The confessional yawned open like a wound in the nave, quiet and waiting. Elias stepped inside, not to hear sins, but to remember one. The incense had long since faded, yet the scent lingered, like memory, like penance. He slid into the seat where absolution was supposed to begin, but today it felt more like a tomb. His fingers brushed the carved lattice--delicate, veiled, like her voice had been. He'd come seeking exculpation, though he knew none would come. Not when the girl had shivered like a chalice in his hands. Not when she'd knelt for him, praying with parted lips.
His fingertips dragged along the carved edge of the wooden screen, and there--just there--his thumb brushed a faint nick in the lattice.
Barely anything. But it stopped his breath.
That was where she had braced herself. She pressed her trembling fingers to the wood the night she came to him, wet from the rain and shaking with something far more dangerous than cold.
And just like that, he was there again.
Mary's mouth on his neck, warm and uncertain. Her breath caught in her throat as if even kissing him was sacrilege. Her fingers had clutched his cassock like a lifeline, knuckles white, and her lips had shivered against his skin. 'Tell me this is wrong,' she whispered, so quiet it was almost a prayer. 'Please... tell me I'm not wicked.'
But he hadn't said a word.
He'd only held her tighter, pulling her into his lap in the sacristy, where no eyes but God's could see. Rain hammered the windows. A candle flickered on the ledge, catching the pale gold in her damp hair as she clung to him--heart to heart, mouth to mouth, soft curves pressing against his chest with need too holy to name.
He'd meant to stop her. Meant to stop himself. But he hadn't. He wouldn't.
Because he was the serpent whispering in her ear.
He had watched her pray--kneeling so sweetly, so devout--and imagined her mouth not whispering prayers, but parting for his staff--holy only in her devotion to it.
He smiled gently when she asked questions about purity and penance and twisted his answers just enough to keep her curious, wanting, and needing.
And when her hands shivered in confession, it was he who had leaned closer, voice low, telling her the temptation itself was already a sin. That her thoughts were unclean. That her desire made her wicked. That she should come to him--to him--for guidance.
And now she had. He had led her to this moment.
But when Mary's small hands, shaking with innocence and urgency, began tugging at the cincture around his waist, his resolve broke like an old hymn forgotten on the tongue.
His cassock split open.
She gasped when his cock sprang free--hard, flushed, impossible--and she looked up at him with eyes wide in reverence and fear. 'I don't... I've never...' Her voice cracked.
'Mary...' he rasped, his hand brushing her cheek and slipping into her hair.
'We all have a first time; this is your special moment.'
And then she sank to her knees.
Clumsy, inexperienced--but so desperate to please. She kissed the head of his cock like it might save her soul, then looked up again for permission. Her mouth wrapped around him--awkward at first, jaw uncertain, tongue shy--and Elias gritted his teeth as she tried to take more. Her small hands gripped his thighs for balance.
She choked, faltered and pulled back.
'It's alright,' he said, voice low and thick. 'You're doing so well, sweet girl. Just relax your throat... Let me show you how to worship properly.'
His thumb brushed her cheek, reverent and filthy. 'This is how you serve now.'
Her mouth was a blessing and a curse--wet, reverent, unsure but desperate to please. She worked him slowly, learning by the second, and every flick of her tongue made Elias tremble closer to the edge. He gritted his teeth, his breath ragged.
'Keep going,' he rasped. 'You're doing so well, Mary...'
She moaned around him, the sound thick and needy, and it made his vision blur. Her tongue traced along the underside, shy and searching, and his hips twitched forward. She took it. Choked again--but stayed.
God help him.
'Look at me,' Elias said, barely more than a growl.
Her wide, tear-filled eyes lifted to his, and that look of innocence willingly defiled snapped the last thread of restraint. His fingers sank deeper into her hair, guiding and holding.
'You can take a little more,' he said, almost a plea, nearly a command. 'Just a little more, sweetheart.'
She whimpered as he pressed gently on the back of her head, coaxing her mouth down another inch. Her throat fluttered. She swallowed around him, struggling, but she didn't pull away.
Elias groaned, head falling back. 'That's it. Good girl. Holy fucking God--'
She gagged, and he eased her off with a shaky breath, stroking her damp cheek, trying--failing--to slow down.
'I shouldn't,' he whispered.
But his hands were already in her hair again. His cock was already nudging her lips. And Mary--eyes wet, lips swollen, face glowing with ruin--was already opening her mouth for him again.
'You're doing so well, Mary. So good for me.'
The head of his cock slid past her lips once more, and this time, he didn't wait. His fingers threaded back into her hair, firmer now, holding her steady as he eased deeper. A few inches more.
She gasped softly around him, throat fluttering again.
'Breathe through your nose,' he said, lower now, rougher. 'Relax. You can take it.'
She did. She tried.
And when her throat seized again, his hand didn't pull her off right away--not this time. Instead, he held her there for a breath, two... watching the tears build in the corners of her eyes, watching her hands grip his thighs tighter as she fought to stay with him.
Then he let her go--slowly, almost reluctantly.
She fell back with a wet gasp, coughing into her hand, chest heaving.
'I'm sorry. I... I want to do it right.'
'You are,' he said, voice hoarse, arousal pulsing through every word. 'You're perfect.'
She bent forward again, eager, addicted. He groaned as her lips wrapped around him. This time, he pushed--slow, careful, but unmistakable. Inches slid past her lips until her nose nearly touched the base.
She whimpered. Her fingers clawed at his thighs--and then pushed.
Not hard. Not frantic. Just enough to tell him it was too much and that she needed to pull back.
But he didn't let her. Not yet.
