Steve struggles to breathe around the bulk of Bucky’s cock in his mouth, the head of it lodged firmly in his throat, the position he’s tied in with his chin pressed to his chest not helping the situation at all.
Like every Sunday since Steve and Bucky had stumbled injured and desperate for aid into Saint Sebastian’s Church of the Holy Cross a month ago, Steve and Bucky are bound beneath the pulpit as Father Roderick Donnelly gives his first of two Sunday masses.
Steve hates Sundays.
Well before dawn, Steve and Bucky are cleaned inside and out, their stomachs filled with soapy water until their abdomens bloat grotesquely, until they can do little but hold their bellies as they continue to expand, until they shake and sweat, tears leaking down their faces as their bodies cramp painfully at the unwelcome intrusion. This is repeated again and again, well past the time the water flows clean and clear from their bodies, well past the time that Steve wishes the gag filling his mouth was gone so can beg for it to stop. Worst of all, is that despite the pain, both their cocks stand hard and leaking from the start, their bodies twisted to enjoy the treatment.
It’s only when Father Donnelly get bored with it that he moves onto the next stage. Bucky barely twitches when Father Donnelly pulls out the tentacle creature, a writhing ball of slippery purple-black tentacles, as he feeds it multiple feet into Bucky’s body, his hole blooming open around it before the creature finally disappears within.
Father Donnelly touches Bucky like a pet, and worst is that Steve can see the way he leans into it, likes it. The moment is shattered when the Father brutally twists Bucky’s swollen nipples, yanking hard on the thick hoop rings set deep in each one, forcing tears from his eyes and a pained cry from his throat. One hand presses Bucky’s hair back from his face, an almost gentle touch, before Father Donnelly fists his hand in Bucky’s hair and wrenches his head back, drawing another pained sound from him. “You make such beautiful sounds.”
When the Father’s hand falls to cup Bucky’s balls, Bucky immediately freezes.
Steve sees that they’re still more than a little swollen and bruised from the events of the previous night.
Hand closing tightly round the abused flesh, Bucky makes a choking sound as Father Donnelly begins conversationally, “Did you know that Hydra ensures that I am very well off? They regularly provide me with toys they no longer have use for or toys that their methods cannot break. But they’ve never provided me with specimens as magnificent as you two. The Winter Soldier and Captain America. You are a better than any dream I’ve ever had. Never could they replace you. That is why I won’t be telling them.”
Steve screams around his gag, begs for the Father to leave them alone, but he knows it’s futile. When Father Donnelly finally releases Bucky’s balls, he’s trembling from the pain, but his cock remains hard against his swollen stomach, the movement of the creature within clearly visible. The Father turns and Steve knows that he’s next, his stomach dropping when he sees the size of the creature that the Father is holding. He wants to scramble back, run away, but whatever power that governs this place prevents Steve and Bucky from disobeying its will, even unspoken, is still going strong.
Father Donnelly stretches the mass of the slick monster and lays the length it across Steve’s body, giving him a visual comparison. One end of it rises well above his head and out of sight, and small tendrils break away and probe at the holes it finds in his face. Steve groans in terror as he shakes his head wildly in denial, certain that even he won’t survive one this big.
“Now, now, pet. None of that. You’ve been chosen to help your Lord and Savior grow strong,” Father Donnelly says as he spreads Steve’s legs wide, and pushes them up. “Hold these for me.”
Against his will, Steve’s hands snag behind his knees, keeping his legs spread and exposing himself to whatever the Father wanted to do to him.
“I love how fast you heal,” Father Donnelly says as he tugs the creature down. The tentacles immediately know what to do and begin to press against Steve’s still swollen and puffy hole, a testament to just how much abuse it had gone through the night before. “To think that such perfect pets would walk right into my web. To not have to worry about going too far, to be able to break you again and again, it’s a dream come true.”
By the time Steve and Bucky had realized the danger that they were in, it had been far too late. The words that the Father shouldn’t have known slipping easily from his lips, Bucky’s cup of tea falling to shatter on the ground as he’d slumped forward, and Steve had found himself unable to move. The smile that Father Donnelly had given Steve had made him shiver, the sheer terror that settled over him unsettling and unfamiliar.
