satanasaeternus · a day ago
Tumblr media
Yudhistira Israel - 66TH CENTURY YEAR 6599 HOLY MARY via DeviantArt
41 notes · View notes
Published: Aug 13, 2022
Author Salman Rushdie, who suffered years of Islamist death threats after writing The Satanic Verses, has been attacked on stage in New York state.
The Booker Prize winner, 75, was speaking at an event at the Chautauqua Institution at the time.
New York State Police said a male suspect ran up onto the stage and attacked Rushdie and an interviewer.
At a media conference, police confirmed the attacker was Hadi Matar, 24, of New Jersey.
Matar stabbed Rushdie at least once in the neck and once in the abdomen, police said.
Police said they had not yet established a motive for the attack and were still working to determine what charges would be laid against Matar. Police assumed he was acting alone and were working to confirm that.
Rushdie was initially given medical treatment by a doctor who was in the audience at the Chautauqua Institution, then airlifted to a local trauma centre where he had surgery, police said.
Police are still working to determine the charges against the suspect.
The interviewer of the event, who was also attacked by Matar, was taken to hospital and treated for facial injury, police said.
In a statement Rushdie's agent Andrew Wylie said Rushdie was on a ventilator and would likely lose an eye after the incident.
He also suffered severed nerves in an arm and damage to his liver after being stabbed, Wylie said.
"The news is not good. Salman will likely lose one eye; the nerves in his arm were severed; and his liver was stabbed and damaged," Wylie said in a written statement.
Witnesses told US media he was stabbed multiple times in the neck and torso area, and appeared to fall backwards as he tried to move away from the assailant.
New York Governor Kathy Hochul told a press conference about an hour later that Rushdie was alive.
He was taken to a hospital in Erie, Pennsylvania, by helicopter. There has been no further official confirmation on the extent of his injuries.
The interviewer who was also on stage, Henry Reese, suffered a minor head injury. Reese is the co-founder of a non-profit that provides sanctuary to writers exiled under threat of persecution.
The suspect was immediately taken into custody, police said.
Mark Sommer, a reporter for Buffalo News, told the BBC News Channel that the attacker had emerged from the audience in a black mask.
A video posted online shows attendees rushing onto the stage immediately following the incident.
Indian-born novelist Rushdie catapulted to fame with Midnight's Children in 1981, which went on to sell over one million copies in the UK alone.
But his fourth book, in 1988 - The Satanic Verses - forced him into hiding for nine years.
The surrealist, post-modern novel sparked outrage among some Muslims, who considered its content to be blasphemous, and was banned in some countries.
A year after the book's release, Iran's Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khomeini called for Rushdie's execution. He offered a $3 million reward in a fatwa - a legal decree issued by an Islamic religious leader.
The bounty over Rushdie's head remains active, and although Iran's government has distanced itself from Khomeini's decree, a quasi-official Iranian religious foundation added a further $500,000 to the reward in 2012.
The British-American citizen - who was born to non-practising Muslims and is an atheist himself - has become a vocal advocate for freedom of expression, defending his work on several occasions.
When Rushdie was knighted in 2007 by Queen Elizabeth II, it sparked protests in Iran and Pakistan, where one cabinet minister said the honour "justifies suicide attacks".
Several literary events attended by Rushdie have been subject to threats and boycotts - but he continues to write. His next novel, Victory City, is due to be published in February 2023.
His appearance at the Chautauqua Institution event, in western New York, was the first in a summertime lecture series hosted by the non-profit organisation.
UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson tweeted: "Appalled that Sir Salman Rushdie has been stabbed while exercising a right we should never cease to defend."
Writer and graphic novel creator Neil Gaiman said he was "shocked and distressed" by the attack on his friend and fellow writer.
"He's a good man and a brilliant one and I hope he's okay," Gaiman wrote on Twitter.
New York Governor Kathy Hochul vowed to "assist however needed in the investigation" into the stabbing.
"Here's an individual who has spent decades speaking truth to power. Someone who's been out there, unafraid, despite the threats that have followed him his entire adult life," she said.
No matter what the outcome of the investigation, we will be told by pundits that it has nothing to do with Islam, this is not true Islam and/or maybe we shouldn’t insult people’s dearly held beliefs (which is accidentally an admission it is the nature of Islam). All of which is lies and bullshit.
26 notes · View notes
nuclearbummer · 2 days ago
Tumblr media
- At the graveyard of God - Visiting the resting place of Quorthon of Bathory.
20 notes · View notes
teaboot · 3 months ago
The pastor: "For GOD So Loved Mankind That He Gave His His One And Only Son"
Me, 11, sitting on my hands in the back pew: Okay but like. He's God. He could've made more
4K notes · View notes
playfully--sadistic · 7 months ago
If you've got "prince" or "royal" or any variant of it in your username, then I want you to stand in front of a mirror, hold your chin as high as possible and slowly, seductively undress yourself while imagining you're doing it in front of the heir of a different kingdom. I want you to let every piece of clothing fall to the floor one after the other, holding eye contact with yourself or following the movements of your fingers. Tease your own skin, follow the shape of your body, explore it like you're exploring it for the first time, and slowly work yourself up just by looking at yourself, at your perfect, aristocratic body. Innocent touches turning into fingertips rubbing the area beneath your thighs - don't close your eyes while you get yourself off, keep looking, keep thinking about how sexy and seductive you truly look. Make yourself cum to the mere view of your own body, that'll teach you the correct amount of arrogance you need. Aren't you just gorgeous? A sight to be seen. Heavenly, breathtaking. Whoever you decide gets to sleep with you would most likely thank you afterwards, would kiss the back of your hand and clean you in a hot bath afterwards to show their gratification, and wouldn't you agree that that's the least they can do after what you've granted them? That's right. You have such a power over people, and here you are, finally realizing it.
