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"I will NOT clean the pews a third time!" You spit at the furious Sister Imperator, your voice dripping with venom and unwillingness. Her already flushed face turns an even darker shade of red that borders on purple and the angered expression on her face makes her features look strangely disorted, as if she might pounce on you and scratch out your eyes at any moment. "You will do as you are told!" She rages, pushing the bucket of already dirty water from the previous two rounds of cleaning towards you with her foot.
That's when the last remnants of your rational thinking are overpowered by the rising anger and you give in to the evil voice in the far back of your mind and tip over the bucket of dirty water with your shoe right at her feet when your anger reaches new hights. You watch in sick satisfaction as the cold water splashes over her polished, clergy issued shoes and soaks the hem of her habit.
Enough is enough. The pews are basically shining, reflecting the last light of the day that's falling through the stained glass windows, each one featuring siblings of sin or previous Papas indulging in, well, sin. The pews are spotless, there's not a single grain of dust left on the wooden ornaments adorning the altar and the floor is so clean, you can see the blurry image of yourself in the dark marble tiles lining the way up to the altar.
You know the head of sisters is mad at you for falling asleep at yesterday's midnight mass after a long and exhausting day of paperwork in the library, keeping track of the books that need to be returned, organising bookshelves and hunting down siblings of sin who are still in possession of books that are long overdue for return. When you applied for the position, you had imagined a calm job of assisting the quiet, almost shy cardinal in the library, shelving books, and occasionally searching for a book a fellow sibling requested. The reality had turned out to differ slightly from your expectations, but the sweet Cardinal with his little oddities made it not only bearable but also enjoyable despite the exhausting tasks at hand. He was very pleasant to work with, especially since he'd picked up on your love for tea.
You know you deserved the punishment even if you found it a little harsh, given that you had worked hard and fell asleep on accident, but you had obliged nonetheless, not wanting to anger the sister any further. Without a word of resistance, you had nodded and spent the entire morning scrubbing away at the dusty pews. Mortified by Imperator deeming your work 'unsatisfactory', you had also spent the majority of the afternoon doing it all again. By the love of Satan, you wouldn't be doing this a third time. This isn't a fair punishment. She's abusing her power, and you both know.
Long moments pass with the two of you staring each other down, before your hatred is overthrown by surprise when she suddenly surges forward to firmly grab your arm and drag you behind her, the tipped-over bucket left behind without a second glance. She purposefully strides through the vast corridors with you stumbling behind, her vice-like grip leaving you no other choice than to follow her. Only when you approach the heavy wooden door, your anger turns into fear, and you start resisting. You'd once seen the terrified face of a sibling leaving his office, face as white as paper, refusing to talk about what had happened. But your struggles are in vain, and before you know, she bursts into his office without bothering to knock, gives you a rough shove towards his desk, and closes the door behind you.
You feel trapped. Your thoughts are racing, spiralling, and your surroundings seem to blur. "Good evening, Papa." Her voice suddenly sounds exhausted as she waits for the second Emeritus brother to shift his attention from the paperwork on his desk to her. When he finally lifts his head, he doesn't bother to look at your shaking form. Slight annoyance is laced into his words when his deep voice sounds through his office, breaking the silence. "What can I do for you, sister?" A dramatic sigh sounds as she gives you another slight shove towards his desk. It's not as rough as the previous one, but your slightly trembling legs make you stumble nonetheless. "This one has been very disobedient and resists punishment. I think my methods have failed." She sighs heavily again. "Maybe your methods will be more successful than mine."
When he nods, she takes that as her cue to give you a last menacing glance before leaving the office. You've often wished for an opportunity like this - being alone with the subject of your darkest desires, the one that haunts your dreams late at night and has you waking up with labored breath and aching core. But this isn't quite what you've imagined. The click of the lock makes you jump. You haven't noticed him rounding his desk, and when his penetrating gaze finally lands on your shaking form, you feel all anger and resistance that might have been left inside you, leaving your body. Having him purposefully ignoring your presence was one thing, but having his piercing gaze boring into your very soul leaves you completely and utterly terrified.
