Sister Genevieves Angel

A priest and a nun walk into a farmhouse...

Sister Genevieve opened the door and let Father Polson out of her car. The father was approaching forty, but maintained the build of a frontline war veteran. He looked at the farmhouse at the top of the dirt driveway and frowned, his square jaw jutting out.

"This is the place?"

"It is, Father." Sister Genevieve avoided the priest's gaze, which was imperious at the best of times.

Father Polson glared at the farmhouse a few moments longer, as if daring it to challenge him. The house was painted a pale blue, with a dark Colonial roof that half loomed over the front step.

"Very well," he said. "My bag, please."

He strode off, and Sister Genevieve hurried and opened the trunk, unzipping the large duffel bag inside to check its contents: a Bible, a few bottles of blessed water, incense, a chasuble, candles, and a selection of crosses. Sister Genevieve plucked out the largest of these, gold and heavy, and zipped the bag closed before she chased after the priest.

She caught up as he reached the door and knocked sharply. A minute passed, and no one answered. Father Polson knocked again, then pounded on the door a few seconds later.

"They're not here," he declared, scowling.

"That's not possible," Sister Genevieve said. "Let me..."

She gripped the doorknob and turned it. The door opened easily, with a squeal of unoiled hinges. Inside was a small living room, empty.

"Hello?" Sister Genevieve called. "Is anyone home?"

"Obviously not," Father Polson said.

"But their car is still here," Sister Genevieve said. And it was, a battered red truck parked at the top of the driveway.

Sister Genevieve looked up the stairs off the living room. "The child was in her room when I was here," she said. Her eyes widened. "Father, do you think...?"

The thought hit Father Polson. "Merciful God," he said, racing up the stairs, Sister Genevieve at his back.

"On the left," she called, and Father Polson threw the first door open, and stepped inside.

The room was empty. Utterly empty. No furniture, nothing on the walls, just bare hardwood floor and cables dangling from a single bare plug.

"What-"

Sister Genevieve clubbed Father Polson with the cross, and he crumpled to the floor with a satisfying thud. The nun smiled, cast the cross aside, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Father Polson came around slowly, on his back on the floor. He moved his head carefully from side to side, trying to shake off the pain in the back of his skull.

"Where...?"

"Hello, Father." Sister Genevieve smiled at him sweetly, the expression contrasting sharply with the change in her appearance. She still wore her robe, but she'd discarded her habit and let her hair, usually kept in a tight bun, flow down over her shoulders in an inky wave. She'd painted her lips a bloody bright red, and applied a dark eyeshadow. Polson was struck by how lustful she appeared now, and how sinister she seemed in the dim light.

"What is going on?" Polson tried to rise, but found he could not move his arms or legs, or even crane his neck to look at himself.

"An exorcism, of course," Sister Genevieve said. "Though I'm afraid I lied about the Harris family and their troubles. No one's lived in this house for years."

"Sister..."

"Oh I'm not sister of yours," Genevieve said, her voice filling with venom. "Nor will I be any man's sister, nor bride. My love is reserved for my Master alone."

"And who is that?"

Genevieve smiled thinly. "Can't you guess? You're about to be his vessel, after all."

"Child, stop this foolishness," Polson snapped, wincing with the words. He struggled to rise, but could not force himself to move.

"Foolishness?" Genevieve laughed, and did something with her left hand that made Polson's eyes hurt. "Take a look at yourself then, you old fool!"

Polson found he could raise his head now. He looked down at himself and immediately regretted it. He was naked on the floor, a circle of candles and blood - his blood - surrounding him. His wrists and ankles had been spiked, and he screamed as the pain of his wounds flooded in.

"And here I was being kind," Genevieve shrugged. She picked up a knife at her side, the blade dull and rusted. "Oh well, you did ask."

"Our Father, who art in Heaven..." Father Polson began. "Hallow be Thy name..."

"He's not listening, trust me." Genevieve stepped closer, her bare feet padding softly. "He knows what you and your brethren have been covering up. You make Him weep."

Polson continued praying as Genevieve raised the knife over her head. She grinned.

"This is going to sting a bit."

She plunged down hard with the blade, red in the candlelight.

Father Polson didn't have time to scream.

* * *

What have I...?

Genevieve stood back from her sacrifice, dazed. After the plunge of the knife all sense had left her.

Her hands were red.

What have I...?

Polson's chest was a bloody mess, the knife still jutting from the initial strike. Below his ribs, his stomach had been crudely torn open, the flesh shredded with tooth and nail.

Her nails were red.

What have I...?