If you've got "prey", "primal", "monster" or any variant of it in your username, I want you to wait until it's dark and silent outside, open your window and place yourself in front of it, on the floor with your legs spread. Don't undress completely, you wouldn't want the predator to already find you exposed - what clothes will they rip off of you then? Imagine that your scent is alerting every single one of them in the perimeter and you're waiting for them to find you. The more you prepare yourself, the needier and hornier you get, the stronger the scent gets - so obviously, it's your task to use any tool to achieve that... Your fingers, your loveliest vibrator, maybe a few impact tools or even hot wax. Show effort. After all, you're trying to show what a good and worthy prey you are, and endurance and effort really go a long way for that, don't they? Make yourself cum to the thought of being found, of a massive body towering over you, claws digging into your helpless body, sharp fangs marking you up and the perfect pain of their cock bottoming you out.
If you've got "pup", "puppy", "mutt" or any variant of it in your username, first of all, I want you to stick your tongue out right away, open your mouth up wide and just let your drool drip out of it to really show how deep you're into heat right now. Done that? Good. Following orders so mindlessly is probably yet another sign of absolute compliance that comes along with your heat. It's your first one, so I'll guide you through it, little pup. Undress and go on all floors, feel the hard, cold floor on your knees and feel your drool drip down, forming a puddle representing your disgusting instincts. You'll put a pillow in between your thighs and start moving your hips - rut against the fabric, chase that tiny bit of friction you gain from it, make yourself desperate and whiny and needier than you already are. Put your hands on your back, lowering your upper half onto the ground so that your face is close to it (and one could possibly very nicely step right onto your neck if one would want to...) and your tongue is almost touching the dirty floor beneath you. Your mouth will stay open, your arms will stay like that, your knees will start hurting and you'll continue to hump that pillow, fuck against it, use it as a substitute for whatever sexual attention you're so desperately craving but not getting because - don't forget that - you're just a horny little bitch who keeps going into heat every second day, and your owner has taught you how to get rid of it at least half-properly while they're gone. So you better keep going, or do you want to disappoint them when they see that pillow isn't soaked enough?
If you've got "blasphemy", "priest", "sinful" or any variant of it in your username, I know that you have the Word of God somewhere in your house, a cross and a rosary - get all of those, put them on the floor and undress yourself. You do think that worshipping is important after all, don't you? You should be allowed to do it in your very own way though, and doesn't the Church always preach that your body belongs to Him and Him only? Isn't it time that you show Him that? Find your favorite bible verses, rip out those pages and place it back the floor afterwards, opened up to a random page. Remember: show devotion on your knees is what they always told you. Spread your legs above the bible. I wonder, can you recite the verses by heart or do you need to read them from the ripped out pages? Who cares if you get them a little wrong, right? Isn't it all up to interpretation anyway, so who would blame you for modifying them a bit to make them sound sluttier, suitable for a whore like you? Now, don't forget to give your body up to Him while you try to recite them - I'm sure the rosary and the cross will comw in wonderfully handy. Let the beads slide between your thighs, wrap them around your cock or let them stimulate your clit - count them as you feel them - and taint them with your lust. Try to stuff it inside of you, and don't be shy with moaning His name while you so, let it interrupt your recital, as long as you keep going after catching your breath. Devotion comes in many shapes after all, doesn't it? Make sure to soak the bible beneath you in whatever remains on the rosary, let yourself drip down on it in pleasure. Fuck yourself open on the cross, make yourself cum riding it, move your hips and feel how it's slowly getting harder to remember the verses correctly - who cares if you have to turn the cross upside down to be able to ride it anyway? Who cares about bible verses? It's all about pleasure at that point, about lust, about sin. Cum to that thought and don't stop cumming to it.
Do not add captions on this post. Keep it in the tags.
2K notes · View notes
silver-tongued-bby · 4 months ago
Subjective Sins
Tumblr media
Pairing: Priest!Loki x Virgin!fem!Reader
Warnings: NSFW, 18+!! TW for Catholicism + manipulation by a priest. This fic contains blasphemy of all types, imagery of the Catholic church, manipulation, an age-gap relationship, masturbation, confessionals, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (m/f) and a loss of virginity.
Words: ~7,000 
Summary: Your parents force you to attend mass for the first time in years. In clear need of guidance, the priest takes you under his wing. 
A/N: To celebrate hitting 1K, here’s a rather dark + kinky priest fic. Inspired by this post and this post and another one that I can’t seem to find 😡
I cannot believe that one thousand of you follow me. I can't even visualise that number properly... Thank you to everyone who's supported my work through a like, reblog, and especially a comment. I've had so much fun sharing my little stories with you. 
Shout out to the insanely talented and kind mutuals I have on here too. You've inspired so much of what I've posted here 🖤
Likes, reblogs and comments mean more than you know 🖤
You never liked going to church much growing up. 
You wince at the memories of leaving the warmth of your bed for the frigid air on those sleepy Sunday mornings. You rebelled against your parents at sixteen, sneaking out well before they came to wake you with the dawn. It wasn’t like you were a bad kid - most mornings you’d simply venture to the local library and escape in the stacks, exploring worlds you’d otherwise never reach. You kept to yourself, the fear instilled within you from years of Sunday School mantras. Don’t do drugs led to don’t have friends for you, intentionally or not. 
You’d managed to refrain from the echoing halls of the church for two years before you were roped back in, forced to worship if you were to remain beneath your parents’ roof. Just once a month they’d said, just give it a try - everyone there misses you. 
And so with a little monetary threat and a heavy handed serving of good old Catholic guilt, you found yourself waking with the dawn once more, sipping a scalding coffee as you dressed in your Sunday best. You didn’t bother arguing when your mother had suggested you go early with her to set up, but you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest as the old stone building came into view. 
