Holy Desecration

To have finally found Him. He is my God on this earth, my holy representative of all I desire. Tall, strong, so masculine I catch my breath.

I mustn't look directly at Him, so I gaze from lowered lids as He sweeps towards me. He is oblivious to my discreet stare, I know that in His minds eye He has visions to send us both to Hell. And I adore Him all the more for it. I follow, having finally submitted fully to this hideous angelic being, who brings me highest ecstasy through acts of abomination.

I wear a pale corset, chosen specially for it's colour. How pretty cream is against the crimson red of my blood! But it is superfluous, window dressing and not important.

Not so His outfit, however. The starched white dog collar is striking against the blackest black of his robe. The material is heavy, thick, moves like a holy curtain as he paces. I know He is in His mind currently, I exist only in His thoughts. He is not of this planet at the moment.

And so I wait, patient, an Acolyte to this teacher.

I am in the shadows of the room, but next to a candle, it's warm glow flickering over my near naked form. The music of the saints rings and swells in my ears, mens voices singing words hundreds of years old, praising a creator who made the abomination I adore.

I am the only female presence in this dark foreboding room. I am aware of my femininity, my nipples pressing against the corset, my lifeblood pulsing in my veins.

Without turning to me He speaks. 'Kneel at the altar and give your respects'

I move instantly, and slip to my knees with the practise of long habit. My hands form a cross in front of me and I stare up at the hard forbidding cross.

"Have mercy upon us we beseech thee' I murmur, and then hang my head to wait in silence.

As I wait I hear him lighting incense, moving quietly around this shrine, until he kneels also, next to me. Like a bride and her groom, we kneel, the forgotten ones. My eyes are closed, I can feel his breathing next to me.

Then I feel the tenderness of his hand on the back of my neck. He strokes, his fingers tracing my neck bones, up and down, a familiar rhythm. The fingers tighten, and I cannot move my head, I would not try now. He is in control, and I submitted long ago.

He turns towards me and those beautiful strong fingers move to the front of my corset, wasting no time in loosening the top of it.

The pale flesh of my chest comes into his view and he strokes the contour of the top side of my breast. He is so gentle at this point; it is surreal. His fingers run all over me, finally dipping into the corset and lifting each breast out reverently, until they rest, fully visible to him.

Already the nipples are hardening, is it the cold breeze on them, or the knowledge of what is to come?

His fingers continue their caress, over my shoulders, down my arms. I do not look at him as he does this, it is his sort of meditation, and I know I mustn't interrupt. I stand acquiescent as his hands reach my groin and without warning he plunges two fingers deep into me. The pain is slight, the shock lessened from this occurring many times before. I am ready for him at any point now, always waiting to feel him in me.

He loves the warmth of me inside, part of him wishes to be in as far as he can be. In a compromise he uses all his strength to force his fingers as deep as he can. The feeling is intense, I can feel his muscles trembling at the exertion and I have to keep myself from stumbling.

His eyes raise and meet mine, I quickly avert them. I can feel His smile.

He removes his fingers slowly, languorously and I feel his gaze on me as he traces my wetness over my breasts. My breath heaves in and out of me; the violation, so sudden and forceful, has taken my breath away.

He straightens and bends on one knee again to the altar, removing the glinting silver blade laid there. It is pristine and perfect and winks at me in the dim light.

'Hold out your hand' he murmurs and I obey, the D rings on my leather wrist cuffs sparkling back at the steel blade he places gently in my palm. I hold it exactly as he has laid it, not making a move yet to utilise it.

Again his fingers stroke my breasts, the skin tense and nipples hard now.

'Shall I make you cut here?' he murmurs, pinching the nipples in his fingers. He enjoys my shudder of horror, knowing that I will obey whatever aweful thing he devises.

'Or shall I make you slice here?' and his index finger runs over the hollow in my neck where my pulse thuds densely. Fear and trembling grip me, but still I stand, ready and obedient.

His thumb dips into that hollow and presses lightly. He can feel my blood racing and hear the rasp of my breath – all from his one touch.

'Cut little wounds here for me' He orders, his fingers now tracing lines across the very top of my breasts again

'Cut them small and make them bleed, it is time for me to taste you'

Without a word I grasp the blade he has given me, marvel at its perfection. I hold the cold metal to my skin, its touch is like a lover caress now.

With the slightest pressure it cleaves into my skin and I drag it quickly in a short line, pausing to ensure the crimson tide crests. I watch those first droplets of life with fascination, watch them well up, deep red and full of energy. But his eyes are on me, and his orders have been given. In a trancelike state, I feel no pain, I cut, again and again.

More and more, the small rivulets of blood burst forth and very soon they are making their slow way down my breast, heading for the apex of my nipple. My skin, my corset, is stained the most beautiful pink.

