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“Consider,” the demon said, “the grave matter of the Reverend Mister Robert Hopkins.”

This particular demon was called Alpheroth, and the attentive recipient of his rhetoric was his apprentice, Zed. The creatures were at present sitting idle on a low stone wall, scrutinizing the little white parsonage across the lane. If they had cared to make themselves visible to passersby, they could have been mistaken for a pair of young country squires out for an afternoon stroll on a pleasant Sunday in springtime. Both wore well-tailored ditto suits and were handsome, if pale, with golden hair and very white teeth. Someone would need to be standing very close to notice that their shoes fit strangely and the blacks of their eyes did not reflect the light, and by then that might be the least of the observer’s concerns.

Alpheroth continued: “The Reverend Hopkins shines a light of temperance and self-discipline in this dark and fallen world. He is a pillar of the community, a rock of righteousness in the pulpit, and altogether a pious stick in the mud.”

“Ah,” said Zed, dutifully writing all this down in his notebook. “Then the grave matter is in fact that he has committed none.”

“That was the joke, yes. Top marks for indulging your old master’s sense of humor. Now, I am certain you will agree that what we have here is a client of substance. And a client of substance calls for an equally substantial temptation.”

“Oh yes, master.” Zed’s studious expression brightened, and he began flipping pages eagerly. “In fact, I recently made a graph charting the proportionality of—”

Alpheroth confiscated his apprentice’s notebook and turned him firmly by the shoulders to look up the road. A bird-in-hand carriage was cresting the hill, drawn by a smartly trotting bay horse. Few details could be seen of the driver at this distance, but one had the impression of a tall, broadly built man with impeccable posture.

“We have a gift to give the good Reverend,” Alpheroth declared, gesturing expansively. “The only question is: through which door shall we deliver it?”

To his chagrin, Zed had somehow recovered his notebook and was consulting a list. “Well, he certainly sounds like a very accomplished man. He must take a great deal of satisfaction in knowing—”

“Pride? No. The good Reverend even refuses to publish his pamphlets and essays under his own name, lest the messenger distract from the message.”

“Ah. Then surely it must rankle him to see his less humble colleagues make names for themselves—”

“Any right-thinking man would envy them their success, but not our Robert. When he thinks of it at all, he feels sorry that their social obligations must take time away from their work.”

Zed frowned but rallied. “But he must at least notice the financial benefits of their reputations. A speaking tour might provide him a more comfortable—"

"He has a small inheritance, invested wisely," Alpheroth said, making no attempt to hide his glee at puncturing his apprentice's suggestions. It was good for the young to be reminded that they knew nothing. "He employs his income for a modest but comfortable life, with regular donations to the less fortunate."

Zed cast another look at the gig, which was close enough now to glean the presence of an iron gray beard on the driver. "At his age, he must be slowing down and—"

"He remains as strong and vigorous as he was at forty. Besides, for shame, sloth is the lazy demon’s tactic.”

Zed gave himself over to deep thought for several seconds and then jabbed his pencil at the page. "Aha! A man who rails so fiercely against the fallen of society must surely have a great deal of anger in his heart.”

Alpheroth grinned. That wasn’t bad. "Only the most righteous. He upsets a great many people, but few have ever inspired in him the sentiment. His measuring eye is on the forest, not the trees."

Zed's voice hit a note of desperation. "Has he a taste for port? A weakness for tobacco?"

"He's a famous teetotaler and expounds regularly on the topic of clean living."

"But he must have some appetites!" Zed cried.

Alpheroth nodded in approval. "You have put your finger on it, my boy—on the very spot. For while he has enough fowl and fish to keep his stomach full, our Robert has abstained too long from flesh. He's spent half his life a widower, and prior to that only fucked his wife once a week until she finally produced an heir."

"A widower,” Zed murmured, writing that down with the slight truculence of one who would have gotten there on his list eventually. “I see. Then does he perhaps have a comely servant? A married woman or man in his congregation who might draw his eye?"

“Sound thinking, very sound, but I don’t believe we need to look so far afield. Always take advantage of the circumstances at hand, Zed. Write that down."

Zed did so, but blindly, for his gaze had returned the road. Understanding dawned on his face as the gig drew close enough for him to spy its second occupant, who despite being perched on the higher seat behind the driver was small and slight enough to have remained hidden up until now.

"The good Reverend should have kept on pumping for a spare,” Alpheroth said. “His only son died last year, and his daughter-in-law too. Accident at sea. Terrible business. His young granddaughter is called Clara, and she has been living with him ever since."

Clara Hopkins was a lovely little thing with chestnut hair and large dark eyes. The former had been bound into a modest braid beneath her straw hat, and the latter were turned toward the fields that surrounded the parsonage. In her white church dress with clean white gloves and dainty white shoes, she was altogether the picture of youthful innocence.

"Do you see what I mean?" Alpheroth asked.

"Yes, master," Zed said, his voice soft with appreciation and his studious gaze fixed on the picture the two made together: grandsire and grandchild, the man as powerfully built as the girl was small and slim. Somewhere under all that swottiness lay good instinct.

Reverend Hopkins drove his horse and carriage past the demons and up to the gate, where he climbed down to unlatch it. The girl remained seated, watching as a tiny red finch hopped along the fence. Her pink lips parted, and Alpheroth caught a wisp of her yearning to draw her grandfather's attention to the bird and ask him what kind it was. The old man was preoccupied with his own thoughts, however, with such a serious expression on his face that she lost her nerve.

The demons watched the pair for a while longer before dismounting from the wall and following them into the parsonage. Their entrance went unremarked upon, even by the Reverend’s housekeeper, who was bustling through the foyer as they entered. She was a thin, sharp-featured woman who radiated impatience and left a trail of dull, resentful thoughts behind her: how long the potatoes were taking to cook, and whether her daughter would have her family’s supper on the table by the time she went home, and that she had not sought work with a respectable widower to have to listen to the noisy patter of small feet racing up a staircase.

Alpheroth considered this last thought. Indeed, the house was not one that seemed to allow for anyone but Reverend Hopkins. It was plainly furnished and had nothing in the way of decorations or feminine touches. The curtains were dark and heavy, the rugs had been chosen for warmth, and the shelves bore nothing but books.

“Really, it's all for the best,” her said, leaning against the banister and watching young Clara’s skirts flutter as she disappeared upstairs. “Just think of it. The sin will be lust, and incestuous lust, no less. Our good Reverend will get his cock wet for the first time in decades, and in the virgin-tight snatch of his very own granddaughter."

"It would be a tremendous accomplishment, master."

"Tell me, Zed, what steps would you take to guide our Robert to this far more pleasurable future?"

“A dream,” Zed said promptly. “I took note of your feedback on the temptation in Amsterdam, and as instructed I would employ a, quote, light touch, end quote. A properly affecting dream would sow the seeds of lust in his heart and loins before his conscience had any awareness of it. I would then arrange for an incident in his waking hours that would remind him of this dream. Perhaps a latch would fail and he would walk in on his granddaughter in the midst of undressing or bathing herself. Only then would I begin whispering encouragement in his ear.”

