her-satanic-wiles - Tumblr blog

her-satanic-wiles · 1 hour

Note

THE WAY I'M SCREAMING

For the lyric game…

I know you said a Papa or Ghoul, but would you make an exception for Mary Goore? 👉🏻👈🏻 Our beloved corpse needs some more loving lol. The song I had in mind was Merry-Go-Round by Mötley Crüe with the line: 🎶She waits at home just to love him through the night, thinking, he’s been gone so long now. Is he coming home?🎶 Can be both NSFW or SFW 😉

Oh, of course I can make an exception for our dear sweet Mary Goore... 😈

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm feeling some angst. No one fits angst quite as well as Mary, hm? Just something about it works. So I apologise if this isn't what you wanted, but this is what came into my mind...

NSFW 18+, MDNI! Mary Goore x gn!reader TW: Angst, jealousy, accusations of infidelity, domestic arguments, insecurity, angry sex, hate fucking, penetrative sex, manhandling, slight pain kink.

You stared at your phone screen, watching as if anything were going to change yet knowing it wouldn't. But you hoped; you always hoped.

"Read 19:09"

Those three little dots never appeared. No new messages. It had been hours... His set would have finished around 11, so why, at 2:47am were you still sat up, waiting for him to so much as text you back.

You were getting tired of this. The "I'll be home before 2" promises, or the "I was just grabbing a drink after the show" excuses. Each one fell short, and he avoided the topic. All you'd text him was a simple "Hope the show goes well, baby. Kill it!" and yet, nothing. He used to reply right away, even if just with an emoji when he was busy or pushed for time.

But lately, with the late nights and the ignored texts, you were beginning to wonder if there was something he was hiding. He never had a good reason for his late returns, just that he was "networking" or "having drinks with the guys". And when he did finally show, he'd just crawl into bed beside you without a word, and fall asleep while you waited for something; even just an arm draped over your waist, a kiss to the forehead.

There was only one thing circling your mind; Mary was sleeping around.

When you heard the lock of the front door click open, your heart dropped into your stomach. All night you planned what to say, how to approach this. You wanted to be strong, but the second you were confronted with the reality of Mary coming home, you backed out, and words failed you.

Sat in the dark, Mary didn't notice you at first. Being a small studio apartment, he never turned the lights on when he came in, knowing they'd wake you - which he never wanted to do. So you heard him tiptoe into the apartment, setting his guitar case down and start to make his way over to the bathroom to wash the face paints and fake blood from his face.

Before he made it there, you quietly popped a cigarette between your lips and sparked a lighter to light it. The sudden noise and flash of light halted Mary in his tracks, startling him.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, babe... Scared the shit outta me!" he laughed clutching his heart over his cut-off t-shirt. You said nothing, not bothering to turn in his direction and instead taking a drag and letting the smoke billow into the glow of street lamps streaming through the windows.

Mary stood confused for a second, his eyes adjusting to your form on the couch and waiting for you to say something else, maybe ask about the show or something. But nothing. You just took another long, deliberate drag of your cigarette, staring straight ahead.

He knew you were pissed. And if he was being honest with himself, he knew why, too. He sighed to himself and trundled over to the couch, clicking on the lamp on the side table before sitting in the empty spot beside you.

"I'm late again, I know..."

"Is that your apology?" you snapped back, flicking the ash fro your cigarette into a tiny ashtray on the coffee table. You still couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"No... I was getting to that." his tone sounded annoyed, like he didn't appreciate the way you spoke to him. It was as if he were answering back to his mother, catching him coming back late from a party. This was far beyond that.

"Go on then. What bullshit excuse you got this time?" Any previous thoughts of diplomacy in your approach went out the window now, too pissed off to hold back.

"Jeez, so I was late. It's not a big fuckin' deal," he defended, poorly. "Where's the attitude coming from?" He sat back into the couch with a harsh slump, bouncing his knee in annoyance.

You took another drag of your cigarette, before stubbing it out in the ashtray and standing up to stomp over to the bed you shared with a mumbled, "Fuck this."

Mary's eyes followed you, watching as you angrily shed the shirt you were wearing, throwing it to the floor and rooting in your drawers for something to wear to bed. He stood up too, pushing himself from the couch and following you.

"Look I said I'm sorry," he attempted, but you spun around to face him, finally looking him in the eye.

"Actually, no you fuckin' didn't. But you 'were getting to that'. So go on, give me your sorry. We'll see if it works." Mary stared dumbly at you. This wasn't the first time you'd brought this up, but it was the first time you'd got this angry...

"The guys just wanted to get some drinks, we had a good gig. Just wanted to celebrate! I'm sorry, alright?"

You scoffed and turned back to root through your draws, trying to find a shirt that wasn't Mary's just to make a fucking point. He sighed behind you, chewing the inside of his cheek while he tried to swallow his pride.

"I should have text you," he stated plainly. You ignored him, which pissed him off more. "I will next time, I swear."

That made you spin around again, looking at him with vague disgust. "Next time? So this is just gonna keep happening, huh?"

"Drinking with my friends? Yeah, probably." His sarcasm pissed you off even more.