Genevieve was holding something. She looked down at it. It was meat, tough meat, well chewed, no larger than a softball.

A heart.

Her lips were red. Her tongue tasted copper.

What did I do?

Her eyes went back to Polson's body. She heard a faint scream as his stomach began to grow new flesh, sealing over the wounds without leaving a single scar.

Polson's body began to move.

His arms rose, sliding from the broken crosses Genevieve had impaled him with. The wounds in his wrists sealed shut in seconds.

The crosses in his ankles did not slide out, but in, vanishing under new-grown skin. Polson's body rose gracefully to its feet, almost levitating.

Polson's face looked down, and twisted into an expression of aesthetic offense that the blunt priest would never have made. The being inhabiting Polson's flesh plucked the knife free, examined it briefly, then tossed it aside without a second glance.

Genevieve fell to her knees, awed by the blasphemous miracle before her. "Master," she breathed.

The being noticed her, and beamed, Polson's stolen face seeming to shine with inner light. It was scalding to look upon, and Genevieve lowered her eyes quickly. She felt his gaze upon her, a heat that fired her every desire.

"My child," the fallen angel said. His voice was too-sweet honey in her ears. "Why have you summoned me?"

"It... It was willed," Genevieve stammered. And so it had been, voices assailing her nights and waking dreams, visions of this moment leaving her to wake gasping in sweat-slick sheets.

"It was," her master agreed. "But I asked, why did you summon me?"

"I..." Genevieve looked up, daring her master's eyes. "I wanted to. Needed to. I ached for you, Master."

The fallen angel smiled. "And I have ached for you, my child. Will you submit yourself to me, then? Body and soul? Do so and I will fulfill your every lust this night. And in exchange, you will carry out the will of the Morningstar."

The fallen angel raised his arms in supplication, making it clear the choice was Genevieve's own.

She looked the fallen angel in the eye, ignoring the pain of his light. Her eyes, a dark brown, were burned a reddish-gold, and would remain that color for all her days.

"I am yours," she said. "Let me know your will, Master."

The fallen angel grinned. "I accept your service," he said, and Genevieve staggered as she felt something indefinable pass from her. "Come to me, as your station befits."

The meaning was clear, each word her master spoke etching itself in her brain with crystal clarity. She crawled forward, her hands leaving bloody smears on the floor behind her.

Her master raised his foot to Genevieve's face. She took it and kissed it, starting at the top, then kissing and licking down to his toes. She took the largest in her mouth, licking it clean with her tongue.

Genevieve put her mouth on each toe in turn, then dared to raise her master's foot so she could lick the bottom clean. Dust and ash covered his soles, though there was no ash on the floor Polson could have stepped in. She did not question this, but cleaned with her mouth until her tongue and lips were stained black, caressing his instep with her thumb.

She might have gone on, but her master gripped either side of her head and lifted her up with surprising strength. He brought Genevieve up and kissed her fouled lips, his tongue slithering inside her mouth to taste every surface inside, stealing her breath away.

"Kneel," her master said, releasing her. Genevieve obeyed at once. Her eyes widened at the sight of muscles now covering her master's torso, and the organ that jutted from between his legs. Certainly this was no longer Polson's body.

Genevieve touched it tenderly, wrapping her slender, stained fingers around the thick shaft. Her master's flesh was hot under her cool skin. She licked the underside of him, tracing her moist tongue up and then tickling at the tip briefly, then licking around the side of him.

She felt her master's fingers stroke her hair as she took his cockhead into her mouth. She compressed her lips and drew in, sucking on him, gratified to feel him growing harder in her mouth.

"Mmm," her master said, his voice low and melodic. "Deeper."

Genevieve obeyed, taking him into her mouth until she felt herself start to gag. It was still only half his length. She withdrew briefly for air, then swallowed him again, her hand gripping the root of him as her tongue worked around his staff.

"Deeper," her master commanded. Genevieve tried, gagging again as his length hit the back of her throat. She tried to draw back, but her master's hands gripped her head and held her in place as his hips thrust forward.

"Deeper," he growled. Genevieve retched as he forced himself in, pushing her head back as his shaft pressed down her throat. Genevieve couldn't fight him, could not even attempt it.

She felt his member throb, and hot liquid filled her throat. Her master withdrew, and Genevieve collapsed onto her side, throwing up his cum and coughing violently as she tried to draw in air.

"How wretched you are," her master mused. "Is that all you have to offer?"

Genevieve's heart seized in her chest. "Forgive me, Master," she begged, forcing herself up to her knees. "Command me. All I have is yours."