"Not a bad idea," Alpheroth said, leaving just enough of a pause to let Zed preen before he added: "Although not a particularly good idea either."

Zed drooped.

"Perfectly good in substance, my boy, but points had to be taken away for style. It cannot be helped. Think, Zed. This isn't a schoolboy with a grimy soul carelessly accruing another streak as he peeks through his sister’s window. This man has built up decades' worth of shining armor since reaching the age of reason. He knows the taste of temptation, and he will remove it from his path if he sees it coming. And if he doesn't send her away in time? If your whispers take root? Then how much is the whisper and how much is the man? No, I will not have anyone critiquing your fine efforts, Zed. I won't stand for it. Someday they will write books about you, and I will have your early work stand up to fiercest scrutiny."

Zed looked at him with stymied affection. He appeared uncertain for a moment, then hesitantly gestured up the stairs to where the girl had skipped off.

Alpheroth clapped him on the back. "Now you're thinking!"

Clara Hopkins' bedroom was a small, plain room that had evidently been shut up empty for years before her arrival and was only now beginning to collect the small signs that attested to a young girl as its occupant. A ragdoll sat on top of the clothes chest, no longer a constant companion but dear enough to be kept in a place of honor. A few pretty stones and dried flowers lined the back of the writing desk. Its drawer held the whiff of a secret, and when he closed his eyes, Alpheroth detected that it was a smuggled book of paper fashion dolls, which Clara feared her grandfather would burn in disapproval.

The darling herself was taking off her church dress, mindful to take care with it lest she get an earful from Mrs. Cooper the housekeeper. She had to struggle with the back buttons as she had no maid or mother to help her, but the dress soon slid off her shoulders, leaving her in a pair of knee-length cotton combinations. A book of morality tales sat on the desk, and Alpheroth gathered she had instructions to read until suppertime, but the room was warm and the morning had been long. Clara looked longingly at the bed.

Alpheroth lowered his voice: "Wouldn't a nap be nice?"

The girl hesitated, biting her lip as she looked back to her book.

"Nothing wrong with a nap, my dear. You're a growing girl. Your mind will be sharper for studying if you rest your eyes."

At that age they needed no convincing, only permission. Clara hung up her dress and put her gloves and shoes away. She then sat on the edge of the bed and removed her stockings, a process both demons observed with interest. Her legs bare and toes curling in pleasure, she lay back on the counterpane with a pretty sigh. The bed was no great indulgence, its mattress firm and covers thin, but it must have felt like one after hours in a hard pew.

Alpheroth went to the window and surreptitiously slid it open. The smell of spring drifted in, warm with afternoon sun and green with new shoots. The soft stir of air raised tiny goosebumps on the girl's arms, and Alpheroth returned to the bed and sat next to her. He stroked her chestnut hair, his touch no heavier or colder than the breeze. He ran a fingertip along those goosebumps, making her shiver, then traced the neckline of her chemise.

"Oh, I say. Isn't that interesting?"

Her nipples had hardened, just visible through the thin white cotton. Alpheroth's fingertip continued its path, down her breastbone to her navel. The girl bit her lip and gave a little wiggle. If she had paused to think about it, that motion would have easily explained the way her chemise strap happened to slip down one shoulder.

"They've been sensitive lately, haven't they?" Alpheroth murmured. "How strange. Why don't you have a peek?"

He let the thought sit with her for several seconds, waiting patiently as he retraced back and forth that path between belly and breast. Finally, with a glance toward the tightly shut door, Clara nudged the other strap off her shoulder and looked down at herself in shy curiosity.

Alpheroth smiled at Zed. "Now aren’t those a pretty pair?"

The girl's breasts were only just budding, more pointed than round, and they were capped with tight little coral-pink nipples.

Zed nodded, staring.

Alpheroth’s fingertip moved lower than her navel this time, pausing just above her mound. "Go on, Clara. They want to be touched."

Clara hesitantly stroked the swell of her little breast. When she reached her nipple, she gasped softly and reflexively squeezed her thighs together.

"Did that give you a little tingle down there?"

Her hand stilled.

Alpheroth leaned closer, whispering in her ear. "What was that? Shall we try it again?"

She stroked her other breast as if testing to make sure it hadn’t been a fluke. Once again her thighs tightened.

"Does that feel nice, my dear? I think it does. I think it’s giving you a funny little tingle between your legs."

A healthy blush bloomed in her cheeks as she kept on lightly caressing herself, her gaze fixed on her nipples as they puckered up and darkened. Her straight white teeth pressed into her lower lip, and she gave a restless squirm as the pleasure obviously spread through her.

"Oh yes, certainly a tingle. What would happen if you touched yourself down there, I wonder?"

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought.

"It's all right, my dear," Alpheroth said. "It’s perfectly natural. No different from washing in the bath, now is it?"

She hesitated, squirming again. Then, her heart beating harder, she reached down and slipped a curious finger through the open seam in her drawers.

Alpheroth tilted his head for a better peek and gleefully reported to Zed: “Still bare.”

Zed wrote this down.

“There we go, Clara. Doesn’t your bare cunny feel good? Smooth and hot...a sweet little slit that your finger fits just right.”

Her hips trembled, and she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling as her hand explored.

"Is it wet down there?" Alpheroth knew very well that it was, catching the honey-gold scent of innocent lust on the air. "What does that taste like, do you think?"

Zed had still been scribbling with his pencil. The sound abruptly stopped when Clara withdrew a glinting finger and brought it to her lips. Her tongue darted out for a taste.

"It tastes nice, doesn't it? Salty like the sea. Let's see if we can make some more."

Alpheroth gently took her by the wrist, exerting no more pressure than might have been mistaken for whim. He guided her hand back down, over her drawers this time, and showed her to rub her mound.

"Oh!" she cried softly, then immediately threw herself onto her belly to hide her face in the pillow.

Alpheroth held her arm where it was. "There you have it, my dear. You already know what to do."

From there, instinct had it. Clara frotted against her hand, slowly at first and then with growing desperation as she gave herself much more than a tingle. Alpheroth stroked her back and her pert little backside, showing her the rhythm until she came with quaking thighs.

"See, Zed? There is nothing you need to convince them of that their bodies don’t want to do.”

"And now, master?" Zed asked, staring at the girl, who was lying on the bed with flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids, trying to catch her breath.

"Now? We let nature take its course."


Always one to give credit where credit was due, Alpheroth felt there was occasionally something to be said for the way those upstairs operated. They never forced and rarely meddled. To be fair, they didn’t have to, having gotten to set the rules. Nonetheless, they took an admirably long view, setting matters in motion and then simply sitting back and watching. Alpheroth felt that his own kind were prone to being overzealous.