"Don't bullshit me, Mare... You've been doing this at every damn show, and when you come home to me, you don't even touch me!" You were yelling at him now, too hurt to let it go. "If you wanna fuck around Mary, go ahead and live that life but stop making me sit up waiting for you in the hope that you want my love instead!"

Mary was stunned, his eyebrows screwed tightly together as he stared down at you. You stood before him, rigid in your accusation and not backing down this time, angry tears in your waterline that you refused to let fall. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"...Is that what you think I've been doing?" He was livid now, offended.

"Don't fucking lie to me. Why else would you constantly get home late? Ignore my texts or calls? Climb into bed without so much as a second look my way let alone wrapping an arm around me, heaven forbid!"

"Because you're asleep, and I'm fucking tired?" he spat. You laughed, no humour in it at all. It was dry, sarcastic and venomous. You didn't believe him.

"Fuck who you want, Mare. I'm done." You started to turn away from him as the tears betrayed you, but he grabbed your wrist and span you back to face him, stepping into your personal space as rage and adrenaline pumped through his body.

"Only person I wanna fuck is you," he growled, backing you up against the open draw behind you until it slammed shut and you stumbled, the edge of the dresser hitting the bottom of your back. You'd never seen him like this, like he was possessed... His eyes were wide with anger and the threatening paints on his face did nothing to put you at ease.

"You want me to touch you, hm? All you had to do was ask..." He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss that caught you off guard for a moment, before you regained some kind of awareness and pressed both hands to his chest, pushing him off you in one hard shove. He stood there, out of breath much like you were, neither one of you knowing what to do or say now. It was as if you were in a stand-off, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Unfortunately for you, it was you who made that first move.

You pounced on him, smashing your lips against his as you grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Whether it was desperation to keep him close or spite to show him exactly what he'd be missing when you walked away, you weren't sure but your reaction was visceral.

Mary quickly dove back in too, his grip on your hips pulling you close to fuse your bodies together as you violently made out with him, weaving your fingers into his hair to pull it at the roots and angle his head to where you wanted it. Before long, you were tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head, both of you now shirtless.

Then you were pushing him, manoeuvring him towards the bed to push him back onto it with all the strength you could muster. You didn't wait for him to do anything, to say anything, reaching for his jeans to pop the button and drag them down his thighs. He kicked them off without arguing, his eyes dark and trained on you as you removed everything from the waist down and climb on top of him.

Something about this had your core stirring, arousal pooling where you needed it most, where you'd craved him for the longest time. Spite was a powerful aphrodisiac it seemed, because the only word Mary could think to describe you right now was rabid.

You used all of your body weight to push him to lay back, no care taken to go slow or build anticipation. This was hate fucking. This was furious passion, building and bubbling and boiling over uncontrollably. Both of you were powerless to stop it.

You ravaged him again, kisses so brutal you'd be feeling them for days after while your hips ground down into his exposed and already solid length beneath you. You heard him groan with pleasure, and it pissed you off, spurring you to bite on his lip until he grunted in pain. His hands gripped your ass in fistfuls, nails digging into the supple flesh and he pushed and pulled to grind you harder against him.

By the time you were ready to take him inside you, he was leaking precum profusely from his tip. It only aided you in lining him up, and sinking down until he was fully sheathed inside you. You took him slowly, teasing him but frankly you were in no mood for slow and steady.

You set a savage pace, riding him while your hands held him down. Your own nails dug into his shoulders as you cried out in both pain and pleasure, a delicious mix that fuelled the pair of you.

"Oh, fuck baby, just like that..." he groaned, not expecting you to slap his chest to force his eyes back on you.

"Shut the fuck up," you roared, only riding him faster, harder. All those jealous emotions, all that bottled up insecurity was coming out now and he was letting you take it out on him. If he'd known you had this in you, he might have pissed you off a lot sooner.

But Mary couldn't let that mouth of yours slide, he couldn't let you win. He had as much to lose tonight as you did, whether that was his fault or not. And he was very aware it was his fault.

Using the adrenaline that pumped through him, he lifted you off him, forcing your off to the unoccupied side of the bed so you faceplanted in the sheets. This move was too unexpected, and before you could recover and fight back for control he was already on top of you, pinning your wrists behind your back and contorting you to raise your hips up and have you on your knees, face still buried in the sheets beneath you. He wasted no time in lining himself back up to your entrance, and pushing back in to find his own vicious rhythm.

You wanted to fight back, but you couldn't. The pleasure was building to a point of no return and you wanted to cum more than you wanted to control him. This is what you'd missed, if you were honest with yourself. When you'd first started dating Mary the sex was hot, freaky, a little weird... It was unlike anything else. And then you both got complacent, too comfortable and taking each other for granted and now here you were, after weeks of barely there mediocre sex. Both of you just needed a little spark to light the gasoline inside you.

Mary kept your wrists held tightly against your lower back in one hand, while the other snaked around your waist, using it to pleasure you even further.

"Come on, baby. Cum on my cock, hm? Just like you used to. Fucking squeeze me," he ordered, his hips slapping hard against your ass and filling the room with lewd noises. All you could do was cry out, to moan into the sheets and let go completely.

