Chapter Text
“...Requiescatant in pace. Amen.”
The final prayer is echoed amid the congregation, a hush falling over those gathered as they savored the final ringing of the priest’s holy bell.
It’s not until the final peals faded into the air did they finally begin to disperse, many striding to the altar to be anointed by the priest and to present their offerings to the man who was vaunted as the favored vessel of God.
Father Wakatoshi Ushijima.
The man stood at the front of the church, watching stoically and answering in soft murmurs as the church members — the sweet, obedient lambs — paid their dues. One by one, until finally, it was just Ushijima there, standing behind the church’s altar.
At least, it should have just been him.
But a shuffle in the pews draws his attention out, and he watches with slightly narrowed eyes as you slip out from the wooden benches, your eyes cast down and hands fidgeting nervously in the fabric of your shirt.
“May I help you?”
You flinched slightly at the sound of his voice, which was just as strong and resonant as it had been earlier while preaching, despite being softly-spoken before you.
But his voice had carried no judgment, no harshness, despite its strength. Instead, it was simply curious. After all, anyone who stayed late tended to either have an offering or were seeking help.
But your goal today wasn’t as mundane as needing the priest’s help.
No, today, your purpose was something else entirely.
So with that in mind, you steadied yourself and stepped forward until you stood before the altar. Taking a slow, even breath, you began to kneel, keeping your hands clasped before you and your gaze low.
A picture of demure innocence, trembling under the heavy gaze of the man rumored to be God’s favored.
“Father, I have come to ask for your help,” you whispered, not wanting to look up and meet the gaze of the man observing you.
Not yet, at least.
“I carry the weight of a heavy sin, and I need to confess it before it crushes me.”
Your confession is met with silence at first. But then you hear the shuffle of cloth, followed by steady footsteps that almost echo in the quiet of the empty church.
Finally, you catch a glimpse of the toes of his polished boots in the edges of your vision, and you feel firm hands curl gently around your arms.
“You are always welcome to unload your burdens into the arms of God. No matter how heavy it may seem, it is nothing in the arms of the Almighty,” Ushijima said gently. “You are before His altar and His chosen vessel. None shall judge you if you seek to confess your sins and lay them at my feet.”
The words are spoken with a familiarity that comes from repetition. It was the same speech given to every sinner who entered the church with the admittance of their sin. Predictable, in the best ways, because it meant you knew what came next.
Ushijima only confirmed your thoughts as he began to rise, with large hands curled around you firmly enough to support you as he helped you up.
It almost makes you smile, something too-sharp that would have ruined your plans before you could get truly started if Ushijima caught sight of it. But you hide it, tipping your head down as he helps you and waiting until you feel him shift beneath you.
Then you let your legs give out.
The sudden change puts Ushijima off balance, and as he braces your body against his to keep you from falling, all it takes is a little nudge from you to have him against the altar table. Immediately, you begin to push away from him and stammer out apologies, only to be cut off by his deep sigh.
“Don’t concern yourself with it. It takes more than that to shake me,” Ushijima said dismissively, steadying you before he pushed away from the altar. “But perhaps you should rest before we speak of what burdens you. You’re weaker than I thought if your legs gave out from just a moment of kneeling. Do you not practice your prayers as you should?”
It’s almost laughably easy to let your face flush and embarrassment color your expression as you turn away. “I do, Father. I promise that the sin I seek to confess isn’t a lack of devotion to my prayers,” you said pleadingly, almost begging the priest to believe you. “I can show you I’m a devout worshiper if you just give me a chance.”
Then before he can speak again, you’re pressing him back against the altar table, your hands sliding down from his shoulders like a lover’s caress as they drift over the front of his clerical shirt. You can feel the tension in Ushijima’s posture growing, especially as you begin to drop to your knees again, and a distant thought flashes through your mind that you had ruined your plans by moving too quickly. But you dismiss it and continue.
Settling on your knees came easily — after all, you hadn’t lied when you told Ushijima that you were a devout worshiper.
It wasn’t your fault he hadn’t asked for clarification on what you worshiped.
Letting your hands trail down further, you ignored the growing pressure in the air until you were bowed over his boots, one hand curled around the heel.
Keeping your gaze down, you lean forward and let your lips brush against the toe of his boot, lingering there for several moments to gauge his reaction.
The pressure in the air doesn’t alleviate, but Ushijima makes no move to stop you, and it fills you with a thrill of triumph. With a smile, you press another kiss to the cool leather of his boots before allowing your tongue, warm and slick, to slide smoothly across the material. Slowly, steadily, you continue until you’re cradling his foot in hand and able to run your tongue along the sides and sole. You took your time, reaching every part of his boot that you could before working your way back to the tip of his boot and taking it in your mouth. The pointed tip fits almost too easily between your lips, and you suckle at it with fluttering eyes.
Still, Ushijima made no move to stop you, emboldening you further.
Slowly, your hands drift upwards, running up the thin material of his pants as you work over every inch of his boots. You don’t dare look up, not yet. So instead, you trailed your hands higher, ignoring how your pulse thundered in your veins and roared in your ears, carelessly attributing it to the budding arousal working its way through your body and the adrenaline of being so close to Ushijima.
It’s not until your fingers brush against the crotch of his pants do you remember why being near the priest was something that would induce adrenaline.
Between one breath and the next, Ushijima’s leg lashes out, and you’re thrown down the altar steps, a cry of pain torn from your lips. Before you can regain your bearings, footsteps rapidly approach, and then you’re screaming as heat sears across your face in the shape of Ushijima’s hand, and you’re being dragged off the ground.