He and Zed looked in on the parsonage several times over the next few weeks, in between business back at the home office and other minor matters of temptation in the surrounding area. Quite often, young Clara was to be found alone in her room in some state of undress, having independently discovered the pleasure of a pillow beneath her in addition to that of her hand. The Reverend was generally to be found at work in his study. On one particular visit, however, both granddaughter and granddaughter were passing the evening together in the parlor.

"What a cozy scene," Alpheroth said.

The room was more of a library than a place for guests, arranged for one man and his armchair rather than tea and conversation. Reverend Hopkins was ensconced in said armchair and had evidently been chipping away at a brick of a philosophy book before nodding off in front of the fire. Clara sat next to him on the footstool, an embroidery project in hand.

She had not gotten up, despite the light now being too low for even her young eyes to work by. Alpheroth caught the sense that she did not wish to wake her grandfather and be sent to bed.

He crouched down next to her and followed her gaze up to the old man’s sleeping features. “He’s handsome, don’t you think.”

Imposing was the word that came more readily to Clara’s mind, but he knew she agreed. The Reverend was a powerful figure, tall and broad-shouldered, and his stern profile was one that Clara had seen on Jove himself in her mother’s book of Roman artwork.

"A very respectable man," Alpheroth agreed, two steps ahead on the path her thoughts were taking.

She was thinking of another dimly lit night, one almost a year prior. The train that had taken her here shortly after the loss of her parents. The awful, coarse men who had tried to make conversation with her when she was feeling very frightened and alone.

“Your grandfather isn’t coarse at all, is he? He’s exactly the kind of upright man a girl should want to marry someday.”

Her cheeks colored.

"He isn't so imposing when he's sleeping, now is he?"

Clara shook her head minutely. After a moment, she set her embroidery aside and laid a hand on the arm of the chair. Safe to observe without being observed, she really looked the man: his full head of iron grey hair, the temporary softness of his mouth and brow, his powerful chest. Her gaze then dropped to his lap, where she would have liked very much to sit if she were still a little girl. There it lingered, an emerald flash of fascination on the air as she considered the bulge that was notably different from what she had been exploring between her own legs.

"What do you think he has there?" Alpheroth asked.

Clara knelt up on the footstool for a better look.

"Is he hiding something interesting, I wonder? It looks big."

That flash of fascination returned, even brighter this time.

"It's all right," Alpheroth said. "You could get away with having a feel. He's fast asleep."

Cautiously, carefully, the girl reached out. Her slim hand hovered over her grandfather's lap for a moment. Then, as lightly as a bird, it settled on the Reverend Hopkins' sizeable cock.

"Can you feel it? What kind of shape is that?"

Her fingers curled. She stiffened in alarm.

"It's like a serpent, isn't it? Don't worry, it won't bite. That would be silly. You certainly aren’t a silly little girl anymore, are you?"

Clara relaxed slightly, although Alpheroth could hear her quickening pulse and smell the sharp but pale scent of mingled nervousness and arousal.

"I think it likes you petting it like that. Poor serpent, no one to pet it for years, let alone a beautiful girl like you. Poor old Grandfather."

The Reverend’s cock did indeed like getting petted. Slipped from its sleeping master’s lead, it eagerly swelled under the unfamiliar touch. The fabric of the Reverend’s trousers began to strain, prompting a rusty groan from above.

Clara snatched her hand back immediately, pressing her thighs together against the tingle she felt as she sat back down on her bottom. When her grandfather opened his eyes, she was pricking out the border of a violet on her handkerchief.

The Reverend looked about in confusion, his gaze darting down before turning to Clara.

"What are you still doing up?" he said, his voice gruff with sleep and embarrassment as he slid his book over his lap. "It’s almost ten o’clock. You ought to be in bed."

"Yes, Grandfather," Clara squeaked, leaping up at once and only too happy to dash upstairs and reunite with her pillow.


"Write this down, Zed. There is nothing you or I can do short of bodily possession that comes close to rivalling the force of youthful curiosity."

Zed wrote this down.

They had the opportunity to observe the maxim in action over the course of the next few days as Clara Hopkins tried and failed to get the thought of her grandfather's cock out of her head. Of course, she was too innocent to even know for certain that a cock was what it was. She only knew that it was something very different than what she had down there, something that had been interesting to touch, something sensitive that had made her grandfather utter a sound she had never heard from him before.

"Should we arrange a broken latch, master? Or a dream? I've written a first draft of what I think is quite a good script—"

"Hush, Zed. Listen."

Zed hushed and listened. Off in the far distance, beyond the perception of human ears, came the rumble of thunder from a storm hanging over the neighboring village.

"I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Alpheroth smiled. "Just wait, impatient one."

Things moved slowly out in this part of the countryside, but the humidity was building up by the time grandfather and granddaughter put themselves to bed that evening, and the storm struck at midnight. Alpheroth and Zed were standing at the foot of Clara's bed when a flash of lightning startled her awake. She sat upright and hugged herself, looking very pitiful in her oversized night dress, which was a hand-me-down from the housekeeper’s youngest daughter.

Alpheroth watched silently, letting the girl keep company with her uneasiness until the accompanying rumble of thunder made her shiver. Then he suggested, kindly, "Do you think the storm's woken up Grandfather?"

Clara seized on this thought, needing little encouragement to get out of bed and seek company. Her bare feet made hardly a sound as she crept out of her room and down the corridor to the master bedroom. She first listened at the door and then peeped through the keyhole. There were no sounds and no light.

"Perhaps he can't find his matches," Alpheroth said. "You certainly wouldn't be able to hear him moving around with how hard the rain is falling. You should go inside."

She hesitated. Her feet remained rooted and her hands hung at her sides. Alpheroth was about to press when he unexpectedly found himself beaten to it.

Zed cleared his throat. "Clara. Do you remember...when you were small, and your parents would let you climb into their bed during a thunderstorm?"

"Oh, well done," Alpheroth murmured.

Clara’s hand was soon on the door handle, turning it quickly and quietly before slipping inside with the demons following after her. She took each step as softly as a cat, one and then another, her eyes fixed on the sleeping form of her grandfather. He was lying on his back in the large bed, one arm thrown over his eyes against the yellow-gray light of the storm and the other outflung beside him. Clara’s thoughts battled each other in noisy indecision over whether she wanted him to wake up on the spot and reassure her or stay asleep so that he could not turn her away.

“Asleep, I think.” Alpheroth stepped up to the head of the bed and passed his hand over the old man’s brow. “We don’t want to give away the game just yet.”

One more step brought her to the bedside. Her breathing was audible in between the cold drops of rain on the windowpane. Then she lifted the covers and climbed in beside her grandfather.

"There," Alpheroth said. "Isn't that lovely and warm?"