You’d been tasked with the floral arrangements, carefully placing the stems to face outwards to the pulpit. You were kneeling, focused on your last arrangement when movement beside you made you glance up, your finger pressing into a thorn. You hissed, the rose falling to the cold stone. 
“Oh,” the man said, crouching beside you. His eyes found yours, clear pools of blue-green stealing the breath from your lungs. You could only watch as he took your hand in his, pulling out a cloth to dab at your bloodied finger. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he glanced back up, a curve to his lips. He was striking, his features sharp - pronounced cheekbones and jaw accented by the dark waves brushed back from his face. His voice was deep with a crisp accent that had you wanting him to speak more. He was clearly older than you, fine lines just beginning to show by his eyes that only added to his features. 
You swallowed, finding your voice. “It’s alright,” you dropped your gaze, finding it difficult to hold his. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” you bit your lip, chancing a look up at him. 
He was watching you with a little smile. You felt as if he was in on a joke you weren’t privy to. You wondered if you ever would be. 
You hadn’t realised he’d held onto your hand until he let it go to the sound of approaching footsteps. You moved apart as his hands slipped behind his back. 
It was one of the women from the church committee, clearly out of breath. “Oh, Father Laufeyson! Thank goodness you’re here early.” 
You looked to him, finally seeing the white collar around his throat. He gave you a little wink before turning to follow her out into the atrium. You were surprised by the tremble in your hand as you reached for the rose on the stony floor. 
You’d asked your mother about the priest after mass, immediately regretting your decision when she simply guilted you for your absenteeism. 
It was hard for you to meet his gaze during mass, though you couldn’t pull your eyes away. The few times you’d met his stare, your breath had caught in your throat, his eyes simmering with something before he’d looked away. 
Now as you waited with your parents to thank him, your heart raced, the beating of it loud in your ears as your parents chatted beside you. 
“It was lovely having you join us today,” he spoke, his warm hand covering yours. “I hope to see you here more often.” He chuckled, “we certainly could use you around here.” 
Before you could answer your mother had volunteered you for several technical projects around the church. Her nose is always in a book, Father, she huffed, suggesting it’d be good for you to get out of the house for a reason other than work. 
“Of course. Stop by tomorrow after your shift. It’d be great to have a hand with the new speakers.”
You bit your lip and nodded, catching a brief flicker of something in his glance that only added to the butterflies in your stomach. 
You wiped your palms on your jeans, cursing yourself for their seemingly perpetual clammy state. You reached for the handle of the church door, stepping inside and closing it behind you. Met with silence, you carried forward into the nave, the sound of your sneakers loud against the stone. 
“Hello?” You asked, your voice somehow quiet in the silent space. 
“Back here-“ his voice was clipped from behind the altar. He stood, brushing his hands off on his trousers. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, a screwdriver in his hand. 
“Hi,” you gave him a small smile, slowing as you reached the first pew. 
“Nice to see you.” He smiled back and motioned you over to his position behind the altar, your eyes falling to the large mass of wires. His gaze lingered as you approached, though he turned once you stood beside him, running a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I’m a little useless at this,” he chuckled, motioning to the wires. “It’s all set, though it’s become quite a mess and I’m not sure where to start with the connections.” 
“Okay,” you nodded, crouching beside him and reaching for the mass of wires, getting to work untangling them. He joined you, and you could feel his gaze on you as you worked. You did your best to keep your hands steady, though you were certain he could see the slight tremble in your fingers. 
“Thank you for helping,” he turned to sit with his back against the wall as he watched you. “Though I suppose I should really be thanking your mother.”
You looked up for a moment, offering him a small smirk and a shrug. 
He chuckled. “I’m sure you have better things to do than this.” 
You sat back and pulled the wires into your lap. “Not really,” you shook your head. 
He considered for a moment. “I find that hard to believe. Wouldn’t you rather be out with your friends?” 
You bit the inside of your cheek. “I don’t really go out.” You managed to free a wire, placing it beside you before working for another. “And my friend left for school in the fall.” 
He nodded. “Are you planning on joining them?” 
You pursed your lips. “Don’t think so. I’m not really sure what I want to do,” you looked up to find him watching your fingers. “I don’t want to go into debt over something I’m not sure of.” 
“Your mother said you liked to read. Have you ever thought about that?” His eyes found yours once more. 
“About what?” 
“Studying literature. Or writing,” he rolled the screwdriver between his fingers above his knee. “Or both.” His eyes met yours, a smirk at his lips. 
“Go broke in school to be broke as a writer,” you shrugged. “I don’t know.” 
He chuckled. “Good point.” 
You were surprised by how easy it was to talk to him, finding it a little less difficult to hold his gaze after the hour it took to untangle the wires. You discovered he was an avid reader like you, and that he often used it as inspiration in his homily. 
Once you finished he stood, holding a hand out for you with a smile. You took it, his strong grip easily helping you to your feet. You followed him to the small kitchen in the back of the church where he pulled out a plate of fried chicken from the oven. 
“The church committee seems to think I’m incapable of feeding myself,” he sighed. “Suppose it’s only fair I reward you for your hard work.”
You tried to come up with an excuse but he simply pulled out a stool at the counter for you then nodded for you to sit. He made you each a plate then sat before you. “Wine?” He offered, holding the lip of the bottle over your glass. 
“I’m eighteen,” you shook your head, “I don’t think I can.” 
He smirked. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He leaned in, “it’s not quite a sin to have a glass of wine.” 
You bit your lip before nodding, watching as he filled your glass then his. You raised the glass to your lips, your brow furrowing as the bitter taste met your tongue. 
“Not a fan?” 
