#just imagining poor innocent sydney the night after Leighton's punishment

[quiet-and-disturbed]

Sydney's Awakening

He’d been blamed for something he hadn’t done. How could he have lost a book? He was always such a diligent worker… Maybe someone had stolen it when he’d fallen asleep at the counter? He thought as Leighton stood before him with a stern expression. His piercing eyes glared into his own as his frown was replaced by a twisted smile. “You need to be punished boy.”

That’s when you’d come in, like a knight in shining armour – just like the book he’d just finished reading when the damsel was in distress. You’d shared the punishment with him – a lighter sentence for the both of you than whatever Leighton was about to torture him with.

But then he’d been told the punishment, that he’d have to hit you – one of his only friends – and suddenly he was wishing that it was the headmaster that was serving the punishment. He could barely see your ass through his crocodile tears and fogged up glasses, and he’d so desperately wanted not to look as the way your ass reddened with each hit he brought down upon you under the guidance of Leighton’s perverted gaze – it went against everything he stood for – and yet he couldn’t look away.

He thought that the punishment was enough… until it was his turn to bend over the desk. Leighton had yanked down his pants and revealed his shield. And then you’d stood behind him, bringing your hand down with such force that he yelped, like a sweet puppy who’d been stepped on. Then you’d slid your hand lower, past his anal shield to his chastity belt. You’d manhandled him, rubbing your hand against him, eliciting feeling he’d never felt before.

He'd moaned, and the shame that burnt within him was hotter than the burning coals beneath his feet as he committed to the trial of purity that same night. But no matter how much he knew the temple condemned such sinful actions; he couldn’t help going to bed that night dwelling on how you’d made him feel.

How your hand had so sweetly grazed against him, stroking his red ass and cooing about how good he’s doing just out of earshot of Leighton. How had you made him feel so good? Why was the temple keeping those feeling away from him? Why would a god create those kinds of sensations if they were not made to be enjoyed? It just didn’t make any sense!

And so, he ruffled up the front of his pyjama top and slipped his hand into his pants. He lay there like that for a while, suffering through the mental turmoil of his actions before gently cupping himself through his belt.

How had you stroked him? How had you made him feel so good?

He moved his hand, trying different speeds and actions until he’d figured it out. He turned his head to the side once he’d found his sweet spot, softly moaning into his pillow, cringing at the thought of Sirris walking in to such a sinful sight. He told himself he’d stop after a minute. But then a minute passed, then two, then several more, until he was close. His body feverishly responded to his actions, his cheeks heating up, his nipples hardening beneath the soft fabric of his shirt and his cock straining against his belt.

He moved faster then, his rational mind giving way to the surging impulses rushing through his body as his hand gripped around his erection, the metal of his belt now slick against his fingers. There were no coherent thoughts as he chased after his orgasm, nor as he moaned in bliss as he came, his hand slowly stroking along his length before going limp.

The church didn’t want Sydney to fall to these feelings, but he’d tasted the bliss that followed, seen how his body reacted and how good he felt afterwards. How could he just ignore them? He thought as he lay back under the covers of his bed. He’d never gone against Sirris, let alone the church, but now he knew what was on the other side – now he knew what the fall of grace brought with it – maybe allowing himself to be corrupted by you wouldn’t be so bad… and maybe he’d lose another book tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.