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"You... you wanted to see me, High Forkbearer?" you called nervously, your words echoing across the empty church hall. The pastor was standing over the lectern, glancing up with a hum, their wings folded neatly behind their back. "Oh! You're here earlier than I anticipated. I appreciate the haste." They clasped their hands together, bowing with earnest respect. You held your hands together as well, bowing back to your leader.
You made your way down the aisle, each step echoing against the marble floor. The grand windows cast streams of colored light across the pews, painting the air with fragments of blacks and reds. The quiet of the hall pressed in on you, and you clasped your hands tighter, as if in prayer.
The High Forkbearer gestured lightly toward the front pew. “Sit, if you will. There is much I’ve wished to ask of you.” Their voice was calm, even kind, yet it carried the weight of something you couldn’t place. You obeyed without question, lowering yourself onto the bench, your heart quickening all the same.
For a moment, the silence stretched, broken only by the faint flicker of candles. Then the pastor spoke again, folding their hands over the lectern. “You have served faithfully. You’ve shown diligence and humility, even when others waver. Do you know how rare such devotion is?”
Your lips parted, though no sound came at first. You bowed your head instinctively, fumbling for words. “I… I only wish to honor the Order, High Forkbearer. To serve the Creators as best as I can.”
The faintest smile curved their lips. They stepped down from the pulpit, each footfall measured, deliberate. “And that is precisely why you were summoned.” Doughael moved closer, the soft rustle of their robes echoing faintly in the hall. You could feel the heat of their presence before you even looked up, the air around them heavy, almost magnetic. Your hands clenched slightly in your lap, though you tried to keep your composure.
“You’ve been diligent,” Doughael murmured, voice low but clear, “yet I sense… there is more within you, isn’t there?” They paused, tilting their head, studying you as if trying to read every thought before it fully formed. Your breath caught.
“I… I only try to follow the path set before me,” you whispered, unable to meet their gaze. Every word felt inadequate, failing to capture the strange flutter in your chest.
A single finger lifted, brushing lightly against the edge of the lectern, just close enough that your pulse raced. “Perhaps,” Doughael said, “it is time to test not only your devotion… but your courage. Do you trust me?”
Your throat went dry. The hall suddenly felt smaller, the shadows deeper, as though the colored light from the windows had sharpened just to illuminate the two of you. “I… I trust you, High Forkbearer,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.
Doughael’s smile deepened, slow and knowing. “Good,” they said. “Then let us begin.”
Their steps were quiet, deliberate, but your heart pounded so loudly it felt like the whole hall would hear it. Before you could process what was happening, they had lowered themselves gracefully to their knees before you, robes pooling around them.
Your breath caught. The colored light from the windows danced across their face, highlighting that faint, knowing smile that made your chest ache. “Do not be afraid,” Doughael murmured softly, voice almost a whisper, but it wrapped around you like a physical touch.
One finger reached out hesitantly, brushing against the edge of your knees. You froze, heat blooming where their touch lingered. Slowly—so deliberately it made your stomach twist—they guided your legs apart just slightly. Not forcefully, not harshly, but with a gentle, commanding care that made your whole body tighten.
“Relax,” Doughael said, calm yet impossibly intense. “Trust is the first step… devotion the next.” Their hand lingered a moment longer than necessary, and the room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the air thick with a tension that made it impossible to think of anything but them. Doughael’s eyes darkened, a look of unshakable authority and hunger that made your knees quake. “Remove your robes,” they commanded, voice low but absolute. “Now.”
Your hands trembled as you obeyed, fingers fumbling at the buttons and ties, every movement slow, every second dragging as if the hall itself held its breath. Doughael stayed kneeling, feeling as if you could feel their gaze through the blindfold, and it was absolutely killing you.
As the last layer fell away, Doughael reached out, trailing fingers lightly over your shoulders, down your arms, memorizing every curve and line. “Ah… perfect,” they breathed, a soft, reverent hum of admiration. “Every inch of you… exactly as it should be. You are… exquisite.”