That last word lingered in the girl's mind; he could hear the echo of it. She was aware of how warm her grandfather was, and how close he was, far closer than he’d ever been before, save in the brief moments when he helped her down from the carriage or hurried her through a doorway with a hand between her shoulder blades. She thought about the way he had fallen asleep in his armchair in the parlor, and the flickering fire, and the strange thing between his legs.

Alpheroth leaned close to her ear and whispered: "Just one peek. No one will ever know."

This was all the permission her hungry curiosity need. She lifted the blankets. Her grandfather did not stir. He was wearing a nightshirt, and excitement bubbled up in her at the novelty of seeing him in anything other than the full suit he wore most days or the robes he wore at church. The night shirt naturally came to his knees, but it had ridden up slightly in the course of tossing and turning. It took no effort at all for Clara to pull it up just a little more and reveal what lay between his legs.

"Oh, Reverend," Alpheroth purred. “Not bad at all."

Clara stared. The organ of generation to which she ultimately owed her existence was large even at rest. It lay on the Reverend’s thigh, emerging from black curls, and Clara clearly thought to herself that it really did look like a snake.

“What do you think it feels like?” Alpheroth asked, but the question was hardly necessary.

The girl was already reaching out. She touched the thick root of it, stroking down to where the foreskin covered the head.

Alpheroth nearly cooed. “It’s soft, isn’t it? Who’d have thought there was anything soft about him?”

The girl’s gaze flitted anxiously to her grandfather’s face, but she nodded absently.

“It’s thick too. Do you think your fingers can fit around it?”

They could not, even when that formidable cock was at rest and certainly not when it started to rise. Clara’s lips formed around a breathy ‘oh’.

“It’s all right,” Alpheroth said. “That just means he likes you. Why don’t you pet it some more?”

The girl did so, her expression one of rapt attention as her grandfather’s cock continued to rouse under her touch, jerking upwards and swelling until it was as thick around as her wrist. Her worried glances upward grew fewer and farther between as she became entranced by the way the foreskin moved, by the way the flushed glans peeked out, and finally by the wet drop that blurted out from the tip.

“Look, you’ve made it wet. Good show. Does that stuff taste nice like yours, do you think?”

Clara licked her lips. She dabbed at the clear fluid with one fingertip that returned hurriedly to her mouth. The girl had a very promising future, judging by the way her eyes closed in pleasure at the salty taste. She shifted slightly where she sat, and Alpheroth could smell her cunt getting wet too. He pressed his lips to her temple and stroked her from throat to mound, seeding a wicked thrill of thirst and satisfaction all at once. It never hurt to augment natural inclination.

Her pupils expanded, and she shook as that thrill coursed through her every nerve. Her hand trembled as she felt the crisp, dark curls with renewed interest and then, with a shy, light touch, chanced a curious caress of the round stones that hung below her grandfather’s cock. Then she once again tried to see how well her fingers fit around the shaft, thumb and middle finger still quite far apart as she slid the foreskin back and forth.

Alpheroth threw a wink at Zed before murmuring in Clara’s ear: “I think it would like some kisses.”

Even an ageless reprobate such as himself was nearly moved to moaning as the girl leaned forward with parted lips. She dropped a tender kiss on the glans, and Alpheroth took her hand and showed her how to grasp the shaft more firmly and stroke it up and down.

“Like this, my dear. There. He likes that. Now give it another kiss.”

She did so, lavishing it with affectionate pecks as her small fist steadily pumped. Her other hand groped at herself, pressing between her legs as her arousal grew too forceful to ignore. Alpheroth sat behind her, taking some of her weight and guiding her caresses there as well, crooking her fingers to vigorously polish her little pearl as she kissed and rubbed her grandfather’s cock. The Reverend was well and truly leaking now, his long-neglected workings slicking up the way for an almighty spunk-up. Clara’s tongue darted out for another taste of the liquid, straight from the source this time.

“Zed, my boy, I think we may have a natural born cocksucker on our hands.”

“Yes, master,” Zed agreed fervently, his pencil scratching notes in a frenzy.

Alpheroth breathed in that honey-gold scent, licking his lips. “Grandfather’s cock tastes nice, doesn’t it? All wet and salty like your cunny. Is there more in there? Why don’t you try to suck it out?”

Frigging herself desperately, the girl was too lust-struck to question the thought. Her lips fixed around the head of her grandfather’s cock and she licked the slit, which was all the slumbering Reverend needed to give a shuddering breath and find his release. The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, but Alpheroth murmured soothingly to her.

“Oh, that’s good. Swallow it down like a good girl. He likes that. Don’t you like that?”

Clara gulped, swallowing down the full measure of spunk. The shock of its taste and volume seemed to break her entrancement. Her hands stilled. She looked at her grandfather’s face in apprehension, but the old man slept on. The scent on the air shifted rapidly: lingering lust, fear, and then the tentative satisfaction of having gotten away with something she suspected was very wicked.

She watched as her grandfather’s cock slowly softened. The night shirt was pulled down and the blankets replaced. Then she backed out of the room just as quietly as she had entered and hurried back to her own bedroom where—heedless of the rest of the storm’s light and sound—she shoved her pillow under her hips and rode it breathlessly to two orgasms with the taste of her grandfather’s come still fresh in her mouth.


Alpheroth allowed success to embolden the girl, and with the strange pleasure she had so recently discovered, Clara required little encouragement. She watched her grandfather closely the next morning, her palms sweating and her heart pounding, but he gave no sign of disturbance beyond an air of preoccupation. Few things were as intoxicating to youth as the knowledge that they could get one over on their elders.

He shared this observation with Zed and then added: “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I should think not, master.”

From then on, Clara crept into her grandfather’s bedroom every night it rained to pet the serpent and slake her thirst. Happily, it was a wet spring in more ways than one. Reverend Hopkins, for his part, carried forward nothing but the impression of unsavory dreams. He had taken to waking anxiously in the morning, checking his nightshirt for signs of the nocturnal emissions plagued him in his younger days. However, with no more evidence the phantom sensation of release in his loins, he continued about his life with no changes to his routine.

It was a proper downpour the night that Alpheroth decided a little escalation was in order. Clara had taken herself to her grandfather's bedroom and had teased him with her hands and her mouth until he was hard as steel. She was squirming often as she played, and Alpheroth could smell her cunt getting good and hot.

"I have an idea," he whispered in her ear. "Why do you need to go rub off on your pillow when Grandfather is right here?"

Clara paused in her stroking. Her head tilted to one side as she fully considered her grandfather’s straining endowment.

"Don't you think it would feel good?” Alpheroth asked, idly teasing one her nipples through her night dress. “His cock's so nice and warm, and it looks like it's made to fit between your cunny lips if you spread them open."

The girl squirmed again and bit her tongue.

"It would be just like riding a pony, only his cock would give you a much nicer tickle."

Clara hesitantly raised her night dress up around her hips. Her bare cunt looked like a ripe peach, glinting with juices where it was split.

Alpheroth whistled softly and glanced at Zed. “Now that’s a piece of forbidden fruit, all right.”