He doesn't say a word as he sits back down behind his desk. The silence is deafening, and you can hear your own heart beating at a surely unhealthy rate. With every passing second, you tense more under his intense gaze. Every last bit of fight you had left in you is replaced by the bone-chilling feeling of fear that has your blood running cold and makes you shiver with uncertainty. He surely wouldn't make you leave, would he? "Come here." He finally instructs, his voice is calm, but firm and void of any emotion, not giving away if he is angry or just annoyed, and it unsettles you even more. His gloved finger taps the surface of his wooden desk, the only indication of his slowly fading patience - if there had ever been any in the first place.
You quickly scramble closer to him despite your mind screaming at you to run away as far as you can. But the door is locked, trapping you in here with him, so you do the only thing to keep you from drawing more anger towards you: You obey. Keeping your gaze down on your fiddling hands, you stand before him, not daring to look into his eyes. "What did you do, cara?" His voice is as soft as velvet, but the dark undertone in his words betrays the calmness he shows. It's a warning to be truthful. "I fell asleep during midnight mass." You confess, and he nods. "And what else?"
You know what he means. The furious sister had told him everything as soon as he had shifted his attention to her and him, making you say it nonetheless felt... degrading. Your answer is a mere whisper, mumbled more to yourself than to him. He tuts. "Look at me." He orders , and your gaze snaps to his mismatched eyes. "What else?" His voice is sharp, his words slicing through the air like a knife as he repeats his question, and you gulp down the lump that had formed in your throat. "I tipped over the bucket with the water I used to clean the pews." Overcome with the sudden need to defend yourself, you gaze up into his eyes, silently begging him to understand. "But she was being unfair."
As soon as the words roll over your lips , you regret them as you realize how childish they sound. What you don't expect is the faint interest that mirrors in his eyes for a swift second before it vanishes again , and his next words catch you off guard. "How so?" You didn't expect him to actually hear your side of the story , and you struggle for the right words as you rush to give him his response before he changes his mind. "She made me clean the pews." You explain , and he frowns down at you. "Are you saying you were undeserving of this punishment?" "No, I didn't -" "Then where's the problem?" He interrupts you again, and desperation nearly makes you tear up as the stress and frustration of the day finally catch up on you. "Papa," the word comes out as a strangled whimper. "Please hear me out."
It's quiet for a moment before he waves his gloved hand at you, his expression stern. "Go on then." Your pleading eyes are trained at him as you try to make him understand. "I didn't object the first time. Nor did I the second time. I spent the majority of the day cleaning. When... when she told me to do it a third time, I became upset. I was so angry." You look down at your hands, embarrassed to admit your slip of behaviour, especially to him, the one you look up to the most. It's not only his gloved hands that have you in a chokehold or his stern gaze that has your thoughts running wild every time it brushes over you. It's everything about him.
"I tipped over the bucket. I know I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry." You hear him sigh and find him examining the dark leather of his gloves as he speaks. The sight is strangely hypnotizing. You've always wondered what it would feel like when he slipped a gloved hand under your shirt and... you mentally slap yourself. Focus! "Sister Imperator's sense of fairness sometimes... differs from our own definition of the term." He admits to your surprise. "I guess her way of handling your punishment was indeed a little harsh." You stare at him, not sure if he's being sympathetic or if he's giving you a false feeling of security.
"Come here." He rounds the desk and pats its surface, motioning you to him. "Closer." He demands, and you can feel your face heat up when his scent floods your system. He smells of expensive cologne, old books, and incense. "Bend over." He pats the surface of his desk. Your eyes go wide, and your cheeks turn red from embarrassment at the implication of what he intends to do. "But... but you said-" "I said her punishment for you falling asleep was not fair, but you weren't punished yet for splashing her with the dirty water, no?" He taps his fingers on the wooden surface again, giving you another chance to bend over his desk willingly before he'd make you.
"No, Papa." You shake your head at his question, accepting your fate and slowly bend over his desk, your knuckles turning white as you grip the edge when he pushes up your habit and pulls down your panties so they sit just above your knees. His gloved finger grazes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder at the intimate touch. The first strike is hard and sudden and sends a wave of pain up your spine. You can barely hold back a pained whimper and clutch the edge of the desk a little tighter, bracing yourself for what is to come.