“It’s different from communion,” you commented. “Better for sure, though I don’t think that’s saying much.” 
“It’s not,” he laughed. “So what do you normally drink with your friends then? Beer?” 
You wrinkled your nose, shaking your head. “I don’t- well I haven’t really drank before.” 
“Really? Not even with your boyfriend?” 
You picked at the salad with your fork. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” you found it hard to meet his stare. “Boys don’t really talk to me.” 
He leaned forward to catch your gaze. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. Not about that,” he gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ve been a good girl.” 
You smiled back, the knots in your stomach loosening a little with another sip of wine. 
You ate as you talked, discussing the books you and he had on the go. After you helped clean up, he walked you out of the church, his arm brushing against yours as you walked through the nave. 
“I’m so glad you could help out today,” he smiled at you on the church steps, the sun just beginning to set. 
“Me too. I actually kind of had fun,” you smiled back. 
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he chuckled, his hands in his pockets. “When you come back to finish the job, you can take a look at my library. Borrow any book you like.”
Your eyes widened at his offer. He’d mentioned it in passing, but his personal library sounded extensive- much better than the dusty stacks of the public library that relied on donations. “I’d love that. Really.” 
“Of course, anything for a fellow bookworm.” 
You smiled, “thanks Father. I’ll be by the day after next.” 
He nodded. “See you then, darling.” 
You gave him a wave and were off, trying your best to shake off the excitement at the pet name he’d called you. 
That night you stayed up late, opening and closing your book repeatedly, sighing as your mind wandered back to Father Laufeyson. You tried closing your eyes, but were met with his, the blue-green simmering with something - desire?
You eventually turned out your light and rolled over, though your mind flitted to the way he’d rolled the screwdriver between his long fingers mindlessly as he watched you. You felt a familiar heat building up within you as he plagued your mind. What is wrong with me? He’s a man of God. 
No matter how many times you chastised yourself, you couldn’t help but remember the way his lips had curved as he watched you drink the wine, as if he were pleased with you. Your thighs pressed together as you remembered his words of praise - a good girl as he’d said it. You wanted to hear him say it again as you slipped a hand beneath your shorts, your fingers touching your warm, slick heat. You wanted him to whisper it to you as he watched you touch yourself for him, those lips curling so perfectly around the words. And as you came, forcing your fist between your teeth to muffle the sounds of your heavy breath, you could think of nothing but him calling you his good girl over and over as he held you in his arms, still shaking from aftershocks. 
The next day passed in slow motion. Your shift at the grocery store felt like an eternity, the quiet Tuesday crowd almost entirely composed of the elderly. You made small talk, but your mind was bound to the day before. 
You were confused and ashamed by your feelings for Father Laufeyson, especially for what you’d done with him in mind. Each time you thought of it you’d drop something, or trip, or worse - when you’d been bagging a carton of eggs you picked them up upside down so they fell out of the carton, splattering all over your shoes. 
You debated on whether or not you should go back, afraid he’d know immediately and ask you to leave. 
By the next day you’d at least gotten less clumsy, your shift passing without a self-imposed hitch. Though with each glance at the clock another butterfly joined the flutter in your stomach. You did your best not to hyperventilate as you walked to the church from work. You stopped before the door, biting your lip hard before grasping the handle. 
Today you found him seated in a pew, his head bowed in what looked like prayer, though on approach you made out the paperback in his hand. 
You swallowed. “Hi Father,” you called, his head rising as he met your eyes with a grin. 
“Hello darling,” he stood, closing the book. “Thank you for coming back. I was a little afraid I’d have to figure this out on my own.”
You gave him a small smile and a nod. 
He considered you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is everything alright?” 
He knew. Of course he knew! It was written all over your face. You bit your lip. “I’m fine. I just,” you looked down at your fingers, “I sinned.” 
He lightly touched your wrist so you met his gaze. “Do you wish to confess?” 
You weighed your options. You should confess- he’d want you to confess. But how could you do so? He’ll surely send you away as soon as you do. 
He was watching you carefully. “Whatever you tell me stays between us and God. I doubt there’s anything you could tell me that I haven’t heard before.” He gave you a reassuring smile. 
You licked your lips. “Okay,” you nodded. 
He nodded back then motioned towards the confessional. You got in, closing the door behind you and sinking into the seat before putting your face in your hands. You prayed for God’s help, guidance and forgiveness as you mentally thought through what you were about to say. You heard him enter the booth beside you, his silhouette just showing beyond the screen. 
You took a few breaths. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, pausing to take a deep breath. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is two years since my last confession.” 
“Go ahead, my child.” He spoke calmly and slowly, as if he were trying to relax you through the pace of his speech. You appreciated it, taking another deep breath. 
“I’ve had impure thoughts, Father.” 
There was a pause. “Go on.” 
“I-“ you took another breath, “last night, and the night before I acted on these impure thoughts.”
“How did you act?” 
“I touched myself, Father. Twice.” There was silence, your heart beating loudly in your ears. 
“And what of these thoughts, my child?”
There it was. You swallowed hard. “I thought of you, Father.” 
Another pause. 
“I know it was wrong, I know I shouldn’t have.”
“But you did, regardless. You sinned.” 
Your eyes widened, your thoughts flying too fast for you to speak. 
“Are you sorry for your sins?” 
“Yes, Father, of course.” You pressed your lips together. “I am sorry for these sins and the sins of my past life.” 
“And will you sin again?” 
You weren’t sure how to answer that, so you went with an Act of Contrition. “With the help of God’s grace, I will not sin again.” 
He chuckled. “How hopeful, darling. Though I’m sure you will.” 
Again, you didn’t speak, unsure of what to say. You’d never had a confession go like this. 
“In fact, I know you will.” He sighed. “Come here, my child.” 
