#vicente in church: god forgive me for I have sinned

[vicente-deleon]

DATE: February 21st. LOCATION: Outside Notre Dame Cathedral @ofhercs

Vicente spots him from the doorway of Notre Dame Cathedral, half lost in a sea of people, and whatever the man standing in front of him is saying  — possibly something about showing him around, getting lunch; he doesn’t seem to notice that Vicente is neither fluent in French or cares enough to about the conversation to try and bridge the communication gap — takes a back seat to flagging Lincoln down.

“That’s nice. Je suis….désolé….Je dois-” Vicente gestured across the pathway, waving to Lincoln to get his attention and calling out his name. He neither waits for confirmation that Lincoln heart him or the man’s response before giving him a hard pat on the arm and walking away.

“Ah, my hero.” The waves of people seem to part, instead maneuvering around them to make a clear path. Up close it’s clear that Paris has not been as kind to him as it has been to Vicente; he cast all his worries aside as soon as they arrived, Lincoln still seems plagued by whatever heartache brought him to his room several nights ago. Given the way that night had ended, his series of question that Vicente had not been prepared to confront or answer, he considers pretending to not notice at all.

But he never could resist the opportunity to pick someone a part.

Vicente pushes his sunglasses into his hair and places a hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. “Perfect timing, I had been wondering what you were up to. What brings you this way?” He points to the church behind him. “I thought I’d see what all the fuss was about; it did not disappoint. I’m just about to get lunch. Care to join me?”

[noocturnalchild]

SEALED IN MARBLE  Chapter VII Tell Me Everything, Father

Warning : NSFW, a hint of FemDom ! Virgin!Garupe 

His rosary beads went flying off his neck.

His rosary…

His rosary!

God of earth and heaven.

How did he… How did he forget his rosary under his habits?

Francisco thought this would be a simple dinner. In the precipitation of his actions, his mind preoccupied by the lies he prepared to tell, he forgot to pay attention. He didn’t think he had to take his clothes off, he was wrong. So wrong.

But now only Clarissa’s eyes mattered. With a glare that seemed inhuman, she stared and stared, surprise and shock slowly turning into rage and disgust. And he already felt sick, falling, he was feeling as if his soul was crucified, twisting on an abstract cross, again and again, without finding relief, painfully wringing and quivering in his body.

“These rosary beads are… I saw them… They belong to the Jesuit priests of…”

“I… Clarissa! I was about to tell you, I swear to God, I was about to tell you.” Garupe choked while talking. Voice small like that of a child.

“Tell me what?” You didn’t seem to understand yet. You pushed away a truth that was flagrant, denying reason for few more seconds, pushing the pain away, for few more little seconds. Vicente was a servant, just a servant, an unmarried servant that was just about to be yours. No, he can’t be. HE CAN’T.

He was falling and falling and falling.

With every second, every shake of your lovely curls, every swell of tears in your eyes, he was falling.

“Vicente… Tell me it’s not what I think, please, tell me.”

“Francisco” He swallowed his own tears, closing his eyes in shame.

“Francisco… Francisco!” You laughed, crying. You laughed madly, so madly you made him gasp, you made him worry for your sanity and he reached for you without thinking twice.

“Don’t you dare! Snake!” you spat out, slapping his hand.

Your world was falling apart, a mirror of lies, shattering and breaking in sharp pieces, wounding you in their burst.

Why?

Why would he be one of them? Of all men, why would he be a priest? A priest!

“Clarissa… I… please listen to me… I was going to tell you, I—“

How dared he speak again?

“Hypocrite!“ You yelled, “I knew you were all but muddy pigs, black vultures from hell! Murderers, schemers!”

You smashed an empty water bottle on the floor, glass spattering everywhere and Garupe gulped again, but in fear.

“Clarissa, I beg you to hear me out! just… please—“

“Shut up! Close that rancid mouth of yours!” You blurted out, anger blurring  you vision. You saw red.

“I am going to tell your church of your shameful activities, if in hell I should rot, I swear to every god existing , if there is any, I will destroy you!” you panted. You were trembling all over, heart wild, wrath setting every nerve of your body on fire.