The next blow makes you jolt on the table from the impact of his gloved hand connecting with your sensitive backside. It stings, and you are sure that his handprint will be visible in an angry shade of red by tomorrow. The thought stirs something inside you that you can't really explain. It has you rubbing your thighs together, but before you can think of it any further, he spanks you again, noticing the way you react. The fourth strike has you trying to scramble away, but Secondo is quick to place a firm hand on your upper back and hold you in place as he delivers the fifth strike that finally has you whimpering softly.
His touch is almost gentle when he rubs his fingers over the welts his hand has left, and you are foolish enough to think he's done with you. You can't contain the pained sound of surprise when his hand continues to fall hard, making sure to redden your ass thoroughly. Your struggling is restricted by the hand holding you down, and you are mortified when your body betrays you and you feel wetness slowly pool between your legs. You surely don't enjoy this - or so you try to tell yourself. But yet, every spank sends a wave of arousal straight to your core until you stop fighting him and catch yourself anticipating the next one.
You hold on to the edge of his old wooden desk for dear life with gritted teeth to prevent any sound from slipping past your lips, until his office fades into a blur of dark colors, pain and the slight but growing arousal all that's on your mind, along with the feeling of his leather gloved hand. "Papa," you finally cry out. "No more, please!" You desperately beg and a strangled sob escapes your lips when his hand connects with your backside a last time before you feel him running his hand over the curve of your ass and down your thighs, squeezing them firmly.
A smirk forms on his lips when he sees your wet core glistening between your legs. "Do you think 15 are enough? Have you learned your lesson already, sorella?" He asks, patting the back of your thigh, with one hand while gently rubbing away some of the pain from the marks he's left with the other one. You nod and quickly add: "Yes, Papa.", when his hand threateningly wanders up your thighs, in the direction of your sore behind. But to your shock, Instead of wandering further up, it disappears between your legs, an almost inaudible moan escaping your lips when he drags his finger through your soaking folds, sending a bolt of pleasure straight up your spine.
You make no attempt at stopping him. Your eyes flutter closed, and you lay your head against the cool surface of his desk when he toys with your opening. "Do you want me to stop?" You manage to shake your head, your lips parting slightly. His touch feels intense with the slight pain that's lingering on your reddened cheeks. "I need words, cara." "No, Papa. I don't want you to stop, please." His finger pauses, and you almost whine out in frustration.
"I'm not entirely sure you're aware of what you're getting yourself into. What I expect of you if we continue this." Feeling bold, and maybe pushing his boundaries a little, you turn your head as far back as the hand on your back allows. "Enlighten me, Papa." His grip tigthens - a warning reaction to your bold answer. "Obedience, cara." You feel his penetrating gaze trailing down the curve of your spine. "Complete and utter submission." You shiver, pondering his words for a second, even though you know that making him stop would betray the wetness between your legs. Your clit feels as if it'll explode if he won't touch you within the next second.
"Okay." You finally agree and having your consent, he stops teasing your entrance and finally - ever so slowly - pushes his gloved finger into you. Despite entering you slowly, there's nothing gentle about the way he handles you. The hand on your back tightens its grip as if he doesn't rule out the possibility that you'd try to wriggle away again - or it is to assert dominance and show you who's in charge, you're not sure. Maybe it's a bit of both. But you know that if he wouldn't be holding you down on his desk, your knees would have buckled and given out under you. You squirm on his desk- not out of discomfort, but because you want more, no, need more.
The delicious dragging of his glove against your inner walls as his finger stretches you has your breath labored and your eyes fluttering closed. The arousal that had risen during his punishment makes you feel his touch with an intensity that has you seeing stars. The thumb of his other hand is moving up and down, almost comfortingly stroking your skin at the base of your neck as he slowly penetrates you as deep as his finger would go. He curls it, searching for that spongy spot inside you he knows will have you writhing and panting under his firm grip in no time.
He knows he's found it when a soft moan slips past your lips, followed by another one when he applies pressure to it, stimulating it with his skilled finger. "So responsive." He marvels when he withdraws, examining the leather that is glistening with your arousal. "I would have doubted your words, considering what I expect of you, but I think I have my answer here." Your face flushes a light shade of pink at his words and you are glad he can't really see your face from the position he's put you in. His wet finger is back between your legs, teasing, but not penetrating you any further than to his first knuckle before he draws it out again to torture you further with feather light, teasing touches as he toys with your opening yet again.
