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

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Sister Emily Agnes

One Day Until Game Night

H e’s back. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, I’m able to take a deep, full breath. Even before I can see him, I know he’s there. His scent overwhelms me, making me sway in the pew. Thankfully, the other Sisters don’t notice, but he does.

I can tell by the darkening of his eyes as his gaze roams over my body. Arousal swamps my senses, making my clit pulse with need. Again, as with that day of punishing, his nostrils flare. He can smell me. I’m sure of it. Now things make sense.

The other Sisters probably don’t notice because mine is a feminine scent like their own. But then, I haven’t been able to tell any change in him. It probably means these consuming lusts are all one-sided. Somehow, that thought is far more depressing than it has any right to be.

I should be happy I’m not causing him to stumble the same way he is me. Shaking my head, I force myself to concentrate as I go through the motions of Mass. When it’s time to kneel at the altar for the Eucharist, I’m nearly beside myself.

The need to touch him, to have him touch me, and more importantly, to have him punish me for these thoughts racing through my mind, pour through me like acid on a wound. I can’t show any weakness. I can’t give Mother Superior or the Abbess cause to drag me away, not when he’s so close.

As he brings over the bread, I cross and accept it.

“The Body of Christ, The Bread of Life.” Somehow his voice is deeper, fuller.

It washes over me, swamping me until I can’t see straight. I hold the morsel in my palm, desperate to have him place it in my mouth again. Will he touch me like last time? Will he bring up the same immoral desires?

“The Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation.”

My heart pounds so hard in my chest it’s all I can hear. The rapid staccato pounds in my brain, washing away everything else. When I open my mouth to receive the Holy Communion, I watch his eyes.

Dark edges out the blue until they’re nearly black, like a demon set to devour me. Even though it’s faint, I can almost detect a change in his scent. There’s a char there, a warmth, like a crackling fire wafting from his body and curling around me.

I make it back to my pew with little issue, but all I can think about is seeing him in his chambers once more. After he dismisses us, I make my way over to him, keeping Mother Superior in my eyeline. She watches me, her gaze narrowing on me as she studies us like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“If I may, Father Confessor. I wish to obtain absolution.”

“Shall we go to the confessional?”

“I-” Again, I look over my shoulder as the older woman crosses her arms. “I fear more may be needed than mere words.”

“I see.” With a firm nod, he strides over to her and whispers in her ear.

What they talk about, I cannot hear or even make out. But soon, he comes back my way and cups my elbow in his hand. Mother Superior gives me a sympathetic smile and leaves the room.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth. That you need absolution, and it is my duty to grant it to you.”

We’re both silent as we make our way to his chambers. Do I dare play with fire like this again? Unfortunately, he takes the option away with his dark growl.

“Now then, does this mean your naughty fingers have been busy?”

“No, Father Confessor.”

“Oh?” His brows shoot up in surprise. “Then why have you come seeking absolution?”

“It’s complicated.” Now that I’m here in his presence, I’m not even sure what to say.

Everything feels jumbled in my head. Juvenile, na?ve. But then, that’s what I am. I’m nothing but a child to a man like he is. Still though, as he circles me, his eyes darkening with every pass, I can’t help but wonder if I’m also right. That he has illicit thoughts for me like I do him.

“I cannot stop thinking about you.”

He stops and stares at me but says nothing for a moment. “And the nature of these thoughts?”

“They... They make me want to sin.”

“Sin how, exactly?” This time, it’s my turn to be quiet. “I cannot give you absolution if you do not confess. Come now, Sister. Open those pretty little lips of yours and confess your sins to me.”

“It makes me want to touch myself,” I blurt out before slamming my hands over my traitorous lips.

“I see. So that naughty clit of yours is due some discipline? Is that what I’m hearing?”

My voice is hoarse, rasping as I nod my head. “Yes, Father Confessor. Please. Please punish me.”

“Very well. Lie down on the bed so that your head faces the wall and your feet dangle toward the floor.”

I make no hesitation to obey him. My body trembles as I lie there, watching him rummage about in his desk. When he returns, he holds up a ruler.

“Growing up in your convent, I’m sure this implement was used on you quite a bit, wasn’t it?”

“No, Father Confessor. Despite evidence to the contrary, I was a good girl. Only on rare occasions did the Nuns have to rap my knuckles.”

His low chuckles bring more arousal between my thighs, making me burn until I fear I will pass out from the massive need coursing through my veins. With great trepidation, I hold out my hand and turn my face, squinting as I prepare for the sharp sting.

“Oh no, my little reprobate,” he murmurs, running his long fingers up my shin. “Your hand will not be receiving the punishment today, seeing as it has no blame cast upon it. You are telling the truth when you say you did not touch yourself, correct?”

“Yes, Father Confessor. I am in earnest.” I gulp as the heat of his hand scalds me through the cloth.

“Then pull up the hem of your habit. Let me see just how wet and penitent your pussy is.”

Again, my heart pounds in my chest as I move to obey him. As I bare myself to his gaze, he grabs me from behind the knees and plants my feet on the bed. With one wrenching move, he spreads my thighs, revealing just how shamefully wet I am.

“Grip your knees. You will not close your legs until your punishment is done. If you do, I will send you to your room without absolution. Am I clear?”

My answer bursts from my lips on a lurid moan. “Y- yes, Father Confessor.”

“That’s my good girl.”

His fingers are warm as they skim over my sensitive flesh, making me squirm under his touch. I tighten my hold to not disobey him. Not when I’m so close to getting the relief I need.

“So wet,” he groans, dipping his finger into my entrance.

