumble something very positive and hopeful as he left.

She remained some time after that, expecting Mr. Kuno to arrive, and he did. He didn't surprise her this time. She was waiting by the door for him, earning curious looks from the apprentices. She didn't really care what they thought because she wasn't doing anything wrong.

Delma was the one who locked the door once Mr. Kuno was in the prayer room. The prospect of an appetizing meal had her beaming at the packages Mr. Kuno held. Cradled in his long arms, there was a metal dish, similar to a pan, with a lid tied on top. There was a smaller, similar dish too, held together in the same way.

"I hope this won't seem superfluous," the calm voice said through the soft material of the gray mask. "I decided to bake a dessert for you."

Delma licked her lips and took the dishes from him. "You're far too kind, Mr. Kuno. Thank you so much. What sort of dessert did you bake? A bit of bread with honey?"

The gray head shook under the hood. "No, Miss. I baked a batch of jumbles for you." Jumbles were basically sugar cookies that were often shaped into knots, wreaths, and the like. Depending on the type of sugar used, they could be very cheap or very expensive. For the sake of sanity, Delma assumed he used less costly ingredients.

"Oh, Sir, that's so thoughtful of you. I'll be able to ration them for quite a while." When jumbles were properly stored, they could last for a year.

"I'm glad to know you'll have some good food in you." His fingers weaved together below his belly. The black leather scraped and squeaked against itself. He seemed to observe her as she stacked the dishes beside her linen package. "You may keep the containers, by the by. I won't need them."

"You're truly a gentle person," Delma said, turning to smile at him. "Has someone been cruel to you?"

The wrapped head tilted to its left. "Excuse me?"

Delma's occupation often involved discussing personal problems. She was almost expected to be somewhat nosy. Now, if she were to ask for his true identity, then that would have been rude. If someone seeking out a Child of Hope wanted to be anonymous, then anonymous that person should be.

The heels of her boots slid together, lightly scraping on the stone floor. "I was thinking that someone must have harmed you. Perhaps you're hiding your face because you've been taught to be ashamed of yourself? Is that it?"

The gray head straightened back up. "I'm hiding myself because I don't to like be seen, and I know I don't want you to see me."

"Hmm?" Delma went down to her cushion, but she faced Mr. Kuno instead of the statue of the God of Hope. "You won't let me see you?"

He shook his head. "Especially not you."

Delma winced, but she forced a little smile. "You seem to think well of me. You must not think well of yourself."

He shifted his weight to a single leg. "You're analyzing me, or trying to."

"I don't know if I'd put it that way." Her clean fingernails picked at some stray lint on her skirt. "I only want to help. If I can't help anyone, then I'm truly useless." Her eyelids froze. Her teeth tugged on her lip. A recent memory was putting her in a suddenly miserable mood.

Blood.

A dead woman in her bed.

Shot in the head.

She didn't help that woman at all.

And that woman had shot herself in the head.

If only she had done her fucking job right!!

Or rather ... if only her job was worth anything.

"Are you alright?"

She hadn't heard him approaching. She blinked, realizing that his shoes were pretty close to her knees. He must be looking at the top of her head.

"I'm fine," she said with a weakened voice.

She saw one of his knees lower, then the other, and then he was on the floor, right in front of her. His gloves clapped against his breeches. "You're upset, but you're a Child of Hope, practically holy. The world must be especially cruel for someone like you to be upset."

"Practically holy?" She tittered down at his gloves. "You've misunderstood, Mr. Kuno. Children of Hope aren't holy at all. Anyone who says any different is likely trying to deceive you."

"Ah, but what of angels? Can't an angel be born as a human?"

Delma was required to say yes, and she did so in a very timid manner.

Mr. Kuno went on eagerly, his voice building, as if he was telling her something very, very precious. "That's what is said in the Book of Hope, is it not? 'The greatest goal of an angel is to be born as a human so that he or she may better help the sad ones in the world.'"

First, there was a short pause. Then, Delma said with a dull tone, "It's a beautiful quote."

"It is, and it's my favorite too."

And then ... his left hand rose.

Soft leather fingertips tapped her cheek.

Delma's brown eyes slid up to the impassive fabric, and she thought she saw a glint behind the small eyeholes ... wait. Black! She was fairly certain that she could see irises ... and they were so dark that they seemed black! But they must have been brown, because humans don't normally have black irises. Still, this all could have been a trick of the lighting.

"Miss Abnelon," he said with a warm breath that seemed to reach all around her face, "you seem to be the sort of person who would offer hope to anyone, no matter how far they've fallen into despondency."

Her lips took on a stunned expression, exposing her front teeth. Why in the world ... why was he behaving this way?!

Delma shifted herself backwards. Her flesh brushed against the leather as she moved. "Mr. Kuno, what do you want from me?"

She saw the mask shift as if the muscles of his face had stretched. Was that his jaw ... or his mouth ... was he smiling?

"Miss Abnelon," he whispered to her, his voice as relaxing as a bowl of steaming vegetable soup on a distressingly frigid day, "I'd love to see you sitting on a bed of silk, wearing nothing but a few chunks of gold in your ears."

Her hand rose, index finger extended. She opened her mouth to say something, but her brain wouldn't give her any words.

Mr. Kuno had plenty of words. He reached out more, touching her cheek again with the cold, almost frog-like leather. "I know I've upset you, and I regret that, but I needed to express myself, and you're the best person for that need."