He drags his finger through your folds agonizingly slow, circling your clit but never actually touching it, and pushing only the tip of his finger into you, just to feel your walls flutter around him, begging for him to bury his finger back inside your dripping core. "It's been some time since I had something so pretty in my grasp." There's a dark undertone present in his voice that makes you shudder and a glimpse of the fear you originally felt when entering his office sparks again at the edge of your mind.
This is your Papa, an intimidating man that demands respect and is used to being in control. You doubt that that's any different behind the closed doors of his bed chambers. The thought has more wetness pooling between your legs. You wonder what it'd be like to give yourself to him. To submit to him and give him the power over your body. You flinch when his breath ghosts over the shell of your ear - you hadn't noticed him bending down to you.
His finger pushes back inside and you can't contain your moan when he starts working it in and out of you, occasionally curling it to thrust it against your g-spot. "Are you really sure this it what you want, sorella?" He asks. Your answer is swallowed by a gasp when his finger hits your sweet spot especially hard, knocking the breath from your lungs as the pleasure almost borders on pain. "I don't make love," he warns. "I fuck." He accentuates his words with another rough thrust of his finger before he anchors it inside you by curling it and starts viciously abusing your g-spot. "And I'm very thorough."
Your hips buck against his hand and you cry out. "Is it already too much for you, dolce?" He mocks when he sees your white knuckles and notices the way your hips are bucking. "If this is what one finger does to you, I can’t even begin to imagine the way you'll be screaming on my cock." You pant, pupils blown wide at the pleasure he provides. "That's what you want, isn't it?" His finger speeds up and you feel as if you might fall apart at any moment. "You want to be filled - fucked - by your Papa, no?" You are close. So close. “I can feel it. I can feel the way you clench around my finger. You don't want fingers, you want my cock, don't you?”
Your legs are beginning to tremble, your eyes are halfway closed and your mouth is slightly agape as you rock forward on his desk with every powerful thrust of his finger as it reaches places that have you squirming under his firm grip. The steady rhythm of his finger along with the prospect of him replacing said finger with his cock has you teetering on the edge. The sound of leather hitting skin sounds through the space of his office when he pulls out to give you a harsh slap on your thigh that nearly has you toppling off the cliff.
"I expect an answer when I ask you a question, sorella. Do you understand? I don't like to repeat myself." Your toes start curling when he shoves his finger back inside and you feel the first waves of a strong orgasm brewing together. "Yes, Papa." You manage to press out. It's something between a cry and a whimper, a sound you didn't know you could make until now and if his finger hadn't fucked you into a state were your brain barely worked, you'd probably be slightly embarrassed. "I want it. I want your cock, please!" You obediently beg, barely able to get out the words before you feel the pleasure racing towards its peak.
But before you can drown in it - before it reaches you fully - he withdraws his finger from you, leaving you trembling and unsatisfied on his desk as you slowly come back to your senses when the pleasure slowly fades. His finger hooks into the waistband of your panties and with a strong tug, he snaps it. "You won't need those." He tells you and your eyes widen when he stuffs them into the depths of his papal attire. He then adjusts your habit. "Get up." He instructs and holds out his hand to you.
Surprised by his sweet gesture, you hesitate and gaze into his face, but the kindness of that small gesture is nowhere to be found in his face. There's just the normal stern expression and the glint of something dark. It's desire, you realise. Dark, unrestrained lust and it has your thighs clenching as he takes your hand into his bigger one and unlocks his office before leading you through the dimly lit corridors of the Ministry. "Where are we going?" You finally gather enough courage to ask. "Somewhere a little more private. To make the lesson really... sink in."
You gulp, not noticing the smirk tugging at the dark pope's lips as he revels in the power he holds over you. He doubts that you really know what you've gotten yourself into, or that you have an idea of the things he could do to you, to your body. He's had his eyes on you for some time now. Your kindness and the sweet sound of your voice drawing him in like a moth to fire and he's found himself wondering what other sounds he could draw from you, venturing past the library more often than usual just to get a glimpse at you. You seemed almost innocent, though he doubted you really were - you were living in a satanic church after all.