You barrelled towards your orgasm hard and fast, stimulated in every way possible, inside and out. The way your walls contracted around him made it difficult for him to keep up his pace, and damn near impossible to stave off his won orgasm. Too soon, he was filling you, his cock kicking inside you over and over until he was completely drained both of his spend and his energy.

He fell forwards, leaning over you as he held you tightly against him to ground himself. His mind felt hazy, he could barely think straight through the bliss and exhaustion. But he was in for a rude awakening, when he felt you heaving beneath him, silent sobs wracking your body over and over.

Stabbing him in the chest would have heart less. Seeing you so hurt, so broken was devastating to him. He panicked, removing himself from you and flipping you over with very little resistance. But what you did resist was eye contact, staring directly up at the ceiling as you slapped a hand over your mouth to contain the sobs.

"Hey... Shhh, it's okay. I'm here," he soothed, pushing strands of hair from your forehead and gently trailing his fingers along your cheek and jawline.

"I-I don't... want to... lose you," you sobbed. "Want to b-be enough... for you."

This was his fault. His neglect had led to this. You'd never been anything but doting, supporting, loving. And he wasn't sued to it. It scared him, the feelings he harboured for you. He'd never felt so intensely, never loved anyone like this before. He'd taken you for granted, been so selfish in focussing on himself and the band and not you.

Mary had never cheated on you. He never would. All he could do was try to tell you that, to show you that you were the only one he wanted.

"You're more than enough, you're too good for me. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," he cooed, pressing his forehead to yours while you cried beneath him. "I swear, there's never been anyone else. You can ask the guys, it really was just drinks with them."

You weren't sure you believed him, the insecurity so deeply rooted that talking to his bandmates might only be the start of rebuilding the trust you'd once had in him. But it was a start.

Mary lay himself down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and snuggling into your side while you let everything out. He peppered softer kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the top of your head while you held onto the arm wrapped around you for dear life. Eventually, exhaustion crept in, and you started to drift off in his arms.

He didn't let go of you all night, barely sleeping himself as he thought of all the ways he could right his wrongs, prove himself to you without it feeling insincere. Step one was to bring you to his shows, to have you around like you used to back at the start. From there, he'd work on this.

Seeing your breakdown, being so close to losing you tonight was the wake up call he'd needed to see what was at stake. He'd be damned if he let himself get complacent again.

He'd be damned if he truly lost you.

#this was so good #omg #da-rulah

39 notes · View notes

her-satanic-wiles · 3 hours

Text

Bitch..... you're so kind to me stoooop

Bejewelled

Papa Emeritus II x Reader

It’s Papa Secondo’s birthday, and after spending the hole day working, he just wants to relax. But how can he when his favourite Sister of Sin is being a bad girl in front of everyone?

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by @inkstainedrat

Words: 5.6k.

Reading Time: 22 min.

Warnings: anal play, begging, breeding degradation, cock warming, creampie, dubcon, fingering, frottage, free use, groping, hair pulling, mentions of cunnilingus, mentions of fellatio, pain kink, PIV sex, positive degradation, praise, rough sex, spanking, spit as lube, underprepared, unprotected sex (Embrace safety - enjoy it greatly), vaginal sex,

Taglist: @inkstainedrat @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @socksandcr0cs @dio-niisio @duskspring @foxybouquet @likeloversentwined

Thank you to @da-rulah, @angellayercake and @tasty-ribz for workshopping some of these ideas with me and getting me on track!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You settled into your space at the meeting table, notepad opened to the next available page and date written at the top of it in neat handwriting. You had taken on a more secretarial role for the Ministry, providing the reigning Papa with a helping hand as he went about his daily schedule. The other clergy members were already sat and settled like you, cardinal robes of black and red alternating the seats like chess pieces on a board, broken occasionally by the odd sibling of sin who’d, like you, joined to either take notes for their respective bosses, or provide insight on the general running of the Ministry where the upper clergy couldn’t assist. In short, everyone was ready and waiting, conversations slipping past your ears as certain cardinals spoke over you, not to you. But they soon silenced themselves when the door opened and Papa Emeritus II walked through the doors.

Papa Secondo, despite being a softhearted, kind man, oozed an intimidating aura that put men in their place just by his presence alone. Papa Secondo was not a man to be trifled with, played with, or undermined in any way. His word was law, even among his brothers, one of which outranked him in both age and experience. He took no shit, dished out as much as he could, and ultimately threw his weight around in a respectable, yet authoritative way. Just the mere look of his scowl would have your thighs clenching, and heat pooling between your legs - and you weren’t the only one affected by this.

Papa Secondo’s personality was much different to that of his brothers. Before he met you, he would almost never seek a woman out, he’d rarely approach her, rarely proposition her - in fear of making her uncomfortable mostly, but he also didn’t want to blend in with the other men in the Ministry, his younger brother included, who would approach and whine and beg for the ladies to spread their legs and invite him in willingly. Besides, there was something inside him that loved being chased rather than doing the chasing. The idea that a beautiful woman would want him so much, she’d run after him and coyly ask if he’d give her some company later on. That a beautiful woman would want him so much, that she’d face the fear of rejection in front of her friends and potentially embarrass herself, just to get the opportunity to hold him. He’d never approach a woman, but he’d also never reject one either. And, as he entered the room, your eyes darted to all the other sisters who were equally as squirmy as you, the mere proximity being too much for you all to handle.

