Page 24 of Midnight Mass (Priest 1.50)
Not this time.
This time, there was an undercurrent of darkness, of all the most misogynistic and prideful impulses a man can have for a woman. I wanted her to feel naked, vulnerable and humiliated, and I wanted Anton to witness it. I wanted him to see every inch of her sweet, perfect body and know that it all belonged to me, to use or degrade however I wanted. It was beyond sinful, it was borderline evil, and even the dim recognition of how terrible it was only served to inflame me more.
“Take off your bra,” I demanded hoarsely, still behind her and looking down at her chest from over her shoulder.
Shaking, she obeyed me, reaching behind her back and then letting the small black bra fall loose. I let out a short, heavy breath at the sight of her breasts—sweet and full and ripe and pink at the tips. I stepped closer, grinding my erection against her ass while my hands found her tits, palming them with rough, hard movements. Around us, the mirrors reflected every angle of our bodies ad infinitum, a never-ending tunnel of my tuxedo and her ivory skin and my hands so cruelly pulling and squeezing.
“Look,” I whispered in her ear, hoping Anton was looking too. “Look in the mirrors. Can you see yourself?”
She nodded against me, her eyes on the mirror directly across from us, where she watched one of my hands drift down to her stomach and then lower and lower, until my middle finger began stroking her clit. She squirmed.
“I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see what I see when I fuck you, what other people would see if they were watching us.” Since we are being watched, I almost added but didn’t. This was between me and Anton, this struggle for possession. Poppy didn’t need to know.
I pointed to the closest wall, where a two-tiered barre was installed against the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She knew without me elaborating what I wanted, and she walked over to the barre, letting her hands settle onto the wood as she took a deep breath.
She watched me approach in the mirror, and when I got close enough, I gave her ass a firm smack. “Foot up on the barre, lamb. I want to see that cunt.”
She lifted her foot, the gold heel tumbling off and falling to the floor, and then she extended her leg, resting her ankle on the barre. So now she stood on one heel, both hands braced on the barre, and with one leg stretched out to the side. All completely naked.
I rubbed the head of my cock at her wet entrance, digging my fingers into her hips as I angled my body and slowly pushed into her pussy. “Watch it, lamb. Watch.” I reached up and found her face, forcing her to look at the mirror to her side, where the reflection perfectly framed my dick thrusting up into her.
She shuddered at the sight. “Tyler,” she said breathlessly. “I’m going to—oh God.”
“Not yet,” I said, leaning back a little so I could enjoy my own view better. “Isn’t that what you said to me earlier? Well, I’m saying it to you now. Not yet. Not until I’m pumping you full of my cum.”
“Jesus,” she mumbled, her head falling forward. “I don’t think I can wait.”
I was still watching my glistening dick pull out of and then push into that tight, pink pussy, that pussy that was so deliciously open in this position. With her leg up on the barre, I could hit her deep inside, and with the mirror in front of her, I could see every fleeting smile, every silent gasp, and it made me almost crazed to see how good she was feeling when I was being so very, very bad to her.
“You like it when I use you like this?” I asked her. “When I strip you and humiliate you?”
“Yes,” was all she could manage. Her tits bounced and the muscles in her thighs were bunched with the strain of this position, and that jagged heat was at the base of my spine, and then deep in my pelvis, and then exploding inside me and through me, with all the heat and shearing force of a hydrogen bomb.
I should find her clit and rub it hard, I should make sure she comes again, but holy fuck, it felt so good and I needed this so bad, needed to fill her up with me, needed to release, needed to fuck her blind. And so I pounded into her as my climax shredded through my body, pounded her so hard that she fell forward, her face pressed into the glass of the mirror, and then she was screaming my name, screaming God’s name, as her channel contracted around me. Her support leg gave out and so in the end it was only my hands gripping into her hips that kept her upright as I drained my balls into her, not easing up until I knew every last drop was inside of her, until every pulse and throb of my dick had finally, finally stilled.
I stayed there just a second more, not moving, just feeling the heat of my climax inside of her, just staring at her flushed, sated face—which was still pressed against the mirror—and simply savoring every toned, taut line
of her body. It was with the utmost reluctance that I pulled out, severing our connection and dispelling whatever magic and fury had taken hold of us in here.
I hoped Anton had seen every second of it, but when I glanced at the door, he was gone. I gently set Poppy back onto her feet, helping her find the lost heel, and then when we both straightened and our eyes met, it crashed into me, sharp and explosive.
The guilt.
The shame.
The knowledge of what I had just done—from being late to the gala, to my gnawing jealousy, to my using my lamb like a whore, just to prove a point to another man. And to prove something to her and also to myself, and fuck.
I’d fucked up.
I wasn’t looking in the mirror right now, but if I was, I wouldn’t recognize the man standing there.
He wasn’t a priest.
He wasn’t a good man, and he certainly wasn’t a good husband. And when I looked into Poppy’s newly tearful hazel eyes, I knew that nothing was okay.
I was immediately consumed by the need to confess. To fall to my knees and spill every terrible, selfish urge and thought, to purge it all in front of her and for her, because I could see this wound in her eyes, a wound that I’d just worsened, and I had to fix it. I had to atone.
“Poppy—”