When sister Imperator had dragged you in front of his desk he knew that this was the chance he'd prayed for to the dark lord himself and when you gave him your consent, his boxers had become even tighter. He was glad he'd bent you over his desk and not his lap, though the thought had been tempting. Maybe next time. But his rock-hard erection poking into your belly while he was spanking you would have shattered his image of complete control.
The weight of the situation you're in the process of getting yourself into slowly seeps into your mind when the heavy door of his private quarters close and lock with a surprisingly quiet click. You expect him to strip you bare and have his way with you as soon as you enter his bedroom but he doesn't. Instead, he turns you to face him and tilts up your chin so you meet his eyes that hold a serious expression. "Your safe word is 'red', sorella. Do you understand?"
You nod, your thoughts spiraling again as your heart starts racing. What is he planning to do to you that he deems it necessary to give you a safe word? And then you notice the shiny metal rings attached to his bed posts - barely visible among the luxury of the room - and the slightly bigger one on the ceiling above the giant bed, your thoughts run wild. "I want you to not be afraid to use your safe word. I may be the one in control, but you have the power to stop me at any time." You nod again. "I understand, Papa." You mutter and he seems satisfied with your answer. "Very well."
He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, his eyes following your every movement as you discard your shoes and start opening your habit.
He reaches over to help you get it off, already unclasping your bra when you try to neatly fold the heavy fabric before giving up and tossing it in the direction of the chair in the corner of his bedroom. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, taking in every curve and every little mark on your body that makes you unique. He doesn't say a word as he crooks his finger, beckoning you closer. You obey and step towards him, squirming under his intense gaze as he takes you in.
"Your hands, Sorella." He demands and you look at him with wide eyes when you see the rope in his hand. Noticing your hesitation, he reaches out and tilts your chin upwards so you meet his eyes. "Your hands." He repeats, the expression in his eyes making your stomach flip - whether with arousal or fear, you can't tell. Hesitantly, you hold out your wrists for him and he chuckles when he sees the uncertainty of what is about to happen in your innocent eyes. When he is satisfied with his work, he pulls your back into his clothed front. Light as a feather, his fingers ghost over the skin of your stomach before they spread on your abdomen and keep you in place as he pushes his clothed erection against your ass. To say that he is well endowed is probably an understatement.
The leather of his glove is warm against your skin and you find yourself leaning into his touch. "Your heart is racing!" He suddenly whispers into your ear. You didn't notice his other hand coming to rest right above your heart. "This won't be about pain, dolce. It will be about pleasure... if you behave." There's a dark edge to his voice that makes you tense slightly and for the first time this evening, you ask yourself if you've made a mistake by following him as he led you into his chambers.
But then again, he's Papa. He's always kind of menacing, his dark presence looming over the inhabitants of his church like a shadow, but you also know that he cares for his people, even though he barely shows it. It's his way to uphold the image of respect and power his position within the clergy represents. "Will you be good for me, cara?" He asks. "Sarai una brava ragazza per il tuo pap�" His words shoot straight to your aching core. You nod and his eyes narrow down at you, his hand wrapping around your throat. "Yes, Papa!" You quickly add. "I'll be good."
"Brava ragazza." The pad of his thumb strokes over the soft skin at the side of your neck, before he tilts it to the side and lowers his head, his nose grazing the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You feel him inhale deeply and a low groan reaches your ears. "I wonder..." he inhales your scent again, drawing his nose from the base of your neck to the sensitive skin behind your ear, "Do you taste as good as you smell?" His fingers tug at your restraints, testing them, and a satisfied smile plays around his lips when he's made sure you won't be able to get them off on your own.
His body is still pressed up against yours, his hands wandering, exploring, touching, caressing, as he maneuvers you to his bed and effortlessly lifts you up, just to place you upon the soft, silken sheets. "On your knees, per favore." You obey, scrambling to your knees, barely finding your balance when he grabs for your bound hands and pulls the end of the rope through the metal ring on the ceiling, pulling on it until your hands are over your head just to the point where you feel a slight tension in your shoulders but can still comfortably kneel on his bed.
