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The sermon was enthralling, as always. The words flowed from the dark pope's lips like a river of sweet honey. His eyes were bright and sparkling with passion. His voice carried all across the church with the power of a spellbinder. The congregation sat captivated by his eloquence, fascinated by the beauty of his speech and by his promises. It was an excellent sermon, a perfect one even. No one could argue against it. You, however, couldn't help but fidget restlessly in your seat. Your hands clutched at the front of your robe; you held yourself so tightly that you feared you might tear yourself in half. But there was no way out of this. Coming to the ministry had been your choice after all, so why were you so guilty? The cold metal of the rosary- the only indication of your past- hidden beneath robes burned against your skin. A cruel reminder of your sins against God and the world that made it worth such suffering. You looked around the room, searching for some form of salvation to make it all better. A few people stared back at you, their expressions revealing nothing more than pity for your plight. They thought you pathetic; they felt sorry for you. You wanted to scream, and rage, but all that came out was a sigh. You closed your eyes, willing for this to be over.
Your prayers were answered when the man ended his sermon with the final line. "In Lucifer, we have hope and consolation; He who has promised us these things will keep them. Moreover, we are assured that our Dark Father knows what is best. Therefore, we trust that Lucifer, the Fallen Savior, will lead us in our every need. And He will bring us to Himself.
For this reason, I say unto you that ye shall never be ashamed to confess before your Dark Lord. For if any man confesses before men, he is not worthy of eternal life. But when any man confesses before Lucifer, he is saved." His white eye seems to find you as he speaks the words, though you try to convince yourself that your anxiety is playing tricks on you. He continues speaking again, but your mind doesn't register anything he says after that; your thoughts are consumed by the fear that this will all fall apart. That your faith will be tested, that your faith will fail you.
"So, my children, do not be afraid or discouraged by your doubts. For I am here to comfort you and give you strength. Be steadfast in your faith and all the good works you perform in this life and the other." His voice fills the small space between the two podiums, the congregation following suit. "Now let us sing praise to Lucifer, the Morning Star! Amen!" You're brought back to the present as everyone around you files out of the pews. There are those who stay behind for confession, and you find yourself being dragged by your own feet to the booth where the man sits down behind the flimsy privacy screen. As you approach him, you find it hard to breathe, and your heart begins to pound rapidly in your chest. You're not supposed to be able to see each other. Still, the skull pain is unmistakable through the mesh pattern separating the two of you.
"Come now, don't be afraid. What troubles you, my child?" he asks, concern evident in his tone. You kneel before him and bow your head, just as you had your entire life, in the name of God, now in the name of Lucifer.
"Bless me, Father, for I have-" You are cut off immediately, and embarrassment slaps you across the face.
"None of that," His tone is firm, but there is no anger. "I am Papa, and you are free from the formalities that have bound you in the past. You may speak to me as though you would a friend." You look up to meet his eye. This is your chance to tell him everything you've been holding inside since you arrived here. You take a deep breath and begin.
"Papa, I have sinned greatly. Please forgive me; I can't bear to live in sin any longer." The words spill out your mouth like water, and you feel the weight lift from your shoulders as soon as you finish.
"Shush, shush my little dove. Tell me of your sins," he coos; you can hear him leaning closer as his leather gloves creak and his robes swish against the velvet cushion.
"My first sin was not believing," you whisper, "and I should know. Papa, I have been telling myself that I believed because it's what I was taught to do, but how could I? I have struggled to leave behind my old faith." You search for something, anything, to tell him how you really feel, but you stay silent.
He remains silent for several moments as well, and you wonder if he genuinely believes that you believe what you're saying, but then he starts talking again, "This is very common, caro mio. It happens to many of my parishioners." He laughs gently as he looks at you through the "privacy" screen, "But I want to know how you sinned. What led you to your sin?" You look down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. You silently pull the rosary from beneath your robe and hesitantly slide it through an opening in the wall to reveal the beads and crucifix within. Papa takes the crucifix in his hand and examines it as if it were a priceless artifact before quietly placing it in his pocket.