Zed nodded, sounding rather breathless as he muttered back a hushed “Yes, master.”

The girl carefully straddled her grandfather’s hips. Her cunt made a faint wet sound as her legs spread wide. She lowered herself down uncertainly, and her breath caught when the good Reverend’s upstanding cock brushed against her.

"There we go, my dear,” Alpheroth murmured, wrapping an arm around her middle to steady her. “Don't worry, you won't hurt it as long as it lies flat. Just rub against it a little."

Her eyelashes fluttered as the lips of her cunt enveloped the shaft, and the first rocking of her hips made her mouth drop open.

"Doesn't that feel good? So big and hard."

She nodded, her eyes fully shut in bliss and she rocked again. Her juices left her grandfather's cock glinting as she frotted against him. Her thoughts spun dizzily in the air as she realized neither her pillow nor her own hand could make her throb like this.

“That’s right, my dear. Nothing but the best for you. Nothing will ever make your cunt feel as good as Grandfather’s cock.”

The girl rocked her way to one sopping wet and shuddery peak and kept on going, her fingers clutching at the bedclothes as she gasped.

Alpheroth looked at Zed. "It seems a shame to make our Robert miss out on all this fun, don’t you think?”

Zed’s voice had mustered itself back to fervency. “Oh yes, master.”

The Reverend did not awaken instantaneously when a long, pale hand on his brow lifted the full weight of sleep from him. He only sighed and stirred, his hips beginning to move instinctually as a long-buried urge unearthed itself. The old man’s mind might have labored under ignorance, but his cock knew that it had been getting something good these last few weeks and it wanted very much to get it again. Clara herself was lost to the world, chasing down another thrill and trying not to make a sound.

That was when her grandfather blearily opened his eyes.

Lightning lit up the room. It wasn’t Alpheroth’s doing, but he wished that it was and made a mental note to lie and tell Zed that it had been. Both demons watched in excitement, considering the sight from the Reverend’s point of view: his lovely granddaughter in her pretty white night dress, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders and her lips parted, sitting astride his hips, hot and wet where her most shameful place pressed naked to his.

"What are you—my God—"

He was now as awake as it was possible for a man to be, staring at Clara in lost incomprehension. Was it a dream, his thoughts begged of the darkness, the desperation of it clawing at the air and playing to Alpheroth’s ears like sweet music. Was it a dream? It must be a dream.

“Shhh,” Alpheroth whispered into Clara’s ear, suffocating the anxiety that had tried to rise up in her. He stroked her from her belly to her mound, returning her focus where it belonged. “It’s all right. Keep on moving. He likes it.”

"Clara," the Reverend croaked, too desperately aroused to think straight and too frightened to lay a hand on her, even to push her away. What if he hurt her? What if she screamed? What if the neighbors heard and burst through the door to find him like this? No one would believe him. No one would ever believe him.

Alpheroth licked his lips. It was all too delicious.

"Look at that, my dear. You have his full attention now. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

She smiled at her grandfather, and something bloomed in her soul as she realized the power she held. No longer was she sitting alone in her room with her needlepoint and her morality tales, addressed only when she was quizzed on the bible or shepherded to church. Beneath her was the man who loomed largest in her life, and he was staring at her like she was the only thing in the world.

“I think he’d like to see more of you, Clara.”

Up came the bottom of her night dress. Down dropped the helpless gaze of the Reverend to the obscene picture of her bare little mound and the head of his own thick cock emerging from between her nether-lips. Clara pulled her night dress over her head entirely, and the Reverend’s attention was pulled with it to the tiny breasts he’d had no suspicion were budding. Her smooth nakedness all but glowed, holding for her grandfather as much danger and beauty as the lightning.

"Look at that,” Alpheroth crooned. “He can't stop staring at you. You’ve made him so hard. He can hardly speak with how good your cunt is making him feel."

Clara gave a slow frot, no longer needing to swallow down the high, soft cry that took flight when the head of her grandfather’s cock gave her pearl a good polish. The Reverend’s hands rose in feeble protest, and perhaps his half-hearted push might have been enough to unseat such a small, slight girl, but Alpheroth held Clara firm. No second effort came.

“Tell your grandfather how much you like this, Clara.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “I like this.”

Alpheroth savored the look of horror that twisted the Reverend’s features.

"Tell him how much you like his big fat cock.”

She bit her lip as she wiggled. “Your thing feels so good between my legs. It’s so big. It makes me all wet down there.”

The Reverend made a wretched sound in his throat.

“That’s right, my dear. Tell him all about your wet little cunny.”

Clara was climbing up to another peak, thinking only with the throbbing of her cunt. “I—oh, I get all hot and tingly when I think about you. I get wet, and then when I—mm, rubbing makes it wetter—”

"Oh God in Heaven,” the Reverend gasped. “Clara, no, stop."

"He doesn't mean it,” Alpheroth assured her. “Can you feel his cock pounding. He's going to feel so much better when you make him spurt again. Here it comes."

Perhaps the Reverend’s protestations would bring him comfort later, but all Alpheroth cared about was that thought did not translate to deed. The man was physically capable of wrestling his granddaughter off him. That was what mattered. He had on his side the strength and authority to put a stop to this grievous perversity, and time enough—the tick of a certain celestial clock upon whose mechanics the engines of culpability depended—for the decision of inaction to be tallied against his immortal soul.

Zed leaned forward in breathless anticipation, pencil and notebook held at the ready. Alpheroth did not, confident in the quality of his own work.

Clara frigged herself against her grandfather’s cock with mounting vigor, her little gasps like hiccups as she whipped herself up to a frenzy. The Reverend had done himself no favors with his celibacy, his will so cruel a master that his flesh now openly rebelled. He stared transfixed as Clara’s back arched and her budding breasts were thrust forward, as her head dropped forward, and as she moaned a lustful melody.

He did not push her away, no. Instead, his hips lifted up and he came on his stomach with a long, tortured groan.

Alpheroth smiled. “Oh my. What a mess.”

To his delight, Clara dreamily ran her finger through her grandfather’s seed and licked it off. She caught her grandfather’s terrified stare and smiled sweetly at him. “It tastes nice. Like the sea.”

The old man continued to stare at her, frozen in place.

"Can I sleep here with you?" Clara asked.

His fear flooded the room with thoughts of Mrs. Cooper arriving in the morning to find the girl here with him. What would she think? What would she say? Who would she tell, and how soon would the law turn up at his door, and what would they print about him in the newspapers? Tears began to well up in his eyes.

Clara, obviously misinterpreting his silence, huffed impatiently in a manner she never would have dared to a week before. “All right, may I sleep here with you?”

“No,” the Reverend blurted out, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. Not tonight.”

"See?" Alpheroth asked Clara. "He isn't fearsome at all. You'll just have to ask him again later. Then he’ll say yes."

"All right, Grandfather," Clara agreed, humoring him.