“Or is it the church that sent you?” you hissed in realization, more tears flowing “Is it those hordes of blood thirsty raptors? Finishing their work, they want to get me now? They are coming for his daughter now, aren’t they?” Your voice broke.

You felt poisoned. Liquid cyanide in your blood.

Francisco was shaking, head spinning. What were you talking about?

You didn’t seem to notice his twisted features, face contorted in pain and confusion, so lost in your own suffering and bitterness.

He didn’t know what to do, he hoped Miguel was still sleeping wherever he was. It was absurd, but that’s what Garupe hoped for now. For a child not to witness that ignominy.

“Clarissa—“ He said quiet, but a flying glass almost landed on his face and he pounced on you, stilling you in place. He didn’t want to hurt you, not for anything in the world.  But then at that rate, he had no choice. He had to talk sense into you but first he had to calm you down, make you listen to him.

Your back thumped on the hard wall as you screamed.

“Bastard! I am going to ki—“

Suddenly his lips were on yours, as his arms held your body in a death grip. Forceful and rough, he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to act, so he just kissed you. He had never kissed a woman before, and if he had ever imagined kissing a woman, it was never in that manner. But he kissed you, open mouth closing on yours, he kissed you with anger and pain and passion and all the desire he had retained for so, so long.

You stilled. You really stilled. The world blanked out for the moment of a heartbeat, the flutter of an eyelash, and the universe shrunk to its primal nothingness. Then a breath, then another, and another.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He kissed you again and again, urgency in his movements, in his hands, his lips. He was everywhere, all around you, your whole universe. And you wanted to forget, just for a moment, forget who he was, forget what he did.

“I’m sorry” His shaky breaths came as urgent as his kisses. Because he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say, he just wanted you to forgive him, he just wanted you.

Your nails were painful on his chest as you reciprocated his kisses. Finally.

Oh he was sorry, you knew, but you weren’t, you weren’t for what you were about to do to him tonight. He could be theirs, but not tonight, he was yours tonight. Your anger and pain melted into nothing as the heat of him invaded your senses, everything merged into a desperate need, a flame that bloated into a wildfire.

“I’m sorr—“

“Shuuush… Come here, you are going to sin tonight, Father.” You panted, eyes dark like unfathomable seas as you violently pulled on his hand, leading him through your galleries up to your room.

The heavy wooden door closed with a thud behind your back as you leant on it.

“I can tell you everything.” Francisco breathed out.

“I said, silence.” You pushed him into the bed, into your crimson sheets, where you had wanted him for countless nights, pleasuring yourself at the thought of him. He looked divine; You let out a small laugh of satisfaction, fingers on your corset, freeing your waist from its confinement.  With a deftness he found dizzying, you got rid of your heavy dress, and the ribbons that held your hair up.

You stood in your undergarments before him, like the portrait of sin, skin glowing and shiny with the sweat of your desire, breasts barely covered as you slowly crossed the few steps separating you from him.

Francisco clenched the satin sheets in his fists, heart hammering in his ribcage as you crawled on him, slowly unbuttoning that old ragged shirt he wore, your palm gentle on his abdomen, pushing him further into the depths of your bed.

He felt like he was swimming, surrounded by red waves, and you the sea siren, enchanting his senses, bringing him down, deeper. You hovered over him, your curls fell on him like a silky curtain, your hard nipples brushed his chest under your thin garments and he inhaled the scent of you.

Like the ocean. small white villages on the oceanside. Heat, children playing and women laughing and him, barefoot, running on the beach. Sunsets in the horizon and hundreds of ships, sailing far away, to lands of gold and glory. You smelled like home and he smiled, eyes closed as you nudged his nose, endless teasing before closing your lips on his again, savoring his taste. He shuddered and ground towards you as your tongue teased his, and when you sucked into it, into his red lavish lips, his moans echoed desperate and needy.

Outside, the leaves of your garden’s trees whispered and fluttered, and the moon was full in the starry sky. You inhaled, deep and shaky into his feverish skin. He smelled like old paper and perfumed wax, so monastic, a far reminder of his celibacy. You grinned to yourself, triumphant as his breath became shallower, urgency in his gaze as he devoured you under heavy eyelids. But you remained in control, tapping on his hands every time they wanted to grasp you. A part of you wanted to punish him, you wanted to show him who had the power over the other tonight. Tonight was for your pleasure, even if it was only this time, even if this was to be your only and sole union in flesh. But as you started tugging on his slacks, unwrapping his last layers of modesty, you saw terror and distress in his eyes .