When he fastens the rope, your nervousness fades. This is your Papa. He knows what he is doing and he will take care of you, you realize as you watch his skilled fingers tie the last knot. This is what you've always wanted. You're aware of how exposed you are - both to his gaze and his touch - as he has you in a position where he can do whatever he desires. The thought leaves you full of unrestrained lust and anticipation. The bed shifts when he joins you, coming up behind you and pressing himself to you once more. "Mhm," he growls, "I love the way your body feels against mine."
His hands wander up your sides, fingers ever so slightly grazing the soft skin right under your breasts before he firmly cups them with his large hands. The leather is warm against your skin and the texture rubbing against your nipples feels exquisite. You haven't noticed how hard they have become, until Secondo pinches one between his fingers and twists it just to the point where the pleasure borders on pain. You gasp at the shock it sends to your core and you hear him chuckle behind you as he does it again. "I wonder what other sounds you can make, sorella."
You feel his lips curl into a smile on your neck before he suddenly gives your throat a light squeeze as he slides his other hand from your breast towards where you need him the most. He shifts behind you, his knees moving in between your thighs to spread them apart and keep them open as his finger reaches your dripping core. Your surprised yelp when he buries his finger inside you with one rough shove, draws a delighted chuckle from him. You're aware that he is still in his full papal attire. Only his shoes are discarded somewhere in the room. Your eyes roll back when a second finger follows the first, stretching you open for something much bigger.
It doesn't take long until he has you tugging on your restraints, as his skilled fingers draw soft cries and moans from your lips. His other hand wanders over your soft skin and reaches your breasts once again. He takes one in his large hand and flicks his thumb over your hardened nipple. Your head falls back against his chest and he tilts his head down, his eyes locking with yours as his fingers find your sweet spot again, dancing over it and exploring your core with expert precision as you sing for him a symphony of moans, whimpers and cries that have Secondo’s cock throbbing in his pants. And then - light as a feather - his thumb flicks over the little bundle of nerves and your hips buck against his hand as his lips attach to your neck.
He's working you towards the edge again and judging by the growing bulge pressing against your back, you can tell that he wants this just as much as you do. His groan vibrates through your entire body, and you shudder in pleasure when he alters between slow, deep strokes that have you hanging in your restraints with your mouth slightly agape, and fast, almost vicious movement that target your sweet spot and have you twisting and pulling at your bonds in desperation, crying out to your Papa and begging him to give you more. His fingers are good, but not quite enough. "Papa." You mewl, barely able to focus your eyes and meet his mismatched gaze. “Please-”
Secondo sees the need to come undone in your hazy eyes when you throw your head back and tug at the rope that holds your hands above your head. You've lost your balance at some point and are now helplessly hanging in your restraints as his fingers move deep inside you. He shifts behind you, the fingers of his free hand suddenly digging into the skin of your hip. He eases a third finger inside and suddenly you're racing towards the edge again. That delicious feeling of being filled and the sensation of being stretched have you crying out, your body tensing with the approaching release. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers.” He rasps. “You like this, don't you? My fingers, deep inside…” He wriggles them around and you frantically nod.
“Tell me, are you close?” “Yes, Papa.” You cry out, your words ragged. “I'm so close. Please, I- I need… I need…” Your eyes roll back and you find yourself unable to form any kind of coherent sentence. “You need my cock, don't you?” He asks, gently caressing your side with his free hand. “You crave to become one with your Papa, to have me so deep inside that it’s almost too much for you to take… am I right, mia cara?” You're right on the edge, but he slows down, keeping you there as he waits for your response. Your “Yes, Papa!” comes out as a desperate cry that turns into choked begging and sobbing when his hand leaves you right before the pleasure can consume you.
“I think I'll have a taste now. Your scent is truly intoxicating.” He brings the soaked leather to his lips. Wide-eyed, you watch his tongue dart out, the sounds he makes as he licks your juices off his digits are obscene and you can't bring yourself to look away. His eyes are closed as he savors your taste, and he's moaning as if he's devouring a three course meal. You're trembling, shaking in your restraints. Your shoulders are starting to hurt from having to support all your weight and your whole body is aching for release.
