The Fallen (Annual Game Night: Sector Five Alphas #3)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Sister Emily Agnes

F orbidden.

The word rattles about in my head searching for a meaning. In my nineteen years being around the Nuns and now the Sisters, I’ve never had someone speak to me in terms of what I am doing is forbidden. Naughty, occasionally. Scatterbrained, more times than I can count.

But forbidden?

I’ve never been one to ever even try skirting the rules. I was always devout and steadfast in my dedication to God. Only now, with the sexy Father Confessor watching me as I touch my most intimate parts, I have to wonder if I’m just not cut out for this sort of thing.

In the convent, it was easy. There was no temptation. At least, there was nothing that seemed to tempt me. The other Nuns talked about struggles with various sins such as vanity, gluttony, and the like, but really, that was a non-issue. There were no massive amounts of mirrors for me to gawk at myself. Nothing we ate was so delicious that I wanted to gorge myself past satisfaction.

Their piety confused me. For them, being in the convent was suffering for Christ. For me, it was home. The only home I ever knew. Perhaps that’s where we’re different. I never had a choice, never had experiences outside of the confines of the stone walls and wooden floors.

I suppose if I had to name a sin I struggled with there, it was the desire to abide in God’s nature as much as humanly possible. The secluded beach called to me in a way the chapel never did. There, I felt at peace. There, I felt at one with God.

The other Nuns didn’t understand. For them, prayers were to be done in the chapel and nowhere else. They had no idea I’d spend my extra time sitting in the sand just conversing with the Almighty. Would that be considered forbidden too? That I had the audacity to seek Him out on my own terms?

Wrenching my fingers away, I turn my cheek as tears dot my eyes. I’ve only ever wanted to be good, and now I feel as if I’ve failed massively. Unfortunately, the need to touch myself continues to eat at my brain, like a maggot burrowing into the soft flesh and taking control of me.

In fact, I no longer recognize the person I once was. Other than the beach, I could abstain from almost anything. Now, there’s this unholy desire, this unquenchable urge to bring myself back to that pinnacle. Truly, it’s the closest I’ve ever been to God—even more so than communing on the beach.

At the foot of the bed, the Father Confessor watches me, his eyes dark and intense. He says nothing while I collect my breath. So far, there has been no condemnation and only inquiry. Maybe I’m lucky and this is truly a misunderstanding.

Again, with tentative starts and stops, I reach between my thighs and stroke my heated flesh. Father Draven leans forward, his nose flaring as he takes in my scent. Emboldened by his reaction, I let myself go. Just a little bit. Just enough to release some of the fetters binding me inside.

A soft moan slips from my lips, punctuating the silence between us. The mournful sound drifts in the air, pealing out from my body like church bells alerting us to prayers. In this way, my body is the altar upon which my prayers reside. Soft, breathy pleas for the release I so desperately need.

My other hand slides down, just like earlier, to tease my entrance. Father Draven’s quick intake of breath spurs me forward. Desperation guides me as I slip my finger inside and slowly move it back and forth.

From between my splayed thighs, I watch his every movement, noting how he tenses in the chair. His knuckles turn as white as snow, rivaling the soft, billowy blankets lying on the grass. But I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I’m so close I can feel it.

Tipping my head back, I lie there, forcing my body to relax as I touch myself, bringing myself ever closer to the peak. Heat engulfs my hands as his strong fingers hold me there, stilling my movements. A startled shriek flits from my lips as I look up to see him hovering over me.

“You must stop.”

“I... But...” Confusion, frustration, and anger crash in on me at once, like a deluge threatening to drown me.

With a flick of my wrist, I try to buck his hands, but he’s implacable, an unmovable force holding me there. What’s worse is that his proximity sends tendrils of heat through my body, creating an endless loop of renewed pleasure and anguishing abstinence.

The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, leaving me bereft and breathless as I move against him. Perhaps if he won’t let me finish, his hand can do the job. My hips undulate up and down and I rub myself against my fingers. His hand still doesn’t move, but it adds increased pressure, driving me forward even faster.

It’s shameless how I’m using him, but at this point, if I’m going to be punished, I might as well complete the act, so my penance is for something. How wretched would it be to suffer both denial and a punishment? It doesn’t seem all that fair to me.

“Enough of this,” he growls, using his Alpha influence to root me to the spot.

My body trembles as he wrenches his hand away, leaving me lying there without his added warmth. A chill rushes in, encasing me in the cold rebuke. Before I can even utter a word, a hint of remorse, he pulls me off of the bed and drags me over to his desk.

I’m soon face down over the polished wood, my dress hiked up over my bottom to rest at my low back. The crash of his hand against my upturned backside jolts me into the edge, bringing a bite of pain to my midsection. Somehow, the discomfort doesn’t translate to pain.

Instead, it adds to the need already swirling inside me, ready to burst from my body. I long to cry out, to show a repentant spirit, but the only sound escaping my lips is another moan. It ripples through my chest and reverberates into the air like a living thing.

All it does is make him spank me harder. His strong, firm hand glides against my skin, making my stomach flip with each stinging caress. His deep voice vibrates against my body as he lectures me, assuring me that my actions are indeed a sin. Not a mortal one, thank goodness, but a sin, nonetheless. As such, I should be repentant while being punished.

Unfortunately, his hands on my body, his firm way of handling me, and the delicious timber of his voice have me wanting to sin even more. My fingers claw against the wood as fire licks over every inch of me, burning me from the inside out. The agony of his touch stokes the flames even higher.