Father Donnelly had given nothing away before that moment, had been perfectly congenial, sympathetic, and helpful. He was a large man, tall and thick, his hair salt and pepper, his eyes a piercing green with deep laugh lines in his face, and Steve and Bucky had trusted him. It was the eyes that’s should have been their warning, the poison.
The creature slips deeper still, its body undulating and squirming, and Steve is pulled out of his thoughts as he breaks into a cold sweat, terror shooting hard and heavy through him. The terror isn’t a great as the first time when he though the creature would kill him, eat him from the inside out, burst through his stomach. That’s he’s gotten used to this makes him sick. That he’s never taken one those large makes him worry. That a part of him craves it, wants it, makes him hate himself.
Steve hisses at the ever worsening feeling of uncomfortable fullness, at the increasing sting of his hole as it’s forced to spread around the ever growing width of the tentacles pulling themselves into his body. The sensation is impossible to describe, tens of thousands of cilia inching the creature deeper and deeper. When Steve’s stomach begins to bulge slightly, tears trickle down his face. When it finally sinks completely into him, Steve sobs as he see the way it squirms beneath the skin of his stomach.
When the creature disappears inside him, with no prep Father Donnelly shoves his large fist into Steve gaping hole, his body not even offering token resistance, instead almost eagerly accepting it.
Despite the terror and the pain, Steve burns with shame as his cock throbs hard and greedy, begging for more.
The second fist that Father Donnelly punches into Steve also slips in too easily. Steve hisses, teeth digging into his gag, when Father Donnelly spreads his wrists parted forcing Steve’s hole to spread grotesquely. The flesh stings and Steve is certain that he’s going to rip.
“You’re truly impressive, pet. We’ll have to get you a larger plug so that your quick healing doesn’t ruin all our progress.”
The creature thrashes within Steve, drawing a groan from him as his stomach trembles, the sound drawing out into a shout when Father Donnelly hisses and yanks both his fists out at once. Steve can’t see it, but he can feel it, the way his insides prolapse. There is blood on his hands, and Steve doesn’t know if it’s his or the Father’s.
“As pretty as this picture is, I sadly don’t have the time to appreciate it.” Father Donnelly’s touch is strangely gentle as he pushes Steve’s red guts back where they should be, and somehow this is worse than anything that’s come before it.
Why? Steve wants desperately to ask.
Father Donnelly’s smile is wicked, and he must see the question in Steve’s eyes because he answers. “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” Wrapping his rosary around his hand, he presses against the swell of Steve’s stomach, causing the creature to stretch out and slip deeper still. His smile widens as Steve sobs again as he begins a familiar prayer, “The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake.” Pausing, Father Donnelly reverently caresses the bulge of Steve’s stomach, the cool beads of his rosary a welcome coolness against his heated skin. “Through you both HYDRA will be reborn.”
When the hand presses harder still against his stuffed stomach, Steve’s eyes roll back in his head as his orgasm crashes over him, the pain and pleasure setting him off as his hope continues to fade.
More tears slip down Steve’s face as Father Donnelly offers a second much smaller creature Steve’s cock. His muffled screams of denial are ignored. Please, God, save me from this torment, Steve prays to the God who has so clearly forsaken them.
Accepting the invitation the tentacles quickly slide into the too small hole, the burn making Steve’s want to close his legs against it, but he’s unable to. Afraid to move, Steve can only watch helplessly as its length sinks into his urethra, his urethral burning despite the slickness of the creature, as he’s forced to spread wider than he should, touching places that shouldn’t be touched, reaching places that not even the Father’s favorite sounds could touch. Trembling as the tentacles spread out, some following the path to his bladder, others taking the longer route, forcing his scrotum to swell with its bulk.
The yank on his balls is like a kick to the gut, but a welcome distraction, a heavy metal cuff wrapping around them and forcing them to stretch down painfully. Next come the cylinders that are attached to each of his nipples, each pumped until his flesh stretches disturbingly far away from his body, the mixed pain and pleasure only increasing the ache in his groin.
When the long gag is pulled from Steve’s throat a long trail of drool follows. He wants to turn his head away when the liter of water is tilted against his lips, but instead he drinks until it’s empty and his stomach aches from the added pressure.