You are a mess. Begging your Papa with incoherent words for nothing and everything at the same time. Your words don't make sense, but he knows what you want, what you need and he intends to give it to you. You watch as he carelessly discards his robe somewhere in the room. The sound of metal clinking together sounds as he opens his belt, and finally, he is just as naked as you are. His cock is large and girthy and it's rock-hard, but what really catches your eyes and makes you gulp are the four small metal balls that line the underside of his shaft.
A knowing smirk is playing around his lips as he moves behind you and only a moment later, you fall face-first onto the soft mattress when he loosens the knots of the rope that he attached to the hook on the ceiling. Before you can move, he has your hands tied on your back. “Can't let them get in my way eh?” He chuckles and moves your hair to one side of your neck, his index finger tracing the curve of your spine before he roughly grabs your hips and adjusts you to his liking. Making sure you remember your safeword, he drags the tip of his cock through your folds and rests at your entrance, before thrusting forward and slowly pushing inside.
He's moving agonizingly slow, making you feel every inch of him, every vein - and then you feel the first of his small piercings. It's cold and smooth as it slips inside, dragging along your inner walls so deliciously as he keeps pushing forward. You squirm, trying to push back against him, to impale yourself on his cock, but with your hands tied securely on your back, there's very little you can do. He tuts. “Patience, mia cara. We don't want you to hurt yourself, do we?” You whimper when he brushes past your sweet spot.
You feel full, so very full you are certain you can take no more of him. “Oh, Papa!” You whimper when he continues to ease inside the sensations of his piercings catching on your entrance before slipping inside drawing a string of obscenities from your lips. He snaps his hips into yours, burying himself deep inside, stilling to let you get used to the sensation of being completely filled. “You take me so well.” He praises, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The sound of your ragged breathing fills the air, disrupted by a soft whimper when he leans forward, the movement driving his cock a little deeper into you.
Catching your breath, you turn your head, your pleading eyes meeting his when he makes no attempt to move. Ever so slowly, he pulls out. The movement is just as slow as when he first penetrated you and you feel every inch of him, the tiny piercings dragging along your inner walls send your eyes rolling back. You pull on your restraints, wanting your hands free. The pleasure is maddening and you desperately need something to hold on to. “Is it not enough, mia cara?” He asks, stilling when only his tip remains inside you. You shake your head. Your core is painfully throbbing with need. “More. Please!” He chuckles. “Then let's see just how much of me you can handle, hm?”
With that his fingers dig into the skin of your hips before his hips snap forward and he drives himself all the way into you again. His thrusts are slow, but powerful and deep, each stroke purposefully aimed for the spots that'd make you see stars. White spots dance across the edges of your vision when his thumb is suddenly flicking over your clit, drawing lazy circles around it. His thrusts pick up in pace. His head falls back and his eyes close for a second as your moans and whimpers echo through the room before he regains his composure. “You feel so good, cara.” He groans. “Oh, Satan below…”
His voice is rough as are his thrusts that are driving you towards the edge again. You know you might go insane if he leaves you there again. “Please - “ You beg. “Please don't stop. I need… I need…” “You need to cum, don't you?” You can't see him but you know that there's a smirk curling the corners of his mouth into a little smile. “Don't worry, I won't stop this time.” He whispers to you as he buries himself balls-deep inside you once again and you're not sure whether his words are a threat or a promise - maybe both.
“I want to see you come undone. I want to feel you clench around me as you unravel.” His finger sets the nerves of your clit on fire as they dance over it. Your lips are slightly parted and your eyes are halfway closed as you whimper into your pillow, hips bucking wildly into his hand as his cock drives into you over and over again. His thrusts are relentless. They are hard and hitting all the right spots. You're right on the edge again, ready to fall, but he doesn't let you. He keeps you there, slowing down just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. Your begging is barely understandable. It's disrupted by lustful sobs. And then his fingers leave your clit.
You feel his gloved thumb lightly brush over your other hole. You jerk away from his touch. "Pap-ahh!" During your own little escapades, you had never dared to venture that way and you have your safeword on your lips, but your cry of protest fades into a shaky whimper when the leather - slick with your own juices - presses against that tight ring of muscles, and pushes past the resistance, breaching your entrance. His powerful thrusts are deep and hard. Every snap of his hips against yours have you rocking forward from the sheer force.