Like last time, he doesn’t go all the way. He stops just short of dipping inside. “Do you know why I don’t fully impale you with my finger?”

“No, Father Confessor.”

“Because you still have some of your virginal barrier left. There’s not much, no doubt because of how robust you are in how you live, but there’s enough that you possess a rare proof of your virtue. To rob you of that so carelessly would be a sin even I won’t commit.”

Heat fans my face at his words, but I remain silent, concentrating more on the feeling of his fingers rather than on any needless retort.

“Agnes,” he murmurs, easing in another finger until he stretches me open a bit. “Do you know the meaning of the holy name given to you?”

“I- I think so?” I stammer, my mind splintering from the sensations he pulls from me.

“Chaste, virtuous things you are not, but I assume you wish to be. Tell me, my paragon of chastity, why did you stay in the convent?”

As I think through my answer, he withdraws his fingers and glides the sodden tips along my clit, eliciting a ragged moan from my lips.

“Answer, or I stop.”

“I cannot. I have no answer for you, other than it’s all I knew. It’s what I was supposed to do.” My breaths come in haggard gasps as I watch him between my thighs.

He doesn’t even look at my face when I answer. He’s more consumed with my intimate area.

“I see.”

The smack of his fingertips against my clit catches me off guard. The hysteric yelp I’ve been holding at bay breaks loose, shattering the silence. I nearly let go of my thighs but catch them before they can actually close.

“How you tempt me, vision of chastity. How your innocence calls to me, demanding I rip it from you and possess you, body and soul.”

Again, he smacks my sensitive flesh, but this time, instead of crying out, I end up moaning. The sound is decadent and erotic, sinful in the extreme.

“Seems this little lamb likes a bit of pain. Can’t be a punishment if you enjoy it.” He holds up the ruler so I can see it.

Fear thrums through my body until I’m nearly frozen in place, unable to speak, breathe, or even think. When the hard wood comes crashing down onto my clit, I can’t even cry out. So many sensations wash over at once that it’s nearly impossible to process.

Pain. That certainly is the forefront. But quick on its heels is the burning pleasure that washes over me, soothing the hurt. Every inch of me burns in my blasphemous desire as he soothes the strike with his fingers.

“Pray, Sister Emily Agnes. Show me how good of a repentant you can be.”

Each strike scatters my words, interspersing them with moans and wails until they’re nothing but an incoherent jumble. That haze from last time settles over me, making me wooden and heavy. I don’t care what happens now, only that I find the release he’s building up in me.

Eventually, he tosses the ruler to the side and hovers over me, his heavy bulk pushing me down into the bed. I can feel his hands move and the scrape of cloth against my poor abused flesh.

“You are still taking the pills, yes?” he growls as he grips my chin in his grasp.

At first, I don’t understand him. It’s not until he shakes my head about a few times that I can clear the cobwebs enough to form a coherent sentence. “Yes, Father Confessor. Religiously.”

Something hot, hard, and bulbous nudges against my opening. I go to look down, but he holds my head in place. “This is your last part of your penance. Accept my absolution into your body like a good little Sister.”

Between my thighs, his hand moves back and forth, shoving that foreign object into me. Not far, just the entrance. Whatever it is, it’s large enough to stretch me open even bigger than his fingers. My stomach begins to flip and twist, as if thousands of butterflies reside there, flapping their wings at once.

Still his hand moves. The other eases up to my clit and strokes me, drawing a mournful sob from my lips. It hurts but feels so good at the same time. It’s my undoing. When he touches me like this, I cannot hold myself back.

With a sob, everything contracts for one painful moment before releasing. All the agony of the abstinence I’ve endured the last few days flows out of me, drawing hysteric cries from my chest. Father Draven continues to touch me, forcing my body to endure every blissfully agonizing stroke as his body jerks.

With a muffled roar, he freezes above me. Something hot fills my intimate area and streams out from around the object. It slides down over my bottom hole, coating me with warm, sticky fluid.

“Close your eyes, Sister Emily Agnes.”

My body shudders as I lie there, robbed of my sight. His clothes rustle, then my own as he pulls my habit down. With a gentle tug, he eases me from the bed.

“You may open your eyes now. Go straight to your room and shower. Dispose of your habit. Burn it, bury it, whatever you have to do. It contains the sin I’ve wrenched from your body. You are forgiven. Go, now. And sin no more.”

My steps are shaky as I leave his room. The halls and stairs are surprisingly bare, allowing me to make it to my room unmolested. Each step forces the sticky fluid down my inner thighs. It quickens my steps, so I do not drip any of the absolution onto the floor.

It’s mine and mine alone.

As I step into the shower, I can’t help the groan that flips past my lips and into the hot stream of water. Everything feels bruised and swollen. Part of me thinks that’s the point. If everything aches, I won’t want to defile myself.

And yet, I long for his discipline again. Reaching between my thighs, I scoop up some of the absolution. It is indeed sticky and white. Oddly, it smells like him, only a bit more potent. Before I can stop myself, I slide it onto my tongue.

Just like Eve when she tasted the fruit, I feel as if my eyes shoot open. The taste is bitter, like herbs, but also with a bite of the darkest chocolate. It’s addicting.

Pulling away from the spray, I scrape off every bit I can, even going so far as to slide my fingers into my intimate area to gather what’s left. He never said I couldn’t put it in my mouth. And so, like with communion, I slide to my knees as I ease my fingers past my lips.

For a moment, it’s as if Father Draven himself is doing it. Only, this is not the body and blood of Christ. If anything, it’s from him. All from him.

My unholy sacrament.