You went to stand but froze, unsure of what exactly he wanted you to do. 
“Come into the booth with me.” 
You got up on shaky legs, coming out to glance at the empty pews before entering the other side of the booth. He looked up at you passively, patting his knee. “Sit.” 
You simply stared for a moment before he repeated himself with a sigh. You turned around and did as you were told, sitting on his knee between his spread legs. 
He slid his hand to hold your waist. “Rest your head on my shoulder.” 
You did as you were told, unsettled, though the feel of his warmth against you was comforting, that familiar heat rising between your thighs. You pressed your legs together, squirming a little on his knee. 
“See? I told you you’d sin again, darling. You’re already aching to, I can tell.” 
“I’m sorry, Father.” 
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you absolve them all.” His free hand held a rosary, which he brought to the hem of your skirt. “How pretty,” he thumbed the material before lifting it up and tucking it into your waistband.
You gasped as he revealed your panties, the baby pink cotton bright in the dim booth. He turned to press a kiss against your forehead. 
“Tell me, darling,” his voice rumbled through you, making you melt against him. “How did you touch yourself?” 
You bit your lip, heart hammering in your chest.
“Tell me and I’ll help you pray it away. Be a good girl,” he whispered the words to you and you shivered, letting out a little gasp. 
“Through my panties, I started rubbing a little.” You were grateful to be able to hide your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent as you opened your legs wider for him. 
“Like this?” He gave very light, teasing strokes to you and you gasped, holding onto him tighter. 
“Yes,” you whispered. “Like that, Father.” 
“And then?” 
You licked your dry lips. “Then I slid my hand inside,” he stopped stroking you to slide his hand under the waistband of your panties. “A-and I rubbed at the top- where my clitorus is, oh!” You cut yourself off as he did so, his finger rubbing small circles that made you want to open your legs wider and clamp them shut at the same time. 
“Does it feel good, darling?” 
“Yes, Father, oh- oh, it feels so good.” 
He pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Did you do anything else?” 
“Oh,” your hips were rocking lightly with his circles, and you peered out from the safety of his neck to see his hand down your panties, the sight making you tremble. “I put a finger in- inside, only once. It felt weird, Father.” 
“I think we can put one in now. I’ll make it feel good.” 
You nodded, boldly pressing a kiss against his neck that made his jaw flex as his fingertips left your clitorus, his middle finger swirling in your wet before slowly sliding into your hole. 
“Oh- oh,” you breathed, your hand falling into his lap as you ground on his thigh, your fingers wrapping around his hardened length in his pants. “Father- you’re so,” you shivered, “so hard in my hand.” 
“Yes, good girl, touch me like that as I help you.” He’d curled his finger, his thumb pressing against your clit as you moved against his hand, rubbing and squeezing his length through his trousers. 
“That feels so good,” your hand shook as it rubbed him, your eyes squeezing shut as you raised your head off his shoulder. 
“Mmm, yes. You won’t need to sin any more, darling. I’ll help you get it all out,” you were both moving with each other, his lips pressing kisses to your neck. You looked down as he pressed the rosary beads to your clitorus, rubbing them around the little nub. 
“Oh! Father, that feels so, so good.”
“Be my good little girl and cum all over my fingers, and my rosary. Let me bless you, my child.” 
Pleasure coursed through you, white-hot as you let go for him, your hips grinding frantically against his hand. You distantly felt him moving against your grip as he pressed kisses to your neck, his hips freezing as he groaned. You were both panting as he led your head back to his shoulder, pulling his fingers from your wet panties, the rosary glinting in the low light. He gently untucked the hem of your skirt, then brought his fingers to your mouth. 
“Clean them.”
You opened for his finger then his thumb, your tongue swirling around them before he pressed the beads to your lips for you to clean as well. 
“Good girl. My special girl.” 
Your heart swelled with pride as he gently smoothed his fingers against your forehead. 
Eventually he led you up, and sat you down in a pew as he went to clean himself in the bathroom. He came back to press a kiss against your temple. “Come tomorrow to finish the work.” 
You nodded, “yes, Father.” 
“And I want you coming to confessional. Twice a week, around this time, unless I say so.” 
“Yes, Father.” 
You did go back the next day, connecting the speaker system as he met with the church committee for tea. 
You waited for him, reading in the pew, though you found your eyes kept wandering to the mahogany booth in the corner. You shifted in your seat as you remembered what you’d done there, only hours ago. Sighing, you went back to your book, wondering what he’d ask of you today. 
It was a half hour later when he saw out the church committee, your mother beaming to the others when she spotted you in the pew. You gave her a small smile before turning back to your book, waiting for him to return. 
The echoing of his shoes off the stone illicit an excited fear within you, though you kept your eyes on your book, rereading the same sentence as he approached. 
“Hello darling.” You looked up at him, finding him looking down at you with a smirk, his finger coming to trace along your jaw. 
You shivered. “Hello, Father Laufeyson.” 
“Any sins to confess today, pretty girl?” He held his fingertips under your chin. 
You swallowed. “None that you aren’t aware of, Father.” 
“Let’s see how long that lasts,” he beckoned you to join him with a curl of his finger. He led you through the door at the front of the church which opened to the street, locking it behind him. “This way,” he hummed, crossing the street to the rectory which was made of the same stone as the church, the large home imposing. You followed him through the front door, looking around at the warm interior. It had been very well renovated, the wooden floors and high ceilings accented with intricate crown moulding. 
He led you through the first floor, coming to a stop just outside a closed door. He motioned you through it, and you gasped at the scene before you. Books covered every shelf- from the floor to the ceiling, the mahogany bookcases sturdily holding the many titles. You stepped forward, brushing your fingertips lightly against the spines, finding many famous titles - a few that he’d mentioned last night. 