The praise washed over you, hot and dizzying, making you shiver despite yourself. They leaned closer, still kneeling, letting their hands trace the gentle sweep of your sides, the arch of your back, marveling at the way your body seemed almost to glow under the light of the candles.
“You’ve served me faithfully,” Doughael murmured, voice husky, “and look at you now… a masterpiece made for my eyes alone. Every curve, every line… flawless. Do you understand how beautiful you are to me?”
"No, I-I do not, High Forkbearer."
Doughael hummed quizzically. "Then allow me to demonstrate. But please, do call me by my name. At least for tonight."
The words sent shivers crawling up your spine. Before you could respond further, Doughael leaned forward, closing the space between you. Their lips met yours, soft at first, tentative, then gradually insistent. Your knees trembled beneath them, heart hammering so loud it was almost a physical thing.
When you tugged at their hair in a mix of nervous impulse and need, their reaction was instant, breath hitching, a whimper escaping like a small, desperate cakehound. “Ah… you… you wound me so,” they murmured, voice cracking just slightly, utterly undone beneath your hands.
Your knee shifted subtly, grinding lightly between their legs. Even through the blindfold, you felt their body stiffen, heat pooling between your own legs as they pressed back against you. Mighty and commanding in the hall, but helpless and trembling for you alone, it made your chest ache and your mind spin.
Doughael’s hands sought your hips, gripping gently as if to anchor themselves while their lips stayed pressed to yours, every touch a mix of devotion, need, and the strange, intoxicating desperation of someone utterly captivated by your power over them. Their mouth parted against yours, soft at first, tasting, exploring, and then they pressed harder, a low hum vibrating through their chest as they leaned into you. When you hesitated, they sighed, a sound somewhere between frustration and need, and nudged your lips open with theirs.
Tongues brushed, timid at first, tasting each other, a slow, teasing dance that made your heart stutter. Doughael’s own tongue was hesitant, almost reverent, but as you mirrored them, exploring and pressing closer, they shivered, melting into your touch with that pitiful, obedient heat you craved.
Their hands gripped your hips tighter as they deepened the kiss, sliding their tongue along yours with an almost desperate reverence. Every gasp, every soft whine, every tremble of their body beneath your hands was intoxicating, like having power over something both mighty and utterly devoted.
When you pulled back just slightly, their lips stayed near yours, forehead resting against yours, blindfolded eyes hidden but body completely surrendered. “Y-You… you taste… perfect,” they whispered, voice hoarse, needy. Suddenly they pulled away, fixing a piece of your disheveled hair before sliding back onto their knees.
They pushed your legs apart with both hands, "Let me show you how devoted I am to you." they muttered, placing a small kiss against the lips of your folds, the sensation alone enough to make you gasp. "Doughael.." you breathed, feeling hot in the face. Without another word, they parted your entrace with their tongue, placing a few small pecks to your clit, then sucking and swirling their tongue around. Their saliva mixed with your slick, making the corners of their lips glisten. You let out a moan, bundling a fist into your hair. They hummed, vibrating against you.
"Good girl." They said darkly, face still buried between your legs. They pushed their tongue further into you, eliciting little gasps. "Ah.. Ah.." you squeaked pathetically. They continued to suck on you softly, withdrawing their mouth for a gulp of breath with a string of slick still connecting your insides to their lips before diving back in. Doughael began to give more attention to your clit, holding your hip with one hand before slowly pushing two fingers inside of you.
Never in your life had you felt something so amazing, the leader of the St. Pastry Order themselves, choosing you to worship and please. You couldn't help but wonder how this intercourse would change your status by tomorrow morning, but most thoughts were thrown off when they pushed a third finger in, still worshipping you with their mouth at the same time.