It always made you feel smug knowing he had such an affect on the rest of the clergy, but would always come back to you no matter what.

Men feared him. Women wanted him. Somehow, the perfect man did exist, and he wore black, glitter paints and silenced a room just by opening a door.

“Buon pomeriggio.” He said, his deep voice quiet yet commanding. He kept his eyes straight in front of him as he entered the room, not bothering to spare a glance to his colleagues until he’d approached his seat at the head of the table and directly opposite you. You were the first person his mismatched eyes had landed on, reminding you that to him, you were the most important person in the room despite your low ranking among his peers. Once he’d registered your existence, he sat down and situated himself comfortably, gloved hands immediately opening his own folder to pull out the important documents for the meeting. Once he’d personally acknowledged everyone else in the room, he cleared his throat and began.

“Ora, we have many things on the agenda today, so I would like to start immediately, by Sathanas and the mother, Lilith, we thank and worship thee as we do ourselves. Nema.”

“Nema.” Came the chorus of the clergy.

“Cardinale Zhang,” he looked towards the man and you watched as Cardinal Zhang startled at the sudden attention. Papa Secondo noticed, and despite his face being emotionless and stoic, a flicker of amusement passed across his eyes, feeding on the Cardinal’s fear. “You have been visiting universities to de-stigmatise the Faith. Update me, how is that going?”

Cardinal Zhang swallowed and cleared his throat doing his best to hide his nerves. He failed, obviously. He began talking, detailing his efforts across the Atlantic in America and how he’d shown up for each of the universities along the East Coast, hoping to break through to the youth. But as a lot of that part of America were staunch ‘Red States’ and Christians, he was met with a lot of resistance.

Secondo, somewhat surprisingly, was understanding with his response. For once, he didn’t criticise the Cardinal’s failure, or what he deemed as such, rather the country’s unwillingness to be open to change. He quickly followed up that comment with another about Salem, and how they were always welcomed with open arms there thanks to the work of previous clergy members who’d moved to set up temples and places of worship.

He then moved on quickly to the next outreach programme, opening the Ministry doors once a month for visitors and tours of the historical building they all called home - another effort of de-stigmatisation that was under the watchful eyes of Cardinal Garcia. His tone softened when he spoke to her, his eyes never leaving hers as he listened intently to everything she had to say. “We get upwards of one thousand visitors per weekend, Papa.” She confirmed in an upbeat tone. “This is a 20% increase of last year. We’re still keeping our entrance fee at 20 Euros for now,” she handed a sheet of paper to one of the Ghouls standing behind her, who then brought it to Papa Secondo to browse at his leisure, which he did, “Last month alone we received approximately 20,080 Euros. Our finance specialists have worked closely with our social media team, and have worked out we may get roughly a further 500 guests next month, an additional 50% growth, which should tip us over the 20,500 Euro benchmark.”

“Can we quantify the impact of these tours on public perception and understanding of our beliefs and values?” Papa asked, not taking his eyes off the paper.

“I believe so, Papa. On average,” she handed another sheet of paper to a Ghoul, “30% of guests purchase a membership of the Satanic Church, and organise unholy baptisms. 10% actively apply to work and live here full time.”

“How many of these applications get accepted?”

“Recently, with all the moves and changes of our staff, around 50% got accepted last month. But usually, we only select from the most impressive, which is, as accurately as I can describe it, a handful.”

“Are any of our parishes around the world asking for more siblings?”

“I’m not sure, Papa. That’s Cardinal Smith’s jurisdiction.”

Papa’s eyes snapped to Cardinal Smith, another man who shivered beneath the weight of Papa’s gaze. “Well?” He snapped, expectantly, clearly annoyed by Cardinal Smith’s lack of initiative.

“W-we have had a few requests, Your Dark Eminence.” Cardinal Smith stammered.

“And how many siblings have been transferred?”

“Well, n-none.”

Papa’s eyebrows raised. “None? Questo è un cazzo di scherzo assoluto! Perché? Why are you not assisting our unholy siblings?”

“We couldn’t spare the people.”

“Sei stupido, Cardinale Smith?”

“N-no, Your Dark Eminence.”

“Then why do you not liaison with Cardinale Garcia and ask her to accept more applicants to send them overseas after their education?”

“I d-didn’t think.”

“Ah. Non mi sorprende, Cardinale. A brain as smooth as yours must be kept shiny and pristine, sì? Cannot be worried about trivial tasks such as thinking.” His tone softened again as he turned to - “Cardinale Garcia, work with Cardinale Stronzo in providing new applicants for our unholy siblings overseas, per favore.” He turned to another woman in the room. “Cardinale Kim, I would also like you to work on this with Cardinale Garcia and Smith to speed up our applicants education and send them out to their respective countries. When you have the time, of course.”