The last step is a choke collar fastened securely around each of their necks, and finally ready, Steve and Bucky are led to the chancel, each movement causing a cascade of discomfort. Steve is strapped beneath the pulpit first, forced practically upside down, his head resting on the bottom and his body forced to contort. His shoulders are pressed against the inside front of the pulpit, his calves fastened to his thighs and his hips straining in protest as they are forced back and then secured behind him to the top, bent painfully in a C shape, his ass and genitals on display for whatever Father Donnelly wishes to do with them.
Bucky’s next but he requires no binding. His knees frame Steve’s head as his cock sinks into Steve’s mouth, his balls pressing against Steve’s nose, making it more difficult to breath, his body wedging into the C of Steve’s, their fronts presses together as Bucky’s spine is forced to curve backwards into a painful arch. Steve’s cock and balls fall across Bucky’s face. What’s worse is that their arms are left free at least for the moment, and Steve can’t help but clasping Bucky’s hands in his, taking a small comfort when they curl against his in return.
No one would ever guess that the soft-spoken Father is a sadist, that he wears nothing beneath his cassock, and uses that to his advantage, shoving his cock down Bucky’s throat as he goes through the liturgies with a straight face. None of the Father’s parishioners know the depravities going on right in front of their eyes, the drone of Father Donnelly’s prayers never faltering, even as he empties his balls down Bucky’s throat.
Steve knows this because Bucky comes down his throats seconds later as he’d been taught. Steve knows what’s coming next as well, can hear Bucky’s throat gulp with each swallow of the piss and doesn’t understand how others can’t hear it as well, wondering if the congregation is being controlled just as they are, if someday the Father will tire of subterfuge and fuck them right in front of everyone as he says his prayers.
Steve is thankful that as deep as Bucky is down his throat, he can barely taste it, but he can feel the spreading warming, the uncomfortable fullness as his swollen stomach is forced to accept more. In this position the pressure on his stomach is inescapable and immense. The creature grows within him, forcing his abdomen to bulge even more. But what’s worse is the one down his cock, the increasing weight of his testicles creating an ever worsening ache in his gut.
The cycle is repeated dozens of times throughout the day. Sometimes Father Donnelly just wants a cockwarmer and sometimes he just wants to piss. Sometimes unhappy that they’ve gotten used to the situation, that they no longer choke or gag, he’ll pull on their collars until they can’t breathe, repeating it until their throats swell. Sometimes he forces Steve’s cock down Bucky’s throat instead of his own, and plugged as he is, Steve shakes with denied orgasm after orgasm. Sometimes he crushes Steve’s balls, and sometimes he forces them to hurt each other, fists squeezing around sensitive flesh.
Sometimes the creatures actually fuck them, and Steve’s follows Father Donnelly’s example trying to see how wide it can force his hole to spread. Sometimes the creatures get curious, and Steve will choke and gag as one rises up his throat from the inside—he tries very hard not to think about the impossibility of that—and slides into Bucky’s cock, or Bucky’s body will jerk as they slip out of his ass and probe at Steve’s orifices and slide down his already stuffed throat. They know better than to pass out, that that brief escape will lead to worse afterwards.
No, as the hours tick by Steve is reminded that the worst thing is the ever increasing need to empty his bladder, the position pressing painfully against it, and the liquid he’s forced to ingest never stopping, and the creature in his cock effectively preventing any sort of relief.
Fourteen hours after they were bound, Father Donnelly finally locks and bolts the chapel doors before returning to the pulpit to remove his pets.
Steve’s entire body is one ball of agony, muscles protesting both the position and the movement. But worst of all is his swollen stomach, the creature within him continuing to expand, and his bladder throbbing with the desperate need to pee. He walks behind Bucky who follows Father Donnelly to their room, and Steve trembles, his movements unsteady, his stomach so large before him that his center of gravity has shifted, each step he takes a small victory. As large as the creature is now, he fears its removal.
When the door slams shut behind him, the bolt sliding into place, Steve feels no shame as he sinks to his knees, and desperately nuzzles at the Father’s crotch. “Please, Father,” he whimpers. “Please—I’ll be good—please let me—”
Father Donnelly’s fingers fist in Steve’s hair, yanking his head back. “You’ll be good for me, pet? Do anything I ask of you?”
Careful not to meet his eyes, Steve nods eagerly.
The smile that crosses the Father’s face is slow and wicked, and Steve is too frantic to care.