“Clarissa, please… I’ve never… You should know.”

His eyes were like those of a deer, already knowing it has fallen deep into the hunter’s trap, begging, wide, sparkling, teary… beautiful.

Surprise flashed through your eyes for a second. Was he telling you that he had never slept with a woman before? You stilled your palms on his wonderful chest, heaving now with excitement and apprehension. Should you believe him this time? He had lied to you before, he had lied to you about everything, to be fair.

“You’ve never?” You crooked a brow, doubtful.

“Please,” he almost sobbed, “what should I do to make you believe me?” He closed his eyes, trying to gain some control over himself.

“You should have told me the truth from the beginning!” You fisted your hands on his chest, leaving hot red marks on his skin. You shouldn’t have let him talk. He looked so sincere now, so vulnerable, and God, why was he a million times more beautiful like that?

“ I couldn’t… I couldn’t… you should know that I couldn’t…!” he swallowed painfully, trying to ignore how your hips were still grinding into his aching cock.

His hands reached slowly to take yours and you let him this time, breath unsteady as they eclipsed yours, warm and so masculine.

“I… It is not the Church Clarissa, it’s just me, I needed the money… I had to… Then I saw… you.”

“Hush now.” You said softly. His words were what you wanted and dreaded to hear at the same time. Somewhere, in the darkest corners of your soul, you wanted him to be the evil one, the liar, the vicious priest, you wanted to be right, always right. You wanted to dismiss the feelings that were seeping free again. You wanted to make this about pleasure, since you knew, anything more than that and your heart would be the only one paying the expenses. But now… you didn’t know anymore.

“Please stop talking…” You whispered, as you freed your hands to comb on his luxuriant mane, fingers detangling the knots there.

“Hush, close your eyes for me, Francisco.”

And he did, you didn’t have to ask twice. He was telling you the truth, you knew it suddenly as a tear rolled down his cheek, leaking from his closed eye. You leaned in to kiss it, and you kissed his eyelids, the ridge of his nose, his upper lip then his cheeks, his jaw… and when you bit his lower lip, his hands clutched your waist through the linen of your clothes and he thrusted up, legs shaking with want.

“You can take it off… Father.” Your voice barely there as you nibbled on his earlobe and guided his hands to the hems of your undergarments. Francisco’s body was barely holding back, eyes still closed, he focused on the sensation of his hands on your bare thighs, as he slid the thin clothing up, up, up… When your body was finally freed of its last constraint, he opened his eyes and his breath hitched in his throat .

Sweet Jesus.

He had never seen such beauty before. For long seconds, he stilled, eyes taking in the sight before him. You were glowing, silky curves and valleys on display as you smiled down at him. Francisco was suddenly afraid to touch you. He felt ignorant, small, unrefined as his eyes roamed the swell of your breasts, the smoothness of your belly and the nook of your… sex.

So different, this was so different from the guilty glimpses he sometimes took of nude statues of goddesses that decorated the palaces and gardens he visited. Cold white marble, it was just cold marble and his only poor knowledge of the female body. But you… now, before him, radiant with heat and arousal, flesh and skin offered to him, eyes daring him to touch you, to take you, to make you his…

God have mercy.

You were amused to see him, awestruck and clueless, palms flat on your thighs and eyes wide, lips parted.

“Come here, you poor thing.” You laughed seductively as you tugged on his hands, lifting him up to meet your body, overheated from endless teasing and impatience. Your mouth found his neck as you pushed your breasts into his hands. He whined, your tender nipples hardening against his fingers, and instinctively, he squeezed, making you moan into his mouth.

God.

You looked up, into the fire in his eyes, and smiled, as if to say “that’s nothing compared to what’s coming, Father”. And as you started to roll your hips again, he felt it this time, the wetness between your legs, the proof of your passion, coating his engorged sex, and he knew he was lost.