“Of course, Papa.” Cardinal Kim responded.

“I thank Lilith that there are two intelligent women on this job. Sathanas knows we’d fall apart if it was left only to the smooth brained of us in the room.” He cleared his throat. “Sorella ___,” he said addressing you, “are you getting all of this?”

You didn’t look up from your notebook, wrist aching from all the minutes you were taking. “It would help if you spoke slower, Papa.” You replied, insubordinately. You didn’t need to look at Papa to know he was looking at you furiously. “Either that or let me bring my laptop to these meetings.”

“Your laptop is too loud.” He protested through gritted teeth.

You finally looked at him, a small grin on your face. “Then speak slower. Please.”

He sighed and sat back in his seat, staring daggers into your soul. You were usually so sweet and polite to him - his little angioletta who respected him in front of everyone in the vicinity, who behaved so obediently behind closed doors and thanked him for all that he gave you. You were never bratty to your Papa, never rude or obnoxious. “You’re very audacious today, little one.” He commented, his tone commanding your obedience lest you face a punishment.

You persisted, the idea of dealing with your angry Papa later on too delectable to give up now. Papa would often take his frustrations out on you, an agreement between the both of you allowed him to take your consent and use you as he pleased, whenever he pleased. You would always spread your legs willingly for him, or bend yourself over and arch your back just as he liked without him uttering a single word, and depending on the kind of day he’d had, you’d either be worshipped, or bruised by his daily frustrations. You’d told him through bright red cheeks once that you thoroughly enjoyed him using you to deal with his anger, and so, he would have you whenever he felt even a little bit perturbed. But never were you the reason for his anger, not until today. And the way he looked at you now had your hole clenching around nothing, and a need to push him until he snapped and bubbled beneath your surface. You’d started now, you didn’t think you’d be able to stop until he put you back in your place.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be blamed for missing even a drop of your wisdom.”

The rest of the room shifted uncomfortably as the tension became so thick, you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it.

“I’d hold my tongue if I were you, angioletta.”

“But you’re not me, Papa.”

Papa dropped into a foul mood for the rest of the meeting, shooting you angry looks and constantly asking if he was being slow enough for you. But eventually, the meeting came to an end, and Papa pushed everyone out of the room, keeping you in your place. As soon as the door closed, in a harsh tone, he broke the silence. “Angioletta, what was that?”

“What was what, Papa?” You asked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me - you know what you did. Sathanas, ___. Since when do you have sass with your Papa, hm? Since when do you show your Papa such disrespect?” He sighed at your lack of answer. He stood and walked over to you, looking down on you as you remained seated in your chair. You weren’t looking up at him, instead keeping your gaze straight on the seat he was sat in before, and he didn’t appreciate this either. With his finger and his thumb, he gently pinched your chin and guided your face to look at him, forcing eye contact with you. “I expect you on your best behaviour tonight, angioletta. Capisce? No sass, no back talk. Just doting on your Papa on his birthday, sì?”

“Happy birthday, Papa.” You said, softly, a smile playing on your lips. Wholesome. Nonsuspect.

“Grazie, amore mio.” He bent down to kiss your forehead then left you alone in the room, seemingly unaware that you’d never actually agreed to anything.

That evening, you dressed in your finest for your Papa, choosing a dress gifted to you by him. It was just something simple, a body con black dress that hugged your curves in all the right ways, paired with a Satanic pentagram harness that he loved to see you in. It was really no effort at all, but your Papa would certainly enjoy you tonight. A feast for his eyes - at least you hoped.

You were one of Secondo’s earliest guests, besides his older brother Papa Primo, arriving at his quarters and knocking on the door before entering. Papa Primo greeted you warmly, and welcomed you in, placing a drink in your hand. You could already smell the dinner coming from Secondo’s private kitchen and felt your stomach growl in hunger. You were so ready for the feast to begin - and for your torture of your Papa to continue. You weren’t just ravenous for the food, especially when you saw him enter the dining room, not wearing his usual robes but still painted in his official paints. His suit was perfectly tailored, cut to each contour of his body, and made from a rich, cold, emerald green. Velvet. Accompanied by a deep green tie and his favourite black-painted fingernails. In his robes he was divine. In a suit? You were feral.

As soon he saw you, you watched as his glittery eyes darkened, and his chest reflected a deep sigh. The second he was beside you, his hands grasped onto your hips and pulled you into him, lips attaching to your neck. He didn’t care that he already had other guests - he didn’t care that he may be smudging his paints. He was too intoxicated by you to do anything other than dig his fingers into the meat of your flesh and inhale your seductive perfume, bewitching him beyond belief. He was ready to drop to his knees and worship you there and then, except you pushed him away.

“I haven’t forgotten how you spoke to me earlier, Papa.” You chided, keeping your voice as level as you could and holding back your giggles when his expression changed.

“Angioletta,” he practically whined, “you promised.”

“No,” you poked his chest, “you laid down the law. I never told you I’d follow it.”

“You want to make me suffer all night, hm? Embarrass me in front of everyone.”

“I never want to embarrass you, Papa. I’d like an apology.”

He frowned. “For what?”