"Now give him a kiss goodnight."

She leaned forward and kissed her grandfather on the cheek.

Alpheroth laughed softly. "You can do better than that."

Her eyes holding both shyness and mischief, Clara pressed another kiss to her grandfather’s lips this time. A thought burst forth that his mustache tickled. She giggled and slipped back into her night dress before climbing off him.

“Goodnight, Grandfather.” With that, she returned to her room where she climbed into her own bed and enjoyed a very satisfied sleep.

The Reverend meanwhile lay stunned in the darkness for several full minutes after she was gone. He seemed largely unaware of the time passing, although Alpheroth suspected from his nervous glances downward that he could feel his granddaughter’s juices drying on his cock. When the man seemed at last convinced that he was not going to wake from this dream, he rose from his bed and washed his cock with a rough flannel and the cold water that sat in the basin. He then knelt down and folded his hands together so hard the whites of his knuckles showed, and pressed his forehead to the floorboards. He spent the rest of the night praying, but the results flickered weakly in the air, dull as brass, already losing their fire.


The good Reverend made a valiant effort to remove himself from the path of temptation, whether his own or his granddaughter’s. He left the house before Clara awoke the next morning, taking the horse and bird-in-hand and leaving behind a note for Mrs. Cooper’s benefit explaining that he would be working at the church all day and would need no consideration.

His church was only a small one, with six rows of pews, a pulpit, and a cramped office. The building was empty, as it always was save for Sunday and Wednesday services and the cleaners’ hours. Reverend Hopkins shut himself up inside and sat in the front pew, in the stuffy warmth of the early hours, watching as the rising sun shone through the stained glass windows, casting jagged fingers of yellow and red along the floor.

He lay down and tried to sleep. He knelt and prayed. He paced the floor, seizing upon and discarding ideas one by one. What had come over her? What had come over him? Should he send her away at once to school—and where, and how? Should he pack a bag and flee—and where, and how?

Hopelessness descended over the man, and all throughout the morning and afternoon fear gnawed at him when he thought about what was being said and thought about him back home in his absence.

“Will he stay here all night, master?”

Alpheroth, leaning against the pulpit, shook his head. “He has strength of character, our Robert. For the time being, at least. He would rather know for certain that his life is ruined than live with the uncertainty.”

So it was that with a wary set of his once-straight shoulders, the Reverend once again hitched horse to carriage and made his way back to the parsonage before it was time for supper. Inside the house, he was greeted with nothing but a superficial smile and the usual fawning from Mrs. Cooper, and with some small relief he excused himself to his study.

Clara, having heard his arrival, skipped eagerly down the stairs. Her face fell when she saw the study door closing.

“Poor Grandfather,” Alpheroth told her. “He’s determined to be lonely, and we can’t have that. You’ll just need to try harder.”

She hesitated only an instant, her half-step back suggesting that she had been forbidden from going in there at some point. However, she had recently discovered that rules were much more flexible and fragile things than such an obedient girl had ever imagined. She waited only until she was certain Mrs. Cooper was back in the kitchen and then let herself in after her grandfather.

The Reverend looked up sharply, preparing a rebuke for his housekeeper for entering with knocking. The words died on his lips when he saw his granddaughter.

"Clara, I—you mustn't be in here."

The girl shut the door behind her and leaned back against it. She wore a pale blue jumper dress with a white blouse, and she had tied a blue bow in her hair. The Reverend was not a man who made a habit of noticing what his granddaughter wore as long as it seemed clean and respectable, but Alpheroth was aware that he was noticing now.

"Oh please, Grandfather,” Clara begged. “Can't I sit in here with you? I'm lonesome."

"No," the Reverend said firmly, tearing his gaze away from her striped stockings. "You must go to your room and stay there."

Clara’s eyes widened and her lip wobbled. "Are you cross with me? Please don’t be cross with me, Grandfather. I’d cry if you were."

Alpheroth did not even need to read the old man’s thoughts. His face said it all plainly enough as he looked worriedly past the girl as if he could see through the door. What would Mrs. Cooper say if Clara ran from his study crying. She would surely question the child, would she not? What would Clara say if she did? That Grandfather wouldn’t pay any attention to her? That he had paid a great deal of attention to her last night in his bed and now he was being mean?

"All right,” the Reverend quickly relented. “You may sit with me, but only for a—"

He obviously realized too late that there was only one chair in his humble study. Clara was already hurrying around the desk and soon hopped up into his lap, beaming at her own initiative. She seemed oblivious to his fear, happy only to have him looking at her and speaking to her so carefully.

Alpheroth saw the Reverend’s face freeze as she wiggled in his lap, making herself comfortable.

"What are you writing?" Clara asked, examining the papers on the desk.

"A sermon."

"Oh. What is it about?”

The Reverend closed his eyes. “Repentance.”

“Oh,” Clara said again. This time when she wiggled, it was more deliberate, evidently liking the solid feeling of her grandfather’s thigh between her legs.

His breath caught in his throat. "You mustn't do that."

Clara frowned. "Why?"

"Because it is very wicked. Very evil."

She seemed to consider this with the natural skepticism of one who had been told that paper fashion dolls and novels were evil. "But doesn't it feel good?"

The Reverend was an honest man. He said nothing.

"Mrs. Cooper gave me two of her daughter’s old ribbons. They were too frayed to wear in my hair, but I sewed them onto my stockings. Would you like to see?”

Her grandfather shook his head, but Clara was already pulling up her skirt and the legs of her drawers to reveal her garters and the bare skin of her thighs. The ribbons were pink, sewed neatly across the tops of her stockings and tied into tiny bows at the front. They were a charming sight, in Alperhorth’s opinion.

"Do you like them?” Clara asked.

“Very—” The Reverend faltered, pulling her skirt down firmly. “Very industrious.”

Clara smiled at the compliment. "Would you kiss me again?"

"No. That isn’t—"

She caught on quickly, and she was well aware of what had gotten her this far. “I’ll cry if you don’t. I’ll cry like my heart’s broken.”

The Reverend looked helplessly around the room as though something might come to his rescue before understanding that in this, he had no allies. “One kiss?”

Clara nodded, looking delighted with this game. “One kiss. Only it has to be on the lips. It doesn’t count if it it isn’t on the lips.”

The girl turned her face up toward her grandfather, eyes closed. Alpheroth could hear the old man’s heart pounding and taste the shame radiating off him like a fever as he leaned down to give his granddaughter her kiss. Their lips touched. Both man and girl trembled.

Alpheroth smiled. "Wasn’t that nice, Clara? You should let him know much you liked it."

Clara wiggled once more. "That made me all wet again."

The Reverend drew back as if burned, but seated as he was with Clara in his lap, there was no place to escape.

Alpheroth very gently clasped Clara’s knees and spread them further apart. "It's only fair he touches you after all the times you've touched him."

"Will you rub me down there?” Clara asked. “Pretty please? I'll cry if you don't."