"Papa, you see this crucifix...?" The words come pouring forth without your permission. "It is my most holy relic. Every day I hold it and pray that the Holy Spirit will guide me." You pause as you recall your childhood prayer book, which you found tucked away at the back of a closet years ago. "When I close my eyes, my heart goes quiet. My mind becomes calm. Everything seems to fade. All I focus on is the sound of the beads sliding over one another. I feel God's hand in my heart as well. Whenever I think of Him, it feels... complete, almost as though I'm connected to Him. When I pray, I'm surrounded by His presence. But when I open my eyes, the moment is gone, and I find myself still alone. The feeling of emptiness scares me." Tears spring to your eyes, and you quickly wipe them away, hoping that Papa hasn't seen your weakness. He does. His eyes seem to glow brighter as you continue. "When I look into my mirror, I see my reflection. I see my face, but it isn't me. My soul aches, wishing I had someone else's eyes looking back at me. Someone who could understand. I wish I could reach into my reflection's heart and find the answers. The reflection always seems wise and understanding, but something is always missing." You sniffle softly, "That is why I came here, to find answers where God left me with more questions," you laugh humorlessly. You can feel Papa staring at you, but you ignore it and turn away to wipe tears from under your eyes. "There is also another reason."
You feel his hand wrap around yours through the small slat. "And what is that?" He smiles encouragingly, squeezing your fingers gently.
"Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I wonder if God ever loved me. If he gave me life and cared about me in some way. If He knew I was born for something greater than I realized..." You trail off quietly, not sure how much to say.
"If you look into the eyes of a lamb, you will find its horns," he whispers with a smile as if reading your mind. "But if you look into the eyes of a tiger, you will learn a lesson."
"What are you trying to teach me, Papa? Why are you teaching me these words?" You ask with great curiosity. He looks at you thoughtfully, his brows furrowing slightly as he ponders whether to reveal the truth.
Finally, he shakes his head and closes his eyes, "Nothing, my dear. You're right; I'm trying to teach you about faith. Faith, my child, is about not judging yourself before you know what's true. You must trust your Creator and follow His guidance and wisdom. Do not allow yourself to be swayed by any doubt in your soul. You cannot be judged, but you must judge yourself, my child." You nod, letting him know you understood and wouldn't argue with him. "Now, please stand and walk with me; I think a little bit of... reeducation is in order." You get up slowly, keeping a safe distance between you and the booth wall. You link your elbows as you stroll leisurely down the hall, away from the chapel, in a direction you've never been before.
"Dear child, I felt something strange the first time I saw you. Something I haven't felt in quite some time. I didn't recognize it until later. You had a light, pure quality, and even when we first spoke to one another, your spirit seemed to exude a joyous kind of warmth. That same spirit is driving your heart right now; I can feel it. Your passion matches your kindness." You nod mutely, unsure of exactly what to say. He pauses briefly and turns to face you, seeming to contemplate his following statement for a few moments before continuing. "However, I can see the darkness in you too. You are troubled. You have a fear that has manifested itself in this church, and you worry that you are doing something wrong. Am I correct?" You nod once more, unable to force any words past the lump in your throat. "Ah, I see. I do hope you realize that I don't intend to judge you. Nor do I wish to preach to you about the devil himself. I simply want to offer you a different path, a better path. One that doesn't involve the darkness consuming your soul." He squeezes your elbow lightly, and you try to hide the smile spreading across your lips at how gentle he is.
A few minutes later, you finally reach a large door with ornate carvings similar to those that line the chapel walls. It's dark on the other side, and all you can hear is the constant ticking of a clock. You're scared of what you might encounter inside. You swallow nervously and shake your head as though shaking loose of your anxiety. No matter what, you can't afford to lose your cool now; far too many things are at stake.
"Do not worry," He smiles warmly, taking both of your hands in his own, "this is not a test. I merely want to help you." You relax somewhat and give a shaky smile in return. Papa goes about lighting candles, and you suddenly feel tiny. A large fireplace dominates the center of the room, flanked by two long sofas set in front of it. Various paintings adorn the walls; they depict scenes of the biblical prophets and saints at war with hell. Several large bookcases are filled to the brim with well-loved books lining the walls. And your eyes finally land on a large bed; your blood runs cold as you realize where you are. This is his bedroom.
"Come," Papa says, pulling you towards the sofa near the fireplace. You sit on the edge and take a deep breath, wondering what he wants to talk about. He sits beside you and places the rosary around your neck; you hadn't even realized he took it from you, to begin with. How careless of you... You look at him quizzically, waiting patiently for him to speak. "I am going to ask you some questions, cara mia. Are you ready?" You nod your assent, and he begins, "First question: did you love God?"
You hesitate for a moment and then answer, "Yes."
Papa nods his head approvingly, "Good. Now, do you forgive Him?" You don't hesitate anymore.
"No." You whisper sadly.
"Why not?" He asks calmly.