Your lips left his neck with a sticky pop. You were sure to leave your mark on his divine body, as you tugged on his hair and made him shudder with sinful pleasure.

“Look at me Francisco.”

His eyes instantly fell on yours, ready to take anything you wanted to give to him. Like a love sick fool, he was waiting, his hands flexing greedily on the expanse of your back, descending hesitantly to take more. He was still wondering if he would last more than the next five minutes. He didn’t want to disappoint you, he wanted to please you, oh so much, he wanted to make up for everything he had done to you, for every single lie. Was this ache in his heart what they called love? Was he in love with you? What was the difference anyway, he was lost, not only in the wonders of your body, but lost to himself, in himself. He was entering unknown territories, ones he had never wanted to enter, never wanted to know. Trepidations, anxiety and heartache. He had never wanted this, but feeling you now, watching you move on him, looking into your eyes, touching your hot skin, waiting for a word from you rosy lips, God, he understood now… He understood how men lost their faith for love, how they lost themselves for a woman, how they lost their minds…

“I want you to touch me there.” You breathed in his mouth, as you took his hand and splayed it on your sex.

“H-how… do—“ He was truly lost. But somehow nothing seemed more tempting than to touch you there, nothing seemed more perfect than to pleasure you there, he wanted to know how to do it properly, he wanted to make you sigh and moan his name. It was instinctive, his fingers were naturally drawn there, exploring your secret lips as you moved your hips to let him in.

As you changed position, his throbbing cock twitched against his abdomen, proud and thick with need, seeking your attention. The head was already leaking pearly precum, and the pained look on Francisco’s eyes told you of his efforts to keep himself from finishing right there, as his fingers soaked and indulged in your juices. His breaths were coming ragged and short and he was whispering incoherent words (or were they prayers?) as he buried his nose in your collarbone, avidly inhaling your scent. You had never thought that the sight of such poor unexperienced man would arouse you so badly. You wanted to show him, you wanted to make him feel good, appease him now. With tenderness blooming in your heart, you shoved his fingers away.

“You first.” You caressed his hair, seeking his attention.

“Mhm… Please… I’m sorry…” He managed to stutter.

“Open your legs for me, Father” Your low voice sent shudders down his spine.

He hesitated, face red, limbs buzzing with electricity.

“Don’t be shy now, beautiful thing.” You leaned, left a kiss on his head and he jolted, hips bucking to meet your mouth, as he sucked in a deep breath. You parted his legs further, you wanted to see everything. He was really well endowed, you admired, beautiful everywhere.

“Breathe, Father, you can take this.” You patted his thigh and lowered your mouth, eyes always locked with his to seek his permission. He swallowed and threw his head back on your crimson pillows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his hands sweaty, fisting your sheets.

You started slow, peppering light kisses on his length. With the tip of your tongue you wetted the underside of it, from the base to the tip. You hummed at the salty taste, your core tightened around a void, and you huffed with edginess. You straddled his thigh then, and moaned as your cunt rubbed on the firm muscle. Once settled and able to take the edge off, you took him in the heat of your mouth and started to suck, rhythmically with the undulations of your hips on his thigh.

Francisco chocked and gasped, spasmed under you. Jesus, he had never felt such a sensation before. His rough fist paled before the wet and smooth insides of your pretty mouth, showering his most intimate parts with care. His eyelids fluttered, as the doors to heaven opened behind them. God, it felt so good. He never knew it was in the power of a human to make another feel that good, almost too good to handle, and he struggled with his will to restrain himself, as your lips closed tight around him, hummed and moaned around him, he did the same, loud and shameless now.

“God… oh… God, please… sweet child, more… m-hhore”

“There” you stopped to catch your breath, mouth swollen and red, spit glistening on your enflamed lips. You returned to the task, sucking hard and fast on his head, as you fisted his base with one hand, and toyed with his balls with the other. You worked with purpose now, passion in your movements, heat coiling in your core, conscious of your cunt drooling on his thigh, his meaty cock filling your mouth deliciously, his moans music spurring you on, undeniable proof of his pleasure.