His cock repeatedly ruts against your sweet spot, you feel every vein of his girthy length and the four small metal balls lining the underside of his cock scrape deliciously against your fluttering walls, drawing sounds from your throat you didn't know a human being was capable of making. If your hands were free, you'd claw at your pillow, hold on to the headboard or grab the sheets for support until your knuckles turned white - anything to ground you. But your hands are bound tightly on your back and all you can do is scream into your pillow, your broken cries hoarse from the pleasure of the sweet torture he's putting you through, occasionally replaced by incoherent babbling and begging that barely makes any sense.
Your panicked cry echoes from the walls of his papal bed chamber when he sinks his finger deep into your ass, applying pressure to that thin wall that separates his long digit from his rock-hard cock and overwhelming your system with an amount of pleasure you doubt you can handle. Your eyes cross and roll back as your body shakes when you come violently, walls contracting around him, clenching down hard, gripping his finger and his cock tightly. He groans, his breath hot as it ghosts over the shell of your ear when he whispers filthy Italian to you as he fucks you through that earth-shattering orgasm.
His hand grips your throat and angles you up as his thrusts become erratic. Tilting your head back just a little more, he captures your lips in a searing kiss. The pleasure goes on and on and you shake and tremble in his strong arms as he reaches even deeper - a thing you didn't think was even possible. He slams into your cervix and you go limp as you black out for a second when he fills you with his hot seed. He thrusts a few more times, panting heavily as he rides out the aftershocks before he stills and softly, carefully lowers you back down onto the mattress before he loosens your restraints. You don't see him freeing his hands of his gloves, but you know he's taken them off when the warmth of his hand spreads on your back.
You're immobile, completely worn out. All you can manage is a barely audible, shaky whimper each time one of the shiny metal balls applies pressure to your overly sensitive entrance as it slips out. "Shhh." Secondo soothes uncharacteristically gentle as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear and then gathers you up into his arms, holding you close as you still shake from the remnants of the pure, unfiltered ecstasy running through your veins and setting your nerves on fire just moments ago. "I got you." He whispers softly. "I got you, mia cara."
His touch is gentle and caring, a stark contrast to the rough handling you received only moments ago. He softly tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear before placing a tender kiss on your forehead. His thumb is rubbing soft circles into the skin of your shoulders, loosening the tension in your muscles caused by the rope. Placing a feather-light kiss to your shoulder, he slips off the bed, promising to be right back before leaving the room and returning only moments later with a glass of water and a soft washcloth.
The glass clinks softly as he puts it down on his night. “Can you turn on your back for me, tesoro?” He asks, settling in between your legs when you roll over. He parts your legs once more and carefully cleans the remnants of his seed away. Nothing hints at the roughness he's been treating you with earlier. His eyes carry a soft, caring expression as he runs the cloth over your thighs and between your legs. Satisfied with his work, he returns the cloth and crawls back into bed, coaxing you to sit up as he hands you the glass of water. Greedily, you gulp down the water and earn a soft chuckle from him. You blush, handing him the empty glass as he reaches out to take it back and places it back down on the nightstand, before making himself comfortable in the middle of his bed and pulling you against him.
You burrow into him, sighting contently when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, cradling your head to his chest and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. He's still warm from earlier and surrounded by his warmth, his scent and the sound of his steadily beating heart, you find your eyes fluttering closed as you calm down, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. His thumb caresses your cheek. “I think I should go.” You whisper after some time, not knowing if he expects you to stay or leave.
His breath has become rhythmic and steady and you're not sure whether he is sleeping or not. You really don't want to go. His warm body against yours feels so right and the way he's holding you is making you feel safe and loved. “You're not going anywhere, tesoro.” He growls and the arm around your waist tightens its grip on you possessively. His voice is sleepy as it rumbles through his chest. “You'll be sore in the morning. We can't have you waking up all alone, aching and feeling lonely, eh?” You nod, relaxing and nuzzling your face into his chest. His hand finds its way into your hair, and he starts to softly hum one of his songs as your eyes close and as you start drifting off, you decide that you'll never want to fall asleep any other way than wrapped up in your Papa's arms.