"My belief is... complicated. I don't know if it's caused by anything or not. But it certainly doesn't hurt anyone else." As he continues, you look down at your feet, afraid to meet Papa's eyes.
"Look at me when I speak, dove, he whispers softly, gently placing his hand beneath your chin, tilting your head upward, so you're forced to meet his gaze. "Your belief is causing you grief, but it is not an unforgivable sin. We can rectify the matter easily."
You frown, "How?" You whisper shakily. You gasp when he suddenly wraps the rosary around his hand and yanks it hard, nearly choking you.
"Absolution," Papa smirks, pulling the string against your throat as you struggle to breathe properly. He releases you, leaving you gasping for air before continuing. "When we forgive, we free ourselves from our sins and begin to live anew. Our sins no longer define us; we can change how we view them. You are guilty. Your actions have caused others to suffer, yes? They are your guilt. You need to confess them and begin to accept their forgiveness. I cannot help you if you don't listen to me." After a minute, you manage to calm down. Once you can take slow, measured breaths again, you glance at Papa. He watches you intently, a soft smile playing across his lips. "Now, who do you think should be punished?" You close your eyes tightly as you consider the question. You don't know why, but your heart hurts. You shake your head, unable to answer the question.
"Are you still willing to tell me the truth?" Papa questions seriously. You glance at him and nod, "Very well," he replies softly. "Who do you think deserves punishment?" Your eyes widen, and you look down. "The question isn't 'who do you think deserves punishment,' but rather who do you think should suffer?"
You look up at Papa, your eyes wide, "Me, Papa."
"Very good, piccolino. How should you be punished?" You have no response; you barely have any idea what's going on.
"That is not an answer," He chides as he stands and begins pacing, "but a good enough, I suppose. Let us begin then." You glance down at your lap, biting back tears, and wait for him to continue. "Have you ever wondered where power comes from, child?"
You shake your head.
"You should know better than most that power lies within you, no? The Creator made you, and in turn, we created ourselves. We are created in His image; we are made by His word. So, where does the power come from? From you, I imagine. What makes you special? What makes you different from others?"
"I'm just... human," you whisper softly, still looking down.
"Exactly! That is why we must seek ways to bring our faith forward in this world because our faith will always lead us to greater glory in our journey on earth. When our faith is brought forth in the name of Lucifer, we can find peace and strength. But, that is not your task. For that task belongs to those who have been chosen by Him. Your task is to serve the people, bring hope to those who need it most, and also provide for their needs. You have done a great disservice by coming here and doubting your purpose and bringing false faith into my church. And for that, you must repent."
You lower your eyes and nod, but he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, "I want you on the bed, now." You comply and move slowly toward the bed, still trembling. Papa instructs you to lie face down on the bed, holding your arms over your head. "If you were truly a child of Jesus Christ, you would understand how much suffering He suffered upon His cross to save sinners. Do you think the Lord was happy during His time on the cross? Did He enjoy His final meal? Of course not, child. He uses that against you to make you cling to His every word, to guilt you into loving Him. Yet, you fall for it every time."
You whimper slightly, knowing that he is right. You've fallen for His words countless times. You've tried to deny it, but you knew all along that His love had always come at a cost, whether you wanted to admit it. You've spent so much time wishing and praying to someone who never came.
"It is time to let go," Papa whispers, running his fingers through your hair as he takes hold of one of your wrists and presses the other into the mattress.
"Please..." You beg, squeezing your eyes shut. You don't know what you're praying for, but you can't stop yourself from doing so. Finally, you open your eyes and try to fight back the tears threatening to spill out. "I can't." You sobbed quietly.
"You must."
"No, please..." Your plea is cut off as Papa pulls the rosary taut against your neck. You hate admitting the pain is a feeling of welcome liberation from the guilt that has been building inside for many years. To have the symbol of your inner turmoil leave a physical reminder that you're free from it all.
"I said, must. Come now. Do you remember the prayer I asked you about last week?"
"I do." You murmur, closing your eyes once more. You feel Papa grab hold of your hair and tug your head back, forcing you to lift it slightly so he can grab your throat.
"Repeat after me." He commands. You start to say something, but then he adds, "What is the meaning of life? Answer honestly and fully!"
"...Life is a gift from Satan. It is a gift given fully and freely. I have the capacity to receive it from Him and use it as it pleases me. My body is a vessel for His word," You choke out the words, wincing as he squeezes your throat harder. "It is not for me to question it or reject it." You add hurriedly.