The harder he spanks me, the more the pain morphs into something else. Unholy desire races through me, drawing me up from the desk as I lean into his hand. My backside stings with each punishing blow, but I barely feel it.

A haze drops over my eyes as I slump forward onto the desk, all fight drained out of me. I can’t bring myself to care, can’t even find the will to move. It’s as if my mind and body part as my consciousness drifts above me. Though I’m fully aware of what he’s doing and saying, it’s as if it’s happening to someone else and not me.

Soft, languid warmth spreads over me like a comforting blanket swaddling me up. I’m barely even cognizant as he repositions me, hoisting my left knee up onto the desk to open me further to his punishment. However, the moment his fingers smack against the heated flesh of my most intimate parts, it’s as if everything crashes back in around me.

His touch is hard, stinging, drawing pain to the area where there had been only pleasure. I howl out in despair as he smacks me again. Once more, that sense of warmth spreads through my body, transmuting the pain into blissful agony splintering over me.

He’s closer now. His chest grazes my back as I lift and arch into him. Unable to control my actions, I slide my arm up and curl my hand around his neck. I need him here with me as he introduces me to this brand of pain.

Thankfully, there are no words of rebuke, no chastising me for my actions. Not verbally, anyway. However, the force with which he strikes me becomes a touch harder. I’ll take his punishment if it means being able to hold him like this—my anchor in the tumultuous storm.

The need is relentless and overwhelming. The pain and pleasure mixes and morphs, leaving me raw and breathless, a writhing mass of longing.

“Pray, little wanton,” he growls against my ear, his hand striking me again. “Let me hear your repentance spill from your lips.”

“My God,” I whimper, grinding up against him. “I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.” Once more, his fingers strike me, sending a primal moan flitting past my lips.

“Again.”

I dig my fingers into his skin, clinging to him as my body seeks its completion. “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.”

“Again.” Once more he strikes me, but instead of pulling back, his fingers circle that insistent bundle of nerves, sending pleasure careening through me.

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.”

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my ear, tempering his strikes to repeated taps to the area that drive me wild. “Continue to pray while I punish this naughty clit of yours. So desperate. So needy. I feel how you twist in my arms. Pray that God drives this sin from you.”

“My God,” I wail, as my insides clench. “I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.” The words come out in the barest of whispers as everything tightens inside me.

“That’s my good girl. Keep going.” His fingers quicken their pace, sliding back and forth.

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.”

His fingers lower to my entrance, hovering there as the prayer sits silently on my lips. “Every inch of you must atone,” he rasps, easing a thick digit inside. It feels divine to have him in there, sliding in and out with just the barest of movements.

My throat dries as I move back against him, but he instantly pulls out. “You are not to find this enjoyable, Sister Emily Agnes. This is punishment. Do not seek the divine while I drive away the deviant. Now again.”

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.” He thrusts in a little more, making me lose my place. However, he doesn’t move again until I continue. “In- in choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.”

“So wet. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“N- no,” I manage to whimper around the lump in my throat.

“Lying is also a sin, you know. Your body tells the truth. Again.”

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.”

I continue the prayer, a mantra rising from me as he withdraws his hand and goes back up to my clit. With each circle of his fingertips, I find myself coming closer and closer to the end. The need pulses within me until it’s a painful longing, an agony I wish to shatter through.

Right as I reach completion, he pulls back. With a ragged groan, I slump over onto the desk, my body quivering with unmet need.

“You are forgiven, Sister Emily Agnes. Go to your room and vow to sin no more. I do not wish to see you in my chambers like this again.”

“Y- yes, Father Confessor.” Heat fans my face as I pull myself up and straighten my clothes.

Somehow, he looks cold, like a statue, as if this has not affected him at all. It shouldn’t surprise me. He is, after all, a Father Confessor. I hold the tears at bay as best as I can as I stumble out into the hall. The Abbess awaits me, her lips thinned in a stern frown.

“Well then, you certainly look well chastised.”

From behind me, Father Draven steps out. “Remember. To err is human, but to forgive is divine. Sister Emily Agnes will be relegated to her room for the rest of the day. She is to go without visitors or food. She must sit in silent contemplation of her actions. Then, and only then, upon rising tomorrow, may she mingle with the others.”

“As you command, Father Confessor.” We both bow before heading to my room.

The Abbess says nothing as I enter and close the door behind me. Need thrums through my body, twisting me about until I cannot think. But this is certainly part of the punishment. To be so close to what I want and be denied.

Irritation crawls up my spine as I pace my room, searching for some sort of relief. But it never comes. With each swipe of my thighs together, it only brings awareness to my clit. Perhaps if I just take the edge off but not come to completion?

My brain latches onto that idea as I yank off my clothes and slide into the bed. The scrape of the linens against my bare skin is almost too much. But I cannot make a sound. I must contemplate in silence.

As my fingers skim over my heated flesh, I mouth the words to the prayer, allowing it to fill my mind as I touch myself. Just a few strokes. That’s all I need. Just one or two. But then two turns into three, which turns into four. Before I know it, my body bows up as everything tightens within me.

Balling my fist to my lips, I cry out as silently as I can as relief sweeps through me, leaving me limp and boneless. This is what got me here in the first place, this feeling of utmost tranquility. I suppose I’ll have to confess tomorrow. Hopefully Father Draven will not be so cruel as to deny me absolution.