“Borrow whatever you want,” he smiled, leaning against the door as he watched you. 
“Thank you so much, Father,” you smiled back, quickly pulling out a few books you’d been struggling to find at the local library. 
You turned, “Loki?”
“It’s my name.” 
“Oh,” you smiled. “Thank you, Loki.” 
He nodded, leaving you to pick and choose. You cut yourself off at three books, since it was the most you’d ever been able to finish in a week, not wanting to borrow faster than you could read. 
You found him by the hearth in the living room, the rain outside just starting. He was sitting by the fire, a well-worn bible in his hand. His eyes brightened when they met yours. “What did you find?” 
You showed him the three titles you’d decided on, thanking him again for letting you borrow from his library. 
“I’m happy to have someone other than myself using it,” he smiled. “I’m working on the homily for this weekend. Do you think you could help me?” 
“Of course, Father. I’d be happy to,” you approached, leaving the books on a side table. 
He stood, motioning for you to sit in the chair. He handed you his bible, opened to a passage where the margins had been filled with minuscule notes. 
“I want you to read that passage. And the other two bookmarked.”
You nodded, fingering the pieces of paper caught between the pages. 
“Go ahead and start. Don’t stop reading no matter what happens, alright darling?” 
You frowned but nodded. “Yes, Father.” 
He nodded to you and you started the passage, Esther 1. As you read, he knelt before you, his hands coming to rest on your knees. You stumbled a bit as he brought the hem of your skirt up by sliding his fingers upwards. He spread your legs then bent forward to press a kiss to your clothed heat, causing your breath to catch in your throat. 
“One moment,” he held up his hand and you stopped mid sentence, looking down at where he sat between your thighs. “Have you ever been kissed, pretty girl?” 
You licked your lips, “once- when I was sixteen.” 
His brows shot up. “On the lips?” 
You nodded. 
“Oh, darling.” He stood, his hands coming to rest on the armrests of the chair, caging you in. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your lips. Inching closer still, he very lightly grazed your lips with his. “You’re so absolutely lovely,” he murmured, pressing his lips against yours a little more, teasing you. “My special girl,” he came forward once more to give you a teasing lick, your breath ragged as he toyed with you. 
His fingers slid against the back of your neck, thumb against your jaw as he pressed forward again, this time tilting his head to lick into your mouth, his teeth dragging across your tongue and your lips achingly slowly. Your breath hitched as he tasted you, your tongue lightly sliding against his. Your head spun as he pulled away. 
“Now I realise I needed to specify a little more before,” he grinned, kneeling back between your legs. “Have you ever been kissed down here?” 
Your eyes widened, shaking your head from side to side. “Never.” You hadn’t really known it was a thing people did- sure you’d read about it in stories but that was where you thought it remained. 
“Will you let me?” 
You nodded. “Yes, Father.” 
“Good girl.” He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, drawing them down your legs. “Now. I want you to focus on the passage as I kiss and lick you, okay darling?” His jaw flexed as his eyes found your slit.
You nodded, and lifted your gaze back to the holy book, continuing along where you’d left off. 
His hands curled behind your knees, and he helped you shift down the chair, so you were slouched, the book on your chest as you read. He pushed your legs further apart, then bent forward. You could feel his breath against the inside of your thigh before he pressed a kiss there, following suit with the other side. 
It was when you felt him breathe against your slit that your voice started to shake. Soon after he pressed a kiss to your clit, your voice raising as you squirmed. He pressed another, then another, your words coming out quickly as your tone rose and fell. Luckily you’d made it to the end of the passage, flipping to the next as he smirked up at you. 
“Well done, my child.” His eyes simmered as he palmed himself through his trousers. “Though I’ve yet to press my tongue to you. What’ll happen then, hm?” 
You licked your lips. “I’ll keep reading Father,” you squirmed against the chair. “I promise.” 
“Good girl. Go ahead,” he nodded to you before coming forward again, waiting until you started the passage to press another kiss to your clit. 
You started, though a sentence in he’d pressed his lips to your clit and held them there, his tongue rubbing against it as he suckled your skin. You cried out, breath ragged for a moment before starting again from the beginning as you were unsure where you’d left off. 
His lips left your clit so his tongue could swirl against your hole before licking upwards, causing your legs and voice to shake. He repeated the action then inserted a finger, gently fucking you as his tongue furiously rubbed against your clit, over and over. 
“When you, oh- oh Father,” you breathed, “make a v-vow,” you arched your back as he curled the finger, pressing somewhere deep within you that almost felt too good. “Oh- thank you, Father- oh, vow to God,” you panted as you carried through the passage, your fingers numb where they held onto the pages. 
You had barely made it through the passage when the words started to blur. “Father- oh, oh, I don’t know if I can,” you spoke, your back arched against his mouth. 
He looked up at you, pulling his lips away from your heat to grin. “But you’re doing so well. Such a good girl for me,” he pressed a kiss to you and you flinched, earning a chuckle from him. “How about you unbutton that blouse for me instead of reading? Then your bra. Can you do that for me, darling?” 
You bit your lip then nodded, moaning as he dove back in, your fingers numbly unbuttoning your blouse. Once undone, you pushed the cups of your bra downwards, exposing your breasts. You laid back and moaned as he continued to attend to you, his tongue and fingers bringing you pleasure you’d never felt. 
“Play with your nipples,” he spoke against your skin, your eyes falling closed at the vibration. You opened them to see him darkly looking up at you, two fingers now moving inside of you as you whimpered. You moved your hands to your breasts, running them over your nipples as a hiss escaped your lips. You held them between your thumb and forefinger, rolling them gently as you groaned, his eyes never leaving your face. 