"Clara, you need to be quiet—”

The Reverend meant, of course, that she needed to stop saying such things. Clara, however, took this as a condition of service and nodded amiably.

"I won’t make a sound, I promise. I’m good at keeping quiet. You never woke up for the longest time.”

"That isn't—I don't—"

Alpheroth took her hand and guided it to her grandfather's, which was clutching the edge of the desk as if for dear life. The girl did the rest, prying it loose with a giggle and bringing it up her skirt to the open seam of her drawers. The Reverend's expression was agonized as he did what he was bid.

“Now isn’t that a good look on him, Zed? He’s never touched a bald one, you know. Or one this wet, for that matter. I’m afraid the late Mrs. Hopkins never took to the marital act. There he goes, feeling along that hot little slit, and oh…”

Clara gasped.

Zed stood on his toes to peer over the desk. “Penetration?”

“Into virgin territory,” Alpheroth confirmed. “She’s so wet it just slipped in. It’s been a long time for our Robert, but the flesh has a long memory. Look at his face. He knows exactly how tight she would feel around his cock.”

"Oh," Clara whispered as her grandfather’s finger pressed deeper. "That feels funny."

Startled back to his senses, the Reverend tried to withdraw his hand, but Clara clamped her legs shut around it and held him there.

“I like it,” she said, squeezing tight around her grandfather’s finger.

Alpheroth patted her head. “I should think so. Your grandfather has good hands, doesn’t he? So big and warm. The best way to thank him for touching you so nicely is to get his hand all wet.”

Clara arched back against her grandfather’s broad chest, grinding up into the heel of his hand as she kept it trapped between her thighs. The Reverend could only watch in mounting panic and arousal as she rocked her hips, fucking his finger and frotting harder and harder. True to her word, she kept quiet save for her heavy breathing and the rustle of her dress against his waistcoat and trousers. When she came, his sense of touch seemed to know before his eyes or ears.

“I think her little cunt’s fluttering like a butterfly,” Alpheroth commented. “And his eyes just widened. I think she just drenched him, don’t you?”

Zed had to clear his throat softly before he could speak. “I believe so, master.”

Alpheroth would have been very glad to observe this pretty picture as long as it lasted, but at that moment a voice rang out from elsewhere in the house:

"Miss Clara? You come down here and set the table!"

He glanced through the door and saw the housekeeper standing at the bottom of the stairs, calling up to where she expected the girl to be. Clara clambered down from her grandfather’s lap, flushed and bright-eyed. She straightened her skirt and looked down with great interest at where the Reverend’s cock was tenting his trousers.

“I need to go set the table,” she said before leaning forward and giving her stunned grandfather another peck on the lips. “I’ll rub your thing later, though. That way it’s fair.”

She then left the study with decided gaiety in her steps and reported to Mrs. Cooper for her chores. The Reverend was left behind with her juices on his fingers, unable to clean himself beyond a wipe of his handkerchief until his ferocious erection subsided. He would remember little of dinner beyond the vague impression of his granddaughter’s innocent chattering, but he would swear afterward that he had dug out the key to his bedroom door and locked it that night.

It made no difference.


"If I were so presumptuous as to put forward a review," said Zed, "I might suggest that the Reverend Hopkins' sermon is not up to his usual standards in intellectual rigor or passion of delivery."

"Do you know, Zed, I believe you're right."

The demons were at present sitting idle in the front pew of the Reverend's church, scrutinizing the man's flustered expression as he once again lost his place and was forced to consult his notes. To their right were several of the faithful, all of whom looked confused or embarrassed. To their left sat Clara Hopkins, who smiled up at her grandfather in sweet encouragement. Clara was also, as it happened, cooling her legs on what was proving to be a very warm day. She was playing with her skirt, flapping it discreetly to make a breeze, and every once in a while teased it up just enough for someone standing at the pulpit to see that she was not wearing her combinations under her church dress.

"I think he just saw her cunt," Alpheroth commented as the Reverend's voice choked off.

"Thus we must always rem—ember our responsibilities to—"

The Reverend shuffled his notes again, the ink noticeably smudged on the pages by sweaty hands. His face was flushed, and he mopped his brow with his handkerchief before grimly reciting his way through his weak and muddled closing. The congregation was restless, but most were willing to pass it off as the heat. They mindlessly made the motions and followed the routine, and at the last blessing were only too happy to seek out fresh air and the road home.

"That was a...fine sermon, Reverend," one of the parishioners allowed as he shook Reverend Hopkins' hand on the church steps.

This sentiment was echoed by many as they filed out, some of whom wondered if the Reverend was ill, some of whom meant it because the sermon had been short if ineloquent, and some of whom had not truly been listening at all. Many of them thought, however, that it was nice to see the Reverend's granddaughter coming out of her shell. Rather than standing in his shadow, she had taken his free hand and was standing in front of him, leaning into this manufactured embrace and chirping cheerful farewells.

No one save the demons noticed that Clara's other arm was folded behind her back and that her questing fingers had curled around her grandfather's cock.

Alpheroth laughed. "That little minx. Give them an inch and they'll take you to the root."

"God be with you," the Reverend muttered reflexively as each congregant passed him, his face growing redder and redder. "Yes, I'll certainly be by on Tuesday as promised. Good afternoon. No, I'm quite well. Yes, God be with you."

"I'll make sure he has some water," Clara assured a pair of old biddies who were peering at the Reverend's color critically.

The women exchanged smiles, and one patted the girl on the head. "Such a sweet child. You take good care of your grandfather."

Both girl and man stood on the steps until the full flock had herded themselves down the road on foot or by carriage, she a picture of good fun and he as still and stone-faced as a statue. Alpheroth nudged Zed with his elbow to make certain he was watching. You could only push a righteous man so far, and the good Reverend had an expression on his face that said he was coming to the violent end of a long, hard fall. Clara kissed her grandfather's hand affectionately before letting it drop and turned to dart back into the church to retrieve her hat.

She made it no further than two steps.

The heavy church door swung shut with a bang behind him as the Reverend strode forward down the aisle and grabbed his granddaughter roughly by the arm. She let out a cry of surprise and whirled around.

"Ouch! Grandfather, you're hurting me!"

Her wide eyes searched his face, and the crackle of fear on the air announced her realization that she might really be in trouble. She did not have the strength to match him, but her arm was slim enough and her grandfather still careful enough of her delicacy that she managed to twist herself free like a flailing kitten. The Reverend made a wordless sound of anger and promptly showed her that all kittens could be scruffed, catching her around the waist from behind and lifting her clear off her feet.

"Enough is enough!" he bellowed, his other hand clapping over her mouth to silence her yelp.

Alpheroth looked sideways at Zed. "Now this is where it gets interesting."

"Ought we to..." Zed began, gesturing toward the pair.

"Oh, no. The time for whispers is over. This is our Robert's time to show us who he really is."