Her master's lips pursed, and then he snapped his fingers. Genevieve's clothes, the robes she'd worn to the house, burst into flames on her skin.

Genevieve shrieked, but though she felt the heat of the flames they did not burn her. She watched in awe as her clothes blackened to ash and flaked away, leaving her naked before her master.

"Better," her master said, "but still missing something." The fallen angel stepped forward, and bid Genevieve rise to her feet.

She stood before him as his hand traced over her skin. He caressed her breasts, small tear drops on her narrow frame, and ran his fingers down to the thatch of hair above her cleft.

"Ahh, I know," he said, and drove the nails of his hand into her flesh. Genevieve grimaced, holding back a scream with her teeth, as her master carved a line up her belly to the space between her breasts. He followed up with another cut, slicing across her belly button, and paused to admire the inverted cross that now stood blood-red from Genevieve's flesh.

"Now you are beautiful," he said.

"Thank you, my master," Genevieve managed, tears leaking from her eyes.

A breeze seemed to touch her hair, and Genevieve felt spectral hands grip at the biceps and lift. Other hands, invisible to her eye, gripped her thighs, supporting them in mid-air and spreading her legs wide as she left the ground.

"Master?" she asked, but the fallen angel said nothing.

Lips kissed her then, on her neck, her breasts, and her thighs. Genevieve let her head loll back as the spirits caressed her. Her skin flushed, alternating hot and cold, raising goosebumps on her arms. She looked down and saw the skin of her breast stretch, pulled by the bite of invisible teeth.

"Oh, G- G- yes," she gasped. "That's so good."

The hands moved on her body, multiplying as they stroked over what felt like every inch of her skin. She moaned in pleasure, feeling moisture run from her pussy and down to her ass. Her cunt was the one part of her the spirits had not touched.

She looked at her master and whimpered, thrusting her hips. "Please," she begged, but the fallen angel only grinned.

She felt something poke at her ass, and then begin to squirm against her hole, twisting and applying pressure. Her eyes widened as the spectral cock began to work its way inside her rectum. It felt thick, but it spread her insides without apparent effort.

She opened her mouth to cry out, in pain and pleasure mingled, and something else filled her throat. She moaned, deep and guttural, as the specters began to fuck her from both ends, filling her up and using her like a tool. She felt violated, abused, and the degradation excited her. Her clit throbbed with need, still untouched, and try as she might she couldn't reach it to bring herself relief.

Her eyes found her master, and her gaze pleaded with him, praying for climax. And finally, when she thought she might go mad, her master answered.

The fallen angel stepped toward her, grabbing her hips as he pressed his cock against her slick cunt. She came the instant his head touched her clit, her cunt squirting unexpectedly as her entire body shuddered with the force of her orgasm.

As she sagged in the grip of the specters, her master entered her grasping cunt, his cock parting her easily. The specters still filled her mouth and ass, and she closed her eyes, surrendering her awareness to focus on the sensations from every orifice.

Her master began gently, penetrating fully inside her in a single stroke and then pulling out slowly. A second orgasm built within her, and she felt herself tighten as it claimed her body, her cunt milking at her master's cock.

The candles still burning on the floor suddenly flared and fell over, setting the floor ablaze. As the room began to burn, the fallen angel's motions became more forceful, penetrating ever deeper into Genevieve's slick depths. The head of him touched her cervix, pressed against it, then penetrated her and went deeper.

Genevieve squealed, writhing in the grip of the specters, their hands now pinching and squeezing at her. One slapped her ass, then it felt like something was whipping her back and butt, raising red welts on her skin.

The specter in her mouth withdrew, and Genevieve realized that she was begging, pleading, asking for everything to stop. The words came in a steady stream, but Genevieve felt detached from them, like someone else was speaking with her voice.

She came again, but hardly noticed, her senses exhausted and overwhelmed even as her master kept fucking her aching cunt harder and harder, seemingly determined to fill every space within her.

Finally, the fallen angel cried out, and his inhuman voice shook the room as he came, his seed hot and scalding as it flooded Genevieve's womb.

The hands holding her up released her, and Genevieve crashed to the floor, holding herself where her master's seed continued to burn inside of her. The fallen angel stood over her, his beautiful face twisted into an expression of hellish glee.

"Go, and care for what lies within you," he said, in a voice that resonated up and down her spine. "When the day comes, you will see me again."

The fallen angel's body burst into flame, and Genevieve felt all sense flee from her.

* * *

When the firefighters came, it took them three hours to contain the blaze, which had spread well into the fields. They only accomplished it because of the rain that began to pour from the sky, like mournful tears.

No bodies were discovered in the wreckage of the house.