“It all feels so good Father,” you whined, pinching your nipples a little harder between your fingers. “Oh- I think I’m going to,” before you could finish you froze, the pleasure thrumming through you hard. You where whimpering and shaking as Father Laufeyson continued his movements, prolonging your pleasure. 
You laid there, almost too tired to move as he stood over you once more. His eyes swept over your body, though you didn’t feel the familiar burn of shame. In fact, you only felt arousal at the sight of him admiring you, undoing his belt followed by the zipper of his pants. You watched as he pulled out his length, his hand stroking it as he continued to look at you. 
“My good girl,” he murmured, reaching to palm your breast. You arched into his touch, watching as he stroked himself faster, groaning as he came on your chest and stomach, painting your skin with his seed. You were surprised at how warm it felt, though you shivered with want as you looked down at the pools of white cooling with the air. 
“So pretty, darling.” He murmured, his eyes on your breasts. He tucked himself away before bending over you, pulling the cups of your bra up over the white. He buttoned your shirt, some of the wet showing through the white cotton. He readjusted your skirt then helped you sit up, as you pressed your thighs together at the feel of his seed on you. He noted the action with a little smirk, guiding you to your feet to pull you in for a kiss. “My special girl,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Divine.” 
Your visits to the church became frequent, almost daily during some weeks. Your parents were grateful to Father Laufeyson for his guidance, providing a much-needed friend to their shy daughter. 
Little did they know what his guidance pertained to, your carnal desire for him and he for you only growing with the weeks to come. He hadn’t taken your virginity, only bringing you wave after wave of pleasure as he showed you how to do the same to him. It was after the second month that he’d passed you a small booklet of pills, telling you to take one each morning. 
You did so without question, swallowing one as you thought of him when you woke each morning. The following week he’d warned you that you’d be late coming home, a message easily passed to your parents with no dispute.
“Sit,” he said, walking around the church and locking the doors. He’d made sure to see you on a day with no meetings, no planned repairs, no choir practice. He told you he did not want you to be interrupted. 
You fumbled with your fingers as you nervously waited for him to return, your eyes turning to his, his expression dark, his jaw clenched. 
“Up,” he said, and you stood, flattening the almost too-short skirt you’d chosen with him in mind. He adored you in skirts. 
You followed him to the cathedra, the red velvet shining under the low lights. He sat, then pulled you atop his lap so you straddled him. “Look at you,” he smirked, trailing his fingers along your jaw. “My special girl,” you whined as you felt his cock twitch against your heat, your hips rocking back and forth instinctually. 
“Father,” you breathed, “what’ll you teach me tonight?” 
He leant back, watching as you moved yourself over his lap. He tilted his head, “there’s a reason we’re here tonight, darling.” You could feel him hardening beneath you, proud of how quickly you could do such a thing without your hands. “I needed to do this where we could most easily absolve ourselves.”
“Oh,” you breathed, understanding the weight of his words. 
“Tonight I’m going to take you, to claim your virginity as my own.” His hands slid up from your thighs to your waist, your eyes closing at the sensation. “Would you like that?” 
“Please- please, Father. I want to be yours, please.” He chuckled as you ground against him more urgently, moaning as your excitement built. 
“Patience, perfect girl.” He brought his thumb just over your clit, holding it so it pressed up against you as you moved. 
“Oh, Father- that feels so good,” you whimpered, bending to kiss him. “Thank you.” 
“Why don’t you take it out so you can feel it?” 
You nodded, stopping your grinding to undo his belt, then his trousers, shivering when you felt his hard length in his hand. You carefully lifted it out, and he leaned back so you could press your heat to him, though he stopped you. He watched you as he moved your panties aside with a curl of his finger, pulling you onto him bare. You’d tried this before once, though he’d had to stop once the tip had slipped into your hole. You’d begged him then, pleaded with him to push just a little further- to take you, though he steadily refused. 
You moaned as he slid through your folds, the tip of his length hitting your clit as you moved your hips. His fingers found the zipper of your skirt, pulling it down so it pooled around you before he threw it to the floor. You stripped yourself of your shirt, not bothering with a bra when he’d confirmed with you earlier today. 
“Such a sinful little thing,” he chuckled, his palms moving to hold your breasts. 
“I’m sorry Father,” you moaned, “I can’t help it.” 
He smirked at you, “I know, darling. That’s why I’m here.” 
You kept moving your hips, shuddering as your orgasm approached. 
He held your face in his hands, drawing you closer so his lips were against your ear. “I need you to cum,” he whispered, tracing the shell of your ear with his tongue as you whimpered. Your hands were on his abdomen, the muscles there taut as he pushed against you. 
“Oh- I will, Father. Anything for you,” you panted, moaning when he started rubbing little circles in your clit. 
“That’s it, little girl. Cum for me, use me to sin, we’ll pray for forgiveness together later. For now just focus on how good it feels to rub yourself against me.” 
Your mouth hung open as you came, a drawn out moan tumbling from your lips. “Thank you,” you panted, your head resting against his shoulder as your cunt twitched around his cock. 
“I want to see you as I take you,” he lifted your head off his shoulder, guiding your hips up enough so he could fit the head of his cock in your cunt. “Eyes on me, special girl,” he leant back and watched as he thrust up slowly, pulling you down at the same time so you were filled with him. His jaw was tight as he held himself still within you, your mouth open as you felt the initial burn dissipate. 
“Heavens you’re perfect,” he breathed. “Does it hurt?” He asked, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. 
“It did but I think it’s better now,” you said, tentatively moving your hips. “Oh Father, it feels good,” you whimpered, tilting your hips again. 
“Good.” He looked up at you, “you’re mine, darling. You fit me like a glove.” 
You kept the pace, nodding at him with wide eyes. “All yours.” 