You sighed. “Use that big, wrinkly brain of yours and think.” And with that, you walked away. In truth he had nothing to apologise for and you both knew it. But you enjoyed watching him stew away in his mind, greeting and welcoming guests and trying to maintain a semblance of composure. You were teetering on the line between enjoyment and cruelty, though. And you’d need to end this quickly so as not to actually spoil his birthday.

Secondo’s quarters had never been so lively, but even then, they were lively by Secondo’s standards. To celebrate his birthday, all of the people closest to him had gathered in his chambers, crowded around his long dining table (that he mostly used for work), and feasted on the delightful Italian delicacies hand crafted by the Ministry’s chefs, whom you’d paid extra to cook for everyone for the evening. Amidst the clinking of glasses filled with the Ministry’s own wine, and the aroma of garlic-infused dishes wafting through the air, the place was abuzz with laughter and conversation, but your attention was solely fixed on one man – Papa Secondo himself.

He sat beside you at the head of the table, his natural scowl creasing his glabella as he looked upon his guests and listened to their conversations, responding only when he needed to, but enjoying the atmosphere, nonetheless. His paints were perfectly worn, not a single line bent or crooked, or even smudged with the wine he’d drunk, or the food he’d so gracefully placed into his mouth as though he were the epitome of sophistication - which, to be fair, he was. His Roman nose making his profile so intoxicating, so powerful, you found yourself staring at him, drinking in the love of your life and appreciating him silently for the work of art he was.

Secondo cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the room as he prepared to address his guests. “My dear friends, I want to take this moment to express my gratitude for your presence here tonight,” he began, his voice carrying authority and warmth. “Your loyalty and support mean more to me than you can imagine.”

You couldn’t resist interjecting with a sassy remark. “Oh, how touching, Papa,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I almost believe you mean it.”

The room fell into a momentary silence as everyone turned their attention to the unexpected exchange between you both. Secondo’s expression darkened, his jaw tensing as he turned to face you.

“Sorella,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone a warning.

But you refused to back down, your gaze challenging. “What, Papa? Can’t handle a little honesty?” You retorted, your voice edged with defiance. You squirmed in your seat under the heat of his gaze, the unbridled anger that oozed off him like peach juice dripping down one’s chin. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you watched him become more and more enraged at your attitude, and you tried so hard not to let your enjoyment show.

Secondo’s eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features before he regained his composure. “I expect respect in my presence, Sorella,” he replied, his voice low and controlled.

You took a sip of your wine and set your glass down. “And yet, you don’t always deserve it.”

“My room. Now.” He all but hissed. His grip on his glass was choking, and you could almost see it shattering in his hand from the force. You’d done it. You got him. Now was the time to obey. You stood and made your way to his bedroom as instructed, hearing him excuse you both and urge his guests to continue without him. The part where he was announcing that he was going to scold you for your behaviour was missing, but certainly implied, and within a few seconds you heard him chase after you and the guests murmuring in the background, only to be blocked by him slamming the door shut.

“What the fuck was that, hm?” He growled, his hand coming up to your hair and pulling it at the roots, making you look into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Papa!”

“Sorry? Amore mio, it’s a little late for that, do you not think? Embarrassing me in front of everyone.”

You laughed.

“Che cos’è questo? Laughing at your Papa?” He stopped, a realisation dawning on him. “Ah. I see how it is. My angioletta is giving into sin tonight? Becoming a whore to anger her Papa.” He released you and gestured to the bed. “Hands on the bed. Now, amore.” You obeyed him for the first time that day, resting your hands on the bed and bending at the waist, exposing your ass to him. You knew what was coming, your core clenching in anticipation of feeling his hand come down on you at full force. You arched your back as much as you could, allowing your ass to pop for him, and hearing him groan in appreciation when you did.

“You wanted to play with your Papa,” he said coming up behind you, “so let’s play, hm?”

His hand came down on your left ass cheek, the sting you enjoyed so much muffled by layer of fabric still (barely) covering your body. The first hit was gentle, barely stinging at all. As angry as Secondo was, he still took his time with you, making sure he didn’t hurt you too much and too quickly. He mirrored this on your right cheek, back to your left, back to your right. Each hit gradually landed harder and harder, and you needed to bury your face into his sheets to hide your cries lest his guests hear what was happening. With each slap, your body jumped in response, as if it was shocked to receive the hits your mind knew was coming. You knew you were getting redder with each slap, which would only egg Secondo on more when he saw it for himself.

He lifted your dress up, exposing your black panties fully and bunching the hem around your waist, and, as predicted, groaned at the sight of you. Secondo was an artist, and you were always his favourite canvas. He began to slap your bare cheeks, revelling in the deep red that was forming on your skin, relishing in the dampened moans coming from you. “This is no punishment for you at all, is it?” He commented, punctuating his sentence with more slaps, now using both of his hands. “You love it when your Papa hits you like this, don’t you?” He slapped you much harder when you didn’t answer. “Do not be rude, angioletta.”

“Yes, Papa!” You responded, your voice coming out as a moan. “I love it!”