Clara kicked, but it did her no good as the Reverend marched her to the nearest pew and hauled her over his lap. Her skirt was yanked up and her naked bottom revealed. The Reverend’s hand came down with a monstrous slap. The girl was so startled that she made no sound at first, but the second spank knocked her voice loose and she let out a wail. Her hands scrambled to block the next blow, but her grandfather caught her wrists easily, holding them in one large hand as the other beat her little backside mercilessly.

"Please!" she begged, her eyes welling up. "Stop, please! It hurts!"

"You wretched girl," the Reverend snarled. "You wretched tease. Why do you do this to me?"

"I was only playing!"

The tears were pouring down now, dripping onto the pew beneath her. Alpheroth's tongue flickered out to scent the air, and he concluded that they flowed as much from fear and self-pity as from the pain. Indeed, as the Reverend's white handprints conjured a deep scarlet flush all across her bottom, Alpheroth saw that she was not unaffected by the excitement of nerves and the heat spreading to parts adjacent. Her hips moved her against her grandfather's thigh, and he caught a whiff of arousal.

Alpheroth was not the only one to notice.

"Playing?," the Reverend demanded, his face nearly violet as he yanked his granddaughter's legs apart, seeing for himself the newly wet swelling of her slit. "Playing with this?"

With that, the old man struck at the source of his misery. Clara let out a shrill cry as the smack landed on her cunt. She twisted and kicked again, but her feeble blows meant nothing to the Reverend as he burned the remains of his helplessness to fuel his anger. He landed ten good slaps in rapid succession, and Clara squealed and sobbed, nearly swooning at the stinging sensation that only served to make her wetter at both ends.

"For God's sake, even this excites you?" The Reverend pried her legs further apart, staring at her cunt with fixed intensity. He spat on it, as if doing so would irrevocably mark his interest as one of disdain, but this was quickly undermined by the way he trembled to see the white foam dripping down her cunt lips.

"Remind me again, Zed," said Alpheroth, who did not need to peek under the Reverend's robes to know that he was hard, "is hypocrisy a sin?"

"Oh yes, master."

Alpheroth considered it a very positive development in his apprentice's training that the youth did not flip through his notebook or cite chapter and verse.

Clara sniffled. "I can't help it!"

The Reverend pushed her off his lap, and the girl landed sprawled on the floor. Zed took a step forward in alarm, looking as though he feared the game was over. Alpheroth held his hand up for patience.

"If you're going to act like a harlot," the Reverend growled, pulling up his robes and roughly opening his trousers, "then I am going to treat you like one!"

Zed blinked in surprise. "I thought he had never lain with a harlot.”

Alpheroth tilted his head to one side as he gauged the Reverend's approach. "He's a quick study."

The girl had instinct enough to try to get up, but her grandfather was already upon her. She slithered over onto her belly and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her ankle and yanked her back. She was pinned face down in the church aisle, her skirt nearly over her head and her legs spread by force. Clara was not a worldly girl, and Alpheroth decided to helpfully give her fair warning.

"Remember where he put his finger? He's going to shove his whole cock up there."

Clara's eyes widened, and she renewed her fruitless struggles to get out from under her grandfather. "Please! Oh no, please! Don't! It won't fit!"

"You should have thought about that," the Reverend said through gritted teeth, cock in hand and trying to ram it home. "You should have thought about that before you brought that sinful thing to my bed."

It took a great deal of struggle, but the girl was soaking wet and nature knew the way. A loud, sucking gasp was the only sound Clara could make when her grandfather forced his way inside her. She made one more attempt at freedom, clawing at the floor, but when her grandfather's sturdy forearm pressed against her throat and barred the way, she finally subsided.

"Oh," she whimpered. "It's going to poke out of my belly. It's going to split me in two."

Far from moving the Reverend to pity, this proclamation seemed only to stoke his desire. After all, he could surely feel that her burning hot snatch had stretched to grip his girth and that while it would not fit him to the root, what length of him it did was better than paradise. His knees were well accustomed to long hours praying. The toes of his boots pressed into the floor for purchase. His frame nearly hid Clara from sight at all as he stretched out atop her and fucked her like a man who was altogether done with "no."

"Please," Clara groaned, sounding more plaintive than shocked this time. "Oh God, please. It's so big. I'm burning—"

Her words broke off into a senseless warble. The Reverend had shifted his weight to get in deeper, and whether by the slap of flesh against flesh or the force with which he bore her to the floor, her hips were beginning to move in search of more. She whimpered again, but it might well have been a mewl.

Alpheroth sat down on a nearby pew to watch. "There we go, Clara. Do you like Grandfather's cock in your wet little hole? I rather think you do. I think you'll have to look very hard to find a cock that will fill you up half as nicely."

Clara gasped another plea, a half-formed word that carried a different sort of desperation entirely. She managed to wedge one hand beneath herself, and she moaned when it gave her what she needed. Atop her, eyes and loins on fire, the Reverend drove into her with growing madness. Snarls tore from his lips and grunts came from the depths of his chest as he tossed her like a ragdoll with the strength of his ardor. He did not seem to hear her half-smothered cries and the way they were growing in frequency and volume. It was little wonder, given the pounding drums that must have been beating inside his head. He felt her come though, he surely did—her tight cunt constricting his cock and all but begging to swallow his seed—for as granddaughter gave one long and final moan, grandfather jolted and let loose a lustful shout that rang through the church rafters.

Alpheroth applauded, and Zed tucked his notebook under his arm to politely join in.

Nothing but the sound of panting followed for a moment. Then, the haze seeming to clear from the good Reverend's vision, he looked down with dawning understanding of what he had done. He withdrew, flinching minutely at the sounds Clara made as he did so. The girl herself rolled onto her back, looking up at him. Her dress was in disarray and her braid had come loose. Her cheeks were pink and her chest was heaving. Down below, one of her garters was torn. As she drew her knees up to take the pressure off her spanked bottom, all interested observers could see that her cunt was swollen red, the mouth of it gaping and lewdly dribbling a load of spunk onto the floor.

"Zed, my boy, I think our work here is done."

“Yes, master,” said Zed, then paused and added: “Should I pencil in a follow-up appointment?”

“Why do you ask?” Alpheroth inquired innocently.

Zed looked seriously down at the pair. The Reverend had put a trembling hand over his own mouth, and Clara’s lower lip was beginning to form an outraged pout.

“I simply have a...feeling that these two aren’t finished with each other, master.”

Alpheroth grinned and clapped him proudly on the shoulder. “Excellent instinct, Zed. Simply exemplary. As it happens, I could not agree with you more.”

Zed ducked his head. “Thank you, master.”

He scribbled a note in the calendar section of his little book, and with that the two demons left the church, proud of the fruits of their labors and content in their chosen profession. They set out across the green grass, the master’s arm around his apprentice’s shoulder, and wandered down a country lane where the sun was shining overhead and the songbirds were twittering from tree to tree. Then they were gone.