“Fuck your friend, then you can piss to your hearts content.”
Steve’s eyes snap to Bucky’s kneeing form, to his blank face. He swallows thickly. Father Donnelly had never allowed this, far more interested in watching them hurt each. (Maybe that should have been a clue.) He’s never—he could—
Bucky drops chest to ground, his stomach swollen so large that it hangs beneath him half way to the ground, and reaches back to spread his ass cheeks wide, showing off his abused hole.
“Push it out.”
Steve can see the way Bucky struggles to comply, the way his muscles struggle and finally a number of tentacles slip free. They’re clearly fighting him though, his stomach rippling, and with a startled cry he comes untouched the tentacles escaping back within him again.
Another cry is ripped from Bucky when Father Donnelly moves fast, booted foot slamming into Bucky’s unprotected and already swollen testicles, as he yank Bucky up by his hair and backhands him so hard that his lip splits. “You dare come without permission?”
Bucky doesn’t answer, probably won’t answer, having barely said a word since Father Donnelly triggered him.
Steve lunges forward as fast as his body lets him, takes the second hit meant for Bucky, spitting blood as he prostrates himself. “Please punish me in his stead.”
Father Donnelly’s grip on his chin is deceptively gentle when he pulls Steve’s head up, but Steve knows better than meet his eyes right now. “‘Proud,’ ‘Haughty,’ ‘Scoffer,’ are his names, who acts with insolent pride… Your insolence will not go unpunished.”
Reaching down Father Donnelly yanks both cylinders off his chest, and Steve almost blacks out, breaking out in a cold sweat, each abused nipple a throbbing point of agony, a momentary distraction from the throbbing of his guts and balls. A hard smack on his ass causes him to jump, his insides shifting and sloshing uncomfortably.
“Put on a good show, pets, and I might reconsider the extent of your punishment.”
Steve is loathed to say that he doesn’t hesitate, hates himself as he sinks into too welcoming Bucky’s body with barely a thought. Each movement is hell, yet his cock still aches for release and he knows better than to stop. When the creature in his cock shifts, Steve sobs as he finally comes. No, he realizes with dawning horror, the orgasmic feeling is coming from his shrinking bladder as he fills Bucky’s bloated insides with his piss.
Bucky moans beneath him, a broken sound as his belly swells more, and Steve hates himself because he can’t stop. The squelching sound each of his movements make is obscene. He doesn’t stop when the tentacle in Bucky’s ass surrounds his cock, or when they slip inside and drag out the smaller creature, his cock bulging impossibly, painfully, wonderfully around its exiting bulk, his orgasm following it, coming so hard and so long that he was practically pissing cum.
When his balls and bladder are finally drained, Steve collapse to his rear, leaning his head against Bucky’s hip. The expected flood of cum and piss doesn’t follow, the tentacles effectively plugging Bucky tight. Through half-lidded eyes Steve watches in horror as Bucky’s stomach ripples and begins to swell quickly, somehow growing even larger until Steve’s certain he’ll burst.
“Please—” Steve breaks off as he turns taking in the sight of Father Donnelly masturbating his cock. But that isn’t what draws his attention. No, it’s the massive balls that hang beneath, that have been hidden beneath his cassock all day. Steve wants—Steve wants—Steve shakes his head. This is wrong, but he can’t help the way he crawls forward, stomach almost touching the floor, the way he nuzzles against those balls.
“Present for me, pet.”
Dropping down, Steve’s eyes are locked on Bucky as his reaches back to spread his ass. When Father Donnelly sinks into his body, the creature within him goes wild, seeking out the other.
When Father Donnelly fills him up, Steve can only moan and tremble.
Crawling, slowly, awkwardly, Bucky manages to close the distance between them, wrapping himself around Steve as best he can, an embrace that Steve happily returns.
Father Donnelly baptizes them both with piss before sinking himself into Steve’s mouth who greedily drinks down the fluid.
“Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you, Father Donnelly intones as he presses kisses to both their swollen stomachs. “Soon, my pets. Soon.”
When Bucky latches onto a swollen nipple, Steve groans, unsure if he’s feeling pain or pleasure, but he doesn’t push him away. Even Bucky’s teeth when they close around it only push Steve deeper into a warm sea of contentedness, his hands roaming over Bucky’s form.
Steve loves Sundays.