midnight mass

god, strike me down

(TW: Rape/Non Con Elements/ Dubious Consent)

Your knees dug harshly into the wood of the stairs, probably scraping them so deeply they would bleed. You weren't sure which of the days events had led you to cry hysterically on your knees in front of the alter in the church, but you had a few guesses.

"Please, please, please," you whispered into your interlaced hands, voice clouded with tears, "please God."

You needed punishment for what you had done. You didn't know what, didn't care what God did to you as long as he made you hurt for what you had done.

There were footsteps coming down the aisle toward you now. The mantra you had been saying out loud now only played in your head as the person stopped right behind you.

"Please leave." You thought, although guiltily, not wanting to be rude, but needing to be alone.

The person surprised you by kneeling behind you now, and you startled when they wrapped their arms around yours to lace their hands in yours.

Father Paul

No mistaking those hands. His head came forward and the tip of his nose touched the back of your head, his breath ruffling your hair.

Your tears started again as he whispered a barely illegible prayer into your hair.

His hands travelled up your arms to your shoulders, which he rubbed in what you supposed was meant to be a comforting gesture. They lingered there for a second before they tentatively moved down to grab at your waist.

You tensed hard and the hands moved up and down your sides for a moment. Your mind was racing, but you felt frozen, the only thing you could do was sit there and take it.

After what felt like hours, one of the hands crept slowly down to the hem of your skirt and no sooner than when your gasp escaped you, his other hand slapped itself over your mouth.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as Father Paul's hand fully pushed your skirt up. His free hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you up to stand on your knees as he pushed your panties down.

The hand holding you down left you in favor of pulling his zipper down and for a moment you considered running. But then you looked up, view of the cross clear and you knew this was it. God was working through Father Paul.

This was your punishment.

His cock entered you harshly, but the hand over your mouth muffled the scream. His other hand gripped your hip with a bruising strength as he thrust in and out. The pain was unbearable and sobs racked your body over and over.

When it was finally over and Father Paul had zipped up his jeans and walked away, you stared Jesus on the cross in the eyes, the imprint of Father Paul's rosary dug in your back, your underwear still around your ankles.

You never felt closer to God.