"Please, please, please..." You whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. They thrusted their fingers in and out, already soaked in your slick. "Doughael..." you were practically sobbing at this point, feeling yourself grow closer to tipping over the edge.
You couldn't help but think how perfect the High Forkbearer looked between your knees. Even with a blindfold over their eyes, you could tell they were focused, slightly able to see the furrowed brow on their forehead.
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum-" You choked out. They broke away, wiping their lips and withdrawing their fingers. Their nose and cheeks were covered in your juices. The feeling of near release faded away, yet still lingered. You looked at them quizzically, eyes glazed over as you laid back against the pew.
"I cannot allow you to finish yet." They explained. "I do not wish to overexert you. I would also like to finish alongside you..." They slid off most of their robes, keeping their underwraps and stoles, wrapping the removed ones around your shoulders. You could see now how hard they were, their length dripping precum. You leaned forward, wrapping a hand around their shaft. Doughael wasn't thick by any means, but they were long enough that you could wrap both hands around it and still have some room. They let out a tiny whimper from your touch.
You felt powerful, making them whine from your touch. Slowly, you drew your palm up and down their throbbing length, earning yourself more groans from them. "Please." they said politely. "I'd like to do it properly now." You nodded, pulling your hand away.
They lifted you from the pew, pushing you into a wall, your calves draped over their shoulders. With a quick slap of dough, they pushed themselves inside of you. You shrieked with ecstasy, feeling the head pulsate against your inner walls. "I'll move when you're ready." They whispered, biting their lip.
You waited a moment or two to grow used to the feeling, before giving them a small nod. "I'm ready." As you uttered the confirmation, Doughael slowly moved out, and in, out, and in, the slow, gentle thrusts driving you absolutely crazy. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, either from pleasure or the small amount of pain that flickered just barely under the other sensations.
"Are you alright?" Doughael asked softly, their forehead against yours. You nodded. "Speed up. Please." They obeyed your plea, the sounds of dough slapping against dough becoming a loud echo in the church hall. You cried out, burying your face in the nape of Doughael's neck. They made little to no sound, yet their breathing was shaky.
As they continued to fuck you raw, you couldn't help but ask the question. "Who am I?" you whispered. Doughael gave you a quizzical hum, continuing to pound into you. "What status do I hold? What is truly my purpose?" you added, finishing the sentence with a muffled whine as their length hit you at a certain angle. The High Forkbearer sighed, as if they were expecting the question.
"Your purpose... is to offer your Whole Dough to the Avatar of Destiny. And now... it is also to be mine." They said simply. You pulled away from their neck, looking up at them through your eyelashes. "Yours?"
"Yes, mine." Their lips curved into a smile. You nodded, wrapping yourself around them again.
Their pace quickened, and a small growl escaped their throat. They bit into your shoulder, moving you, thrusting into you upwards. You cried out again, feeling their length hit your cervix with each thrust. The feeling was pure euphoria, all the sensations mixing together to become the purest form of contentment. The High Forkbearer looked absolutely beautiful, their large, white wings curling protectively around the both of you, their stoles draping unevenly over their own shoulders. A giant mess... all for you.
The feeling from before began to build up again, and you could sense that Doughael was close as well, considering the way their cock was throbbing inside of you. "I'm gonna cum..." you whispered sharply. They nodded in acknowledgement. "I am as well... can I? May I?" You shook your head up and down rapidly, desperation in your eyes. "Please, please, please... I need you... I love you... allow me to bear more children for the Order. Please..."
Something about your begging for their children must have made something snap in them, as after the words were spoken, they landed one final thrust, letting out a groan, before the pooling feeling of their warm seed filled you, eliciting your own orgasm, your walls clenching around them and creating more cum to fill you up, practically milking them dry.
They fell to their knees, holding you close, whispering tiny 'oh's into your ear. You wrapped your arms around their neck, gently petting the base of their wings. "Mine." They cooed. "All mine. My perfect disciple."