"And what is your purpose in this present life?" He demands, continuing to squeeze your throat. You don't bother to respond; instead, you focus solely on breathing. "Answer me!"
"To serve the Dark Lord."
He releases you quickly and turns away, shaking his head, "You are doing very good, little dove." You watch him over your shoulder carefully as he removes your shoes and socks and then helps you get your robes off, "however that is not your punishment."
You whimper as he pulls you off the bed and sits on the edge, "You will not enjoy this part, or you may, I won't judge, but you are not supposed to enjoy it. It is a necessity, but you will be rewarded after."
"Reward?" You whimper softly.
"Yes, little dove. You will be rewarded, and it will be with a great deal of joy." You swallow nervously as he looks back up at you. "Now, this..." you wince as his finger slides down your body, "...This is going to hurt. More than you can possibly understand." A sob escapes your lips as he leans forward and places his hands lightly on either side of your hips. He moves quickly, bending you over his lap, "But it is necessary." You yelp as he brings his hand down on your ass hard. You cry out in agony as he repeatedly rubs his palm across the sore area. "Do you understand why I do this?" He asks. You nod, crying louder when he begins to slap you hard against your ass. The sound of leather slapping against skin rings throughout your room. "Good dove," he mocks as you cry out in pain.
"Now, repeat the prayer. It is important." You clench your teeth together tightly, fighting to keep quiet and obey. You can feel his hot breath against the base of your spine. "Tell me, what is your purpose in life?"
"To..t-to serve them," you reply, struggling to contain your cries, "serve the Dark Lord."
"What is your sin, little dove?"
"My sin is the-" Before you even finish, your sentence is cut short, and a searing pain shoots through your thighs.
"Again." He growls.
"My sin is th -" Another painful blow lands on your already sore ass. "Thi - sin is l... Papa, please!" It is becoming unbearable, and you don't know how much more you can take. He lands blow after blow, hitting your ass and thighs repeatedly until you can feel almost nothing but a burning ache. You try to get away, but he only pulls you closer to him, making escape impossible, "Papa, please! Plea-"
You try desperately to speak, but you only manage a whimpering moan. "Your sins are such a burden on your shoulders. You are the one who has caused this burden. But it shall be a burden no longer."
"Please..." You whimper softly. Then it all stops, and you fall to your knees at his feet, unable to hold yourself up.
"Come now, little dove," he croons, leaning down and hooking his arms under your armpits, "you have suffered enough," he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. He holds you against his chest, cradling you against his body, "and you will no longer suffer. You've heard your punishment; it is time for you to move on, my child."
You sob, clutching onto Papa's chest, finding solace in him, the man who just did the unspeakable to you, but still, there are no one else's arms you'd rather be in. You bury your head against his chest and cry silently, "Thank you for giving me this moment, Papa." Tears slip down your cheeks as you feel your heart beating faster and faster with each breath you take. Everything seems brighter now, like a ray of light had lit up within you. It is as if Lucifer Himself is shining its presence upon you, telling you everything was worth it. All the suffering you've endured in your entire life, all the pain you've inflicted upon yourself...everything was worthwhile. You aren't a bad person. If anything, you were the best. You deserve this moment.
"That is where you belong." He chuckles softly, gently pulling your head back to press a chaste kiss to your lips, "would you still like a reward?"
"Y - yes, Papa..." You pant, wanting to feel his lips again so badly. He chuckles again and caresses your cheek as he bends down and wraps one arm around your waist. You wrap yours around his neck, rest your cheek against his, reveling in the heat emanating from him, and feel him smile before kissing you lovingly. When he releases your lips from his, you sigh contently, feeling as though you've gained a new sense of freedom. "Lie down on your stomach, little dove," he says as he positions himself between your legs and spreads them apart. You do as you're told, allowing him to place his hand on your sore ass. "Relax and close your eyes, love, for you have earned yourself a special treat today." You comply, letting his touch wash over you. You hear the click of a bottle opening and the familiar feeling of warm oil pouring over your sensitive skin. You purr quietly, relaxing immediately, letting out a soft purr as your body begins to burn from the oil and the pleasure. Next, you feel him start to massage across your bottom and up your back, pressing his thumb gently into the ridges of your spine. You sigh again. This is precisely what you need. It feels like heaven, rather hell, you suppose. You're starting to drift off as he continues to work his magic, but then you notice his movements slow.
"Papa?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. He smiles back down at you, his face illuminated by the glow of the candles and his green and white eyes.
