Page 159 of Savior

“I did say that,” she says, teasing her hot tongue back down my shaft to the tip, easing my cock into the heat of her wicked mouth.

“Please, fuck…” My moan clambers over the club, weaving together with those of the rest of the sinners here tonight.

She gags on me, popping back off my dick and looking up at me with watery eyes. “So you think being my good boy earned you something?”

“Goddamnit, I hope so.” My voice is meek and supplicating.

She chuckles, dropping further, eyes filling with curiosity as she presses forward, watching for my reaction as she sucks one of my testicles into her mouth.

I arch off the cross as far as I can, head lolling back as I urge her to keep going. “Please, God…”

She continues, moving on to the next one before pulling them both into her mouth as her hand slides up and down my shaft,drawing me closer to an orgasm I both want and don’t want at the same time.

I want to stay with her forever; surely, this is my heaven.

As she makes her way off my balls and puts her mouth over my cock again, she reaches beside the cross for something. I can’t focus on whatever it is because she’s bobbing her perfect mouth on my length like she needs my cum—like she’s starving for it.

“Sloane, slow down,” I beg when my arching hips disagree with the pleading.

She doubles down, adding a hand behind her mouth, twisting and jacking me as she sucks me expertly. It’s too fucking much. Each tug of her mouth takes me higher and closer.

“Sloane,” I warn, and she finally pulls off me but continues stroking quickly.

Her other hand lifts a chalice, and when I scream her name, cock spurting cum for her, she captures it in the chalice, eyes full of an immoral inferno.

“Fuck, is that a communion chalice?” I ask, trying to breathe through the aftershocks of my orgasm.

“Mmm, it is.”

She sets down the chalice and works the straps off my feet and hands, and I look at her curiously.

“Will you give communion, Father?” she asks, returning to her knees and bowing her head.

We have gained an audience from below the apse, which only emboldens me. I’m used to being elevated above a flock—though usually, I’m not naked.

Looming over Sloane, I look down at her. “Chalice, please.”

She lifts it, and my eyes dance over my cum, dripping down the inner edges, coagulating together at the base of the chalice.

Usually, I’d say ‘The Blood of Christ,’but that doesn’t seem fitting.

I grin as I raise the chalice over her head. “The Cum of your God,” I say, knowing I’ve solidified my place in hell tonight.

She grins. “Amen.”

She’s often watched me give communion in the weeks she was with me, and my little dove was paying attention.

I drop and press the chalice to her lips, watching as she tips it and drinks down what’s offered.

“Usually, I’d release you back to your seat, child, but I don’t think that’ll do tonight.”

I stand and set the chalice on a small table beside the cross, likely where the little fiend at my feet got the thing.

“No, Father, it won’t.”

My eyes drift over to the lectern where, on any given Sunday, I’d preach behind, my bible perched on its surface.

“Stand.”

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