Without realising it I have dropped the scalpel onto the floor, its clatter shakes me a little. I look up into his eyes, now it is safe, and I see love and desire burning there. His finger again traces the contour of a breast, becoming covered in my blood. He lifts it to his mouth and sucks, then smiles. The pink of my lifeblood is on his teeth, and I feel myself drown in love and lust for this man. He bends and takes a nipple into his mouth, biting on it, painful but delightful. And then a rivulet reaches him and he laps at it, following it up to the cut I made. There He sucks on it, drawing my blood, licking at my wound, and his arm wraps around my waist to steady me as I grow faint with desire.

He moves from wound to wound, sucking, licking, drawing me, until I collapse in his arms. He lays me on the ground and spreads my weak and unresisting limbs, opening me up to his inspection.

My mind is floating, filled with thoughts of Him, listening to the saintly music, as I feel his fingers gently manipulating my clit. I cannot speak to Him now, but he knows this, and watches my body, reads what I'm saying. His mouth, covered in my blood and now sated, lowers, and his lips and tongue now lick, suck and draw on that bud. I am so inflamed, so hard and wet and ready for him. But I cannot let myself go, I cannot reach those dizzying heights. He will not let me and I will not let myself, even in this state.

Gently, slowly, patiently, he allows me to come back to earth. Time is required to restore that which has been lost to me and given to him, and while he waits he licks, sucks, draws on me. His fingers enter me and he touches that spot high up inside me. He kisses my legs, my feet, my hands and waits.

Finally, stronger, but in a complete state from all his attention on my clit, I raise my head again.

His eyes meet mine and he knows I am back.

'Are you strong enough to kneel?' He asks. I nod blearily, obedient to the very end, and raise myself to my knees, head hung low in humility. All I can see is the drying blood on my front, the corset ruined beautifully.

I hear the swish of his robes, he never undresses, and his beautiful self is before me. He is hard already, he has obviously been thinking a lot while I was floating.

I kiss the very head of him, tasting His truth. My mouth is wet, waiting for him, and he holds the back of my head before slowly languidly entering it. He is in no hurry, he simply wants to feel my tongue on him before he desecrates me. I again obey, licking along his length, sucking on him, and being still when he decided to simply face fuck me. He plunges into me, I refuse to gag. I feel his length deep within my mouth, and yearn for it other places.

Finally he pulls out, and holds his hand out for mine. I place mine into his, feeling his warmth against my cold hands. He quietly locks the cuffs together, and I cannot separate them now. He leads me to the huge cross, and lifting my arms, stretching them high, he locks my wrists to the middle part of it.

He has restraints positioned for this, and I wait quietly as he locks my ankles to particular parts of the floor, the cuffs have been lying in wait for me there. My legs are far back from the cross and spread painfully wide. It is most comfortable to bend at the waist and take pressure on my wrists, which I do. This is his aim, as it ensure I am spread and lifted up for him, at a perfect height.

There is no more gentleness, no more warning, His hardness is plunged into me forcefully and I gasp. My shackles rattle and pull with his movements, until he grabs hold of my hips, his fingers squeezing painfully tight into the flesh there, and begins to fuck me in earnest.

I am so open, so bare to him, I cannot hide.

'You are a slut, made for fucking' He gasps, as I pull heavily on the wrist cuffs.

I am burning up inside with desire for him, waiting for that one touch to set me off, those word to let me free.

'After all this, you're still so tight! It's YOUR fault to make a decent holy man like me fuck you like an animal' His words are rolling over me now, reaching a crescendo, I can feel him tensing

'This is our communion' he murmurs, groans and thrusts with that unforgettable deep dark intense force, and I feel him pulsing inside me. I feel his semen coursing into me, and I know I am doing what I am meant to be doing. My whole body reaches for it, grasps it, and milks him. He stays in me for some time, his entire weight across my back, and I support us both on the wrist cuffs. Such solid construction!

Finally he lifts and unbuckles my feet. I twist around, my arms in a knot above my head. I know what is coming… This man knows no bounds

'Spread your legs against that cross' he orders, and I do. I can feel his sperm dripping out of me onto the wood, dangerous.

'Blasphemous dirty bitch. Look at you. All wanton and legs spread and on a cross'

It is true and I shudder. The humiliation is delicious and true. I am at ease with the slurs he gives me, for I know the truth in them.

His beautiful long fingers again reach for my clit, feeling the slickness of his semen all over my pussy.

'Slut, made for fucking, you let me shoot you full of come on a cross, and then spread your legs and drip it all over? Insolence!' He murmurs all his love words to me and I can feel myself stretching, reaching, for that climax, that release.

His fingers rub the slickness all over me, and then, more gently than before, enter me, sliding up high.

The base of his palm rests against my clit, putting pressure there as his fingers find that special spot deep within me, and he starts to manipulate it. I can't help but pant, my mind filled with blasphemous sexual images – all I can think about is his slamming into me and filling me with his holy seed.

With practised ease he talks to me, tells me what I need to hear and strokes within me, until I start to tense against him. Straining against the cuffs, pulling against the cross.

His arm goes around my waist and he murmurs in my ear 'Good girl, Acolyte, you have made me proud again, good girl', and I come hard on him, my entire world dissolving into his fingers and his words.

I love this man.