"Shh, little dove, it is alright." You close your eyes. You could listen to his voice forever. "Just relax." His hands work their way down your body once again and find their way between your legs. You groan in delight as he begins to stroke you, slowly moving his hand up and down. The sensation sends a wave of heat racing through your body, and you gasp as he continues to stroke you. Your breathing picks up, and you can feel your body beginning to tense up. You feel the need to beg for release rise in you, but your mouth is too dry to make any sounds. "Just relax. Papa's got you..." He whispers, pressing kisses along the curve of your shoulder. You moan and tilt your head slightly, trying to let his attention flow into you more.
"Oh my, caro mio, you feel amazing..." He presses a kiss to your neck and trails his tongue along the length of your neck.
"Mmmm...Papa... Please...please don't stop..." You whisper, biting your lip, as his tongue continues to travel up and down the column of your neck. "Don't stop..."
"I would never dare." He murmurs against your neck. He nips your earlobe teasingly. You whimper loudly in response as you bite your lower lip in frustration. You've never wanted anything more in your entire life. You've never wanted someone more in your whole life. "You're mine, little dove." He pulls away from your neck and stands. His eyes meet yours, and they seem impossibly dark as he reaches behind himself and unhooks his robe, tossing it on the couch across the room. You shiver slightly as you watch him undress, unable to look away from that glowing white eye as he steps closer. You can hear your heartbeat roaring in your ears and realize how quickly your blood is coursing through your veins.
"Papa, you're so beautiful..." You gasp, closing your eyes when he reaches out towards you. You allow him to roll you onto your back. You open your eyes, staring at the ceiling as he lowers himself down atop you, settling between your legs and resting his weight on his elbows. Your breathing quickens as your body begs for his touch. Your hands reach up to cup his face, running your thumbs lightly over his cheeks. He laughs and pushes your hair away from your face.
"Thank you, little dove." You close your eyes again, and he kisses your forehead. "So stunning..." He murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb, smiling widely, looking utterly ravishing. You open your eyes and look up at him. Your throat is dry, and you want to say something, anything, but nothing comes. You simply stare at him, mesmerized. His eyes are sparkling, his body is shimmering with sweat, and he looks radiant. There is nothing that could ever compare to this. You think about how fortunate you are to have been given this opportunity. You begin to weep, tears flowing freely from your eyes. He frowns. "Don't cry, little dove... I am sorry...I did not mean to upset you..."
"No, no... it's... It's okay...please forgive me..." You sob, wiping your tears away.
"There is nothing to forgive, tesoro mio." He whispers, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. Your head falls back against the pillows as Papa slowly rolls his hips against yours, causing you to gasp loudly.
"Papa..." Your fingers dig into the mattress beneath you.
"Are you ready to give yourself to me?" He asks huskily, moving even slower as you bite your lip and nod frantically. He smiles tenderly and brushes a few stray strands out of your face. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself into you, ensuring he's seated comfortably inside before thrusting carefully. You gasp and cling onto his shoulders as your body moves with him. You close your eyes and whimper, unable to control your reaction. He smiles as he watches your reactions, seeing the blissful expression on your face. Your body is quivering, trembling with pleasure, and he can tell you are about to climax. He increases the speed of his own strokes until you're almost crying out for him. Papa's movements are quick and precise, hitting you in the right places to make you scream and writhe beneath him. He watches you intently as you continue to shake, his gaze burning holes into you until you finally cry out and come undone, releasing your orgasm all at once and arching your back into his chest as he pounds inside you. He grins at the sight of your blissful expression. He kisses your temple gently, continuing to thrust into you until you are completely spent. Papa leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his eyes closed as he seeks his own pleasure. He slows his pace gradually, enjoying every second that passes, and eventually comes undone inside you, filling you completely, making you gasp in surprise. Afterward, he leans down and kisses you deeply, tangling his hand in your hair as his other hand travels down your back. You kiss him back with equal fervor.
"You enjoyed your treat, yes?" He murmurs when he draws back, still holding onto you tightly. You nod in response, a small smile on your lips.
"Mmhm!" Your cheeks hurt from how wide you've smiled.
"Good! Now, go to sleep." He presses another gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls away. He lays down next to you and pulls the blankets up over you. Before long, he draws you to him and nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck. As much as you would have loved to stay awake and talk with him, to hear his soft voice whispering sweet words to you, you soon drift, falling blissfully into a peaceful slumber. Before you succumb to sleep, you see the shadows cast by candlelight dancing off his pale skin, then your eyelids flutter shut.