“I bet you’ve soaked through these slutty little panties, haven’t you?” He moved his left hand to the gusset of your panties, using his four fingers to rub against your cunt and his thumb rested against your asshole as an anchor.

Usually, he’d be met with your soft flesh and twitching hole, and would tease it over your panties, too, just to drive you wild. But today, his thumb met with something hard, and him putting pressure there caused you to moan out loud. “Che cazzo?” He asked, rubbing his thumb over the ridges. His hand, damp from the juices that had soaked your panties, came up to the waistband and roughly pulled them off you, hissing at the sight of him. Buried deep inside your twitching hole, was a butt plug, with an emerald resin gem sitting atop the metal base. “Puttana.” Though his words were degrading, the tone in which he said them was appreciative. He loved this little surprise, his cock growing harder and harder beneath his velvet slacks and begging to bury itself into one of your holes. “How long have you been wearing this?”

“All da-ay!” Your voice hiccuped when you felt his fingers hook around the base and jiggle it.

“No wonder you’ve been acting like a bitch today, amore. You’ve been in heat all day, hm? Did you want me to bend you over the table in the meeting room? Is that why you’ve been provoking me all day?”

“Y-yes, Papa. Want… wanted you to f-fuck me all day! Shit.”

“Wanted your Papa to ruin your holes, hm?”

“Yesss!”

He landed another hard spank on your right cheek with his right hand, much harder than the others. That, coupled with the way he was still playing with the plug, caused a moan to escape your lips, much louder than the others.

You heard him play with his belt, unbuckling it and then the buttons of his slacks, before you finally heard the zipper undo. “Hands and knees, ass in the air.” He ordered. You climbed fully onto the mattress, feeling his hand come down on you more and more as you got situated for him. “Gonna put this fuckhole to good use.”

You felt his girth rub against your folds, getting wetter with your slick with each movement. When he stopped and pulled away, you chanced a glance behind you and watched what he was doing, cunt clenching when you saw his head bowed, a thick glob of spit falling from his mouth and landing on his cock. He pumped himself a few times, spreading the saliva over his entire length before spitting again and repeating until he deemed himself wet enough. He plunged two of his fingers inside you, pumping only a few times to get you stretched out a little more before lining himself up with your hole.

You heard him chuckle darkly behind you. “I’m gonna enjoy this - but you won’t.”

That was all the warning he gave you before he pushed inside you, his considerable thickness stretching you out beyond compare. Usually he’d prepare you more, make you cum for him all over his tongue before he even considered fucking you with his cock. But not tonight. He didn’t have the time nor the will to. This was meant to be a punishment, after all. Prepared or not, you adored the initial stretch every single time he slid into you. He always burned so deliciously, but sometimes there was a hint of pain that sent shivers down your spine and had your toes curling and fingers digging into whatever surface you were being fucked on.

Secondo took his time bottoming out, enjoying watching your body tense below him from the pain of it, and smiling at your cunt clenching down on him. “There we go.” He said, gripping onto your ass cheeks as he bottomed out inside you, fingers rubbing over your raw flesh and causing a bigger sting to wash over you. He used your body as leverage to help him slam into you, setting a rough pace right away and knocking the wind out of you. He pulled gutteral moans out of you, deep, animalistic grunts that you had no control over as he fucked into you like a madman finally getting his fix.

The sound of your cunt taking him back in over and over again was so loud, you were sure his guests could hear you from the other room. It made Secondo want to bite you, sink his teeth into you like an apple, and feel your juices coat his mouth while he licked and sucked at your core. But he was pretending that this was a punishment for you - he couldn’t consciously do something that would make you cum. Well, maybe a finger or so later on. For now, you were his to fuck around with, and he could hear and feel just how much you enjoyed it.

“You’re so fucked up for liking this, amore.” He taunted, releasing grunts and growls of his own. “A pain slut for her Papa. Cazzo!”

He pushed your hips down, making you lie flat on your stomach, legs dangling off the edge and making you feel helpless below him. He put his entire weight on your body as he railed you into the mattress, rough, quick thrusts making your body bounce and your ass ricochet off his own hips.

“I don’t like hurting you, angioletta.” A growl ripped from his throat. “But you need to learn how to respect your Papa. Apologise for making me do this to you.”

“I- I’m so…rry, Papa-ah!”

“Brava ragazza.”

Every time you made a sound, he landed another hit on your ass, making you redder and rawer. He loved it - but equally, so did you. Even on the days when he was taking his anger out on you, he wouldn’t often be this rough. He wouldn’t laugh at your cries, or push into you without taking his time with you first. Each thrust drove you more and more insane, degraded you more and more to the point where you felt like nothing but his own, personal fuck toy. His own whore who spread her legs so willingly, she became a desperate slut for her master.

He pulled at the plug again, laughing when you jumped. “So much tighter with this thing in your ass.”

“Papa - it… it’s t-too much!”

“You should have respected your Papa, then maybe he’d treat you delicately, hm?”

“Papa, please!”

“You can take it, can’t you?”

He was met with a loud moan.

“Can’t you, puttanella?”

“Y-yes!”

“Of course you can. Only sluts can take a cock this big.”