He was close to his release now, the familiar pool of liquid heat running through his veins, sending waves of shock through his body. His thighs began to spasm and he tried to warn you, too ashamed and innocent to know that him spilling in your mouth was exactly the thing you desired, that wanting to taste his seed in your mouth was the ultimate sign of your desire and infatuation…and love. He was soon to learn that, as you protested in a moan, and gripped him harder, worked faster and he lost all control.

God in heaven.

Francisco thought he was ascended to the ninth heaven, magnificent golden light exploding behind his shut eyes, as he spent into your hot mouth… ropes of his seed, thick and abundant, coating your lips and dribbling over your chin, as your nostrils flared and your chest heaved. No sound emitted from him, too spent to utter a word, too spent to remember how to breathe, too far gone in the aftermath of his pleasure.

You sighed as you watched him, pride swelling in your chest. You had wanted him for so long. Tortuous endless nights of hot wet dreams and solitary pleasure, and now, admiring the sight before you, you knew, he was endlessly yours. No church, no misunderstandings and no barriers, human or godly, would ever make it less true. He was yours.

“Pleased?” you rubbed his belly, helping him recover, as sweat beaded on his brow, the last remnants of his high dissipating.

“It was… so goo—hd… more than good… was… j—hust… ” Words failed him as he managed to smile, dimples gracing his cheeks, hands already seeking for you.

“Come, come here, child.”

You kissed him sweetly on his inner thigh before you obliged.

“Can I make you feel the same…? I mean is it possible?” he asked sheepishly.

“You are a silly man, Francisco” you laughed and crawled on him, kissing your way up.

He laughed awkwardly, wondering if he earned the label.

“Of course you are going to make me feel good too, just with those wondrous fingers” you took two of his thick, long fingers and put them into your mouth, wetted them nice before bringing them to your sex again, “Remember how to use them?”

He nodded and wrapped one arm over your waist as his fingers delved into the velvet of your cunt, swollen and so ready now. You guided him with praise, as you rutted into his palm. He was naturally talented, seeking and flickering your folds artfully. You had awakened his senses to the pleasures of the flesh, and he understood his effect on you, as you writhed in his arms, as your teeth bit on his nipples, as your mouth expelled languid moans. He found your entrance and a gasp of surprise left his parted lips.

“Yes… You are almost there. Inside, I want you inside…”

“There?” He asked in his deepest voice, making you shudder.

“Ye—ees” You nudged his nose, foreheads touching as his hot breath fanned your lips.

His fingers easily slipped into your slick heat, moving experimentally, rubbing your walls in and out, slowly. You didn’t expected him to know, yet… but god if he wasn’t blowing your mind just trying.

“Can you… mhmm yes… Can you move like that for me?”

You guided his fingers all the way out to your clitoris and back inside you.

“Like that but faster, please?” you moaned at the end of your sentence, your sweet priest already on task.

His strong diligent digits worked you with devotion, pinched brows as he focused on bringing you to orgasm, and soon enough your walls started to clench around them, as your whole being reached for him.

“Please… Please.. Please…”

He was dizzy, didn’t even know what you were begging for, but oh how he wanted to deliver…

Please be with me

Please stay after

Please love me

Please

I forgive you.

Your soul chanted, your vision shattered and you cried out his name, whole body quivering upward, mouth trying to catch his, fingers holding on to his strong shoulders as you climaxed high, so high.

“Did… Did I hurt you?” Francisco was utterly terrified. He stopped his ministrations, two thick fingers stilled deep inside you.

Poor innocent man.

You laughed in your haze and shook your head lazily.

“No, silly. No.” You whispered softly, head finally resting on his chest “You made me feel so good, and when a woman feels so good in her lover’s arms, she lets him know… loudly…” You sighed. He was so endearing as realization hit him, and he blushed further, as if it was even possible.

You slowly moved his fingers out of you, kissed them gently.

“Goodness… Are you here, for real, with me?” He spoke softly, body slack in the afterglow. He didn’t have the strength to linger on his acts for now, he allowed himself to just feel, touch, breathe, live in the moment, with you.

“Does this feel real?” You pinched his pec and he recoiled, surprised.

“Ow!”

“So?”

“It does!”

“And this?” You kissed his lips, achingly slow.

“It does…” He exhaled, low into your lips.

“Good. Now tell me everything, Father.”