“Up,” he said, guiding you off his lap. He pulled you over to the pews, and bent you over the back of the first row so your knees pressed against the wood. Your hands gripped the seat before you. He pulled your panties down and angled your thighs apart then ran his tip through your folds, finding your hole and slowly pressing in. 
“Goodness,” you breathed, “that’s so- you’re so,” you struggled to find the words. 
“Deep. My cock is deep within your perfect cunt,” he groaned. He gave you a thrust and hissed, “mmm darling, you fit me so well. I’d love to go through confession with your pretty walls wrapped tight around me. You’d have to stay quiet though, do you think you could?” 
You trembled at the very idea. “I would for you, Father. Anything for you,” you moaned, arching your back so more of him reached within you. “Oh.” 
He chuckled. “Good girl.” He slid his palm up from the base of your spine to your neck. “Are you ready?” 
“Yes, Father please-“ your words were cut off by his sharp thrust, quickly turning into a rhythm. 
He grabbed hold of your hair, tugging it backwards as you groaned, the pain almost forcing more pleasure upon you. “Beg for forgiveness,” he said, his thrusts unrelenting. “Beg for forgiveness from our God as I defile you in his house, as I claim you as my own. As I pump my seed into your dripping sex.” 
You whined, “please God, forgive me- oh,” you shook as his thrusts had him rubbing against something deep within you that made you see stars. “Please, oh please,” you moaned, “I’ve sinned, please forgive me. I’ve given in to my carnal urges, oh- it feels so good. I want it- I want your seed, Father, please!”
“That’s it,” he twisted your hair harder in his fist, and your eyes shut as you struggled to hold on to the pew, the explosive pleasure hitting you all at once. “Christ!” He shouted as you felt your cunt pulse around him, gripping him tightly. 
You were incoherent as he quickened his pace, each thrust bringing you even more pleasure. Eventually he stopped, and you felt him twitch within you with a shout, your cunt still pulsing around him as he came, as if your body wanted to take it all. 
He pulled out of you slowly, and you felt a drizzle of his cum down your leg. You smiled, shakily moving yourself off the pew. He turned you in his arms, piercing eyes taking in your blissed out state. “My special girl,” he leant forward, pressing a kiss against your head. “You did so very well for me.” 
You smiled, falling into his arms as he led you back up towards the cathedra, gathering your clothes and dressing you. He sat you down in a pew, and mumbled some words of prayer as you laid your head on his shoulder, the dazed smile still there. 
He brought you some water and pulled his car around so he could drive you home. He held his hand on your thigh the way there, giving it a squeeze once you’d arrived. You gave him a kiss on the cheek then opened the door, turning towards your parents’ house. 
“Darling,” he called, and you looked back at him with a questioning glance. “I think we may need to increase the frequency of your confessions.”
You smiled. “Of course Father. You always know best.” 
A/N: Something about a dark, manipulative priest ruins me no I don’t want to get into the psychology behind that
As someone who’s only ever been in a Catholic church twice, I hope I did it justice! 
Thank you as always for reading 🖤
750 notes · View notes
borgchip · a month ago
Tuvok 1D option 1………..? 👉👈 if u want…
Tumblr media
I ABSOLUTELY do want thank u friend (1D)
496 notes · View notes
excessively-queer · 4 months ago
You're such a small, dumb little thing. The second your eyes rested on me, I watched your brain turn to haze with desire. I made you, I can do anything I want with you. You're so helpless and such an airhead, and that's how I always want you. Fawn over me like it's your life's purpose. I promise you're too dumb and pretty to do anything else
866 notes · View notes
blessedsandal · 10 months ago
oh, you're praying to God? he's not gonna fuck you you know
3K notes · View notes
drowprincen · 11 months ago
every time I see those posts using she/her pronouns for God all I can think of is:
diversity win! the terrifying immortal who orchestrates your suffering is a woman!
2K notes · View notes
hell-propaganda · 4 months ago
My gender ISNT between me and god I’m not coming out to that fucker
439 notes · View notes
satanasaeternus · 4 months ago
Tumblr media
485 notes · View notes
muffinlevelchicanery · 4 months ago
Tumblr media
554 notes · View notes
langernameohnebedeutung · 2 months ago
Tumblr media
Bring back viagra guy right now.
336 notes · View notes
grimpriests · 4 months ago
How badly I wish to ruin you. Abuse my position as a priest to take advantage of your faith and belief in Christianity, falsify the holy scripture to lead you into the depths of blasphemous sin. I want to invite you to attend the church at night, promising you that I'd only deliver you a short homily- only to shove you down the altar and have you spread your legs for me so I can have my way with your body. I wonder if you'd beg for God to absolve you off all your sins then, or would you beg for me to pleasure you even more instead?
442 notes · View notes
sanguinebutch · 6 months ago
temptation is a slippery slope, and unfortunately the soles of my shoes have very poor grip.
536 notes · View notes
grim-liturgy · a month ago
You claim to crave salvation, but I see the way your eyes wander. I see the way you gaze so longingly at my hands. I see how you can never seem to meet my gaze, how your eyes never seem to raise past my lips.
Would it help if I made you?
Would it help if I made you kneel before me? If I tied my cincture around your neck? Wrapping that holy cord around my hand until I can force you to tip your head up?
Then you could see the amusement in my gaze as I nudge your legs apart with the toe of my dress shoe, the patent leather pressing right where you need it most.
Would you want a private sermon then? Trying to hold back from grinding against my shoe? Of course, I wont make it easy on you. If I think you're getting a little too distracted I'll have to give the cincture a tug, forcing you up onto your knees before allowing you to settle back down.
You'd better be good sweetheart, or I might forget where I was. If that happens, well, I'll just have to start from the beginning.
You'd like that, wouldn't you?
192 notes · View notes