You forced your hand in between your body and the mattress and found your clit, rubbing at it while Secondo pounded into you. It was a struggle, and made Secondo laugh at you as you tried. He put more weight onto your body to make it more difficult for you, but you were able to get there eventually and furiously play with that bundle of nerves and work yourself to the edge.

“I love looking at you like this.” He said suddenly, watching your arm move as you rubbed faster and faster. You looked so desperate for him. So needy. “You gonna cum for me?” He asked as he felt you getting tighter for him, the telltale signs making themselves present. “You gonna cum all over Papa’s cock like a whore?”

“Yes, Pa-pa!”

“Merda! Beg for it.”

“I n-need to cum s-oh bad Papa! Please! Pl-please let me cum on your f-fat cock.”

“Oh, just like that, brava ragazza. It’s okay, you can let go.”

Secondo could feel you getting tighter for him, working yourself closer and closer to an orgasm as he took you for his own pleasure, and for some of yours. He should pull out soon, he knew he should, but you were so tight for him in this position, so wet and pliant. He couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out and cum on your body. One particularly rough thrust had you finally tumbling over the edge, face contorting in beautiful agony as you came over him, creaming on his cock and screaming silently into the mattress. He didn’t let up as you came, instead, he used your body tensing as an excuse to go just a little harder, making your orgasm more intense the longer it went on.

Your orgasm had Secondo teetering on the edge himself, staving off his own orgasm to ensure yours felt good. But once he was sure you’d finished, he began to pull out of you, finally working the courage to escape from your clutches. It wasn’t until he felt your heels in his ass, where your legs had bent backwards to keep him there, he realised you wanted his cum inside you just as much as he did.

“Please, Papa!” You begged quietly, lifting your head off the sheets and turning to look at him over your shoulder. “Give it to me. I want your cum inside me so fucking bad. Please!”

“Yeah, amore? You want me to knock you up, is that it? So desperate for her Papa’s cum she wants him to breed her like a bitch. Been in heat all day, still acting like a fucking animal.”

“Give it to me, Papa! Cum deep inside me, please!”

“Okay, angioletta. Papa will give you what you want.” He pushed himself deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you ready?”

“Yes! Yes, Papa, like that!”

“Cazzo!” A string of expletives followed as you talked him through it, continuing to beg him for his seed while he pumped it deep inside you. He gripped hold of you, your skin and fat pinched tightly under his strong, masculine hands as he grasped onto you to keep him grounded while he reached nirvana. He bent forward more, his forehead rubbing against your shoulder blades and paints transferring onto the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t care about that, enjoying the feeling of his erratic thrusts as he fucked his cum into your sensitive heat until he eventually rolled to a stop, laboured breaths ringing in your ear despite his mouth being so far away.

“Sathanas, ___.” He groaned, keeping his full weight on your body, too exhausted to move. “Mi farai morire.” You felt his lips kiss your shoulder blades, the dull feeling bringing warmth and comfort to your adrenaline-filled body.

“Are you okay?” You asked, equally as exhausted as him.

“No.” He replied with a giggle, which you echoed. “I can’t move anymore.”

“That’s okay, we can wait here for as long as you need.”

“The guests, amore mio.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

He groaned. “I don’t have the strength.”

You laughed at his joke.

Somewhere inside him, he found the strength to pull out of you, both of you groaning at the loss of contact. He rolled off you, and lay on his back, allowing his body to flop into any position it deemed comfortable. You didn’t know how he did that, you could barely keep your eyes open.

He looked at you before rushing to the bathroom to get a damp cloth to clean you up, gently wiping at your sensitive centre to try and help you. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

“Nothing I didn’t want, Papa.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise.”

He placed the washcloth on the bedside table and pulled you into his arms, finally kissing your lips for the first time.

“Happy birthday, Papa.” You whispered.

Before he could respond, a knock at the door sounded gently, pulling your attention to it. “Fratello?” Cardinal Terzo’s voice sounded from the other side. “Now that you two have finished fucking, we should let you know we’re all gonna go.”

You hid your face in embarrassment despite the fact the only person who could see you was Secondo, who was laughing at your reaction.

“See you later, fratellino.”

“Later, sluts!”

There was a silence for a little while before Secondo heard the sound of your breathing mellowing out, realising then you’d fallen asleep before you both had chance to clean up properly. But that was okay, he could treat you like a queen in the morning. For now, you both needed rest.

Translations:

Buon pomeriggio - Good afternoon.

Ora - Now.

Questo è un cazzo di scherzo assoluto! - This is an absolute fucking joke!

Perché? - Why?

Sei stupido, Cardinale Smith? - Are you stupid, Cardinal Smith?

Non mi sorprende, Cardinale. - That does not surprise me, Cardinal.

Angioletta - Little angel.

Capisce? - Do you understand?

Grazie, amore mio. - Thank you, my love.

Che cos’è questo? - What’s this?

Che cazzo? - What the fuck?

Puttana. - Whore.

Brava ragazza. - Good girl.

Mi farai morire. - You’re gonna kill me.

Commissions are open! ⛧ Memberships ⛧ Tip Jar

51 notes · View notes

her-satanic-wiles · 6 hours