Desperately, uselessly, your nails scrabble against an unyielding grip, unable to pry unrelenting fingers away until Ushijima practically throws you down before the center aisle. The impact tears the air from your lungs, leaving you shuddering and gasping for air as you scramble into a half-crouch, wild eyes shooting up to meet cold hazel.
Terror rages in your veins like wildfire, burning just as much as your face – and neck, you realize distantly, the burning trailing down your skin like blood – as you shrunk under the expression of frigid anger on Ushijima’s face. Every instinct in your body screamed for you to run, to get away, but you found yourself almost frozen by the sheer pressure Ushijima exerted.
“How dare you enter my sanctuary and try to desecrate the altar of the Almighty with your filth.”
His voice was level and quiet, but you could feel the anger radiating off of the man before you, almost like a physical presence, one that choked your breath and left you filled with anxiety as you tried to muster the strength to escape. But the pressure surrounds you, making it impossible to think, to focus on anything but the desperate need to get away.
“F-Father, please, I don’t understand!”
Your voice trembles, cracking with your fear, but it doesn’t move the priest to mercy. Instead, his eyes grow harder, like flint, and you shudder as you stagger back.
“Don’t even bother. Your kind is not meant for the halls of the Almighty, not unless it’s to forsake your nature and seek purification.”
“M-my kind ?” you stammer, eyes widening as your mind is filled with static, unable to comprehend what the man meant.
But then your eyes catch something flash with candlelight, and your gaze is drawn down Ushijima’s body until it locks onto a dripping hand clasped around the neck of an open bottle marked with a cross.
Holy water.
Suddenly, you understand with chilling clarity exactly what had burned you, what had hurt so badly, and you know without seeing it that you now bore the mark of your failure on your face in the shape of a broad hand and strong fingers.
“I see you understand,” Ushijima drawled, drawing your gaze back up to a stony expression that barely veiled the threat in his eyes. “Good. It wouldn’t do to send you back to your pits without making sure you did, demon .”
His hands shift, and with a burst of panic, you’re back on your feet, barely dodging the water that wets the floor where you’d been crouched. A wild look at the priest shows how angry your dodge had made him, but you don’t linger on it for long.
As soon as he tenses, you’ve turned tail and fled down the center aisle, panic giving you speed you’d not thought possible. Distantly, you hear his voice in a low growl echoing in the halls of the church, the words only barely registering before you’ve burst through the doors of the church.
“Don’t step foot in my church again unless you plan to surrender.”
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It’d taken longer than you’d like to heal from the damage Ushijima had done. The marks on your skin had taken weeks to fade, and the hits to your confidence even longer.
But eventually, the embers of your anger, of your humiliation, had grown into flames. Flames that simmered in your veins until you found yourself back in the pews of his church, waiting in silence through the service until the last of the faithful had petered out and left you and Ushijima alone.
“I see you’ve returned.”
Ushijima’s voice sounds almost uninterested, and to anyone else, they might assume that the priest said it as an observation.
But you knew better.
You heard the cold rumble beneath the thin veneer of politeness and the barely hidden disgust at your presence threaded through every word of his short sentence.
It should’ve scared you off, and reluctantly, you could admit to yourself that it did send a shiver of fear down your spine. After all, you’d only escaped before because he hadn’t bothered chasing you as you fled with your tail between your legs and the burn of holy water stinging down your face and neck.
But you were a demon for a reason, and your kind was proud and vengeful, especially after humiliation. There was a higher chance of you becoming an angel of Ushijima’s God than running away again.
Instead, you let your sweetest, most alluring smile lift your lips and rise from the pews.
“Please, Father, I’m simply here to talk. Your words from our last… conversation got me thinking,” you said, your words soft and expression colored with hesitation. “It’s hard being what I am. I meant what I said when I told you I carried a heavy sin. And after our last encounter, well…can you blame me for wanting to find an easier way to live?”
You spread your arms, watching as Ushijima’s eyes flicked down, and noted your lack of tools and the simple outfit you wore that couldn’t hide anything. Not that you needed anything outside your body for this moment, you thought with vicious, dark satisfaction as you dropped your arms.
During the last encounter, you’d been too confident in your acting, too cocky and sure of your success. This time, you were going to be smarter and play to the gifts naturally given to your kind.
When Ushijima’s gaze returns to your face, you simply let your smile grow and begin approaching the altar. Then, slowly, you let your demonic aura loose, carefully ensuring the priest wouldn’t notice too fast.
“Surely you wouldn’t turn away an earnest attempt at redemption, would you, Father?” you simpered, steps slow and measured under Ushijima’s sharp gaze. Up the aisle, up the altar steps, until you stood across from the altar table from him.
Ushijima’s gaze never left yours, though you were very aware of the bottle that lay not far on the table and that he could easily get it before you could move.
But you were sure you’d be safe. You’d released enough of your demonic aura that most would already feel the effects dulling their reactions and clouding their minds. Being so close would only expedite the reaction.
It took several moments of silent staring before you watched something flash in his hazel eyes. You stilled, breath catching as Ushijima finally moved, his steady steps leading him around the altar towards you.
“There is a saying in the church,” Ushijima starts. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
The quote is one you’re familiar with, one you’ve used before when tempting the fools who craved to defile the sanctity of the church with a demon, who used it as an excuse to indulge in the carnal sins of lust and infidelity with you.
It was one you’d expected to hear, and it made you smile because, of course, this man would use it after having you approach so earnestly. Though it rankled your pride that you could have avoided the last several weeks of anger and pain if you’d just remembered to use your demonic abilities the first time you’d come.
You should’ve known that even the “Chosen Vessel of the Almighty” was weak to corruption and lust. All humans were.
Ushijima stops before you, expression unreadable, but his sharp gaze trained on you and still filled with that same emotion you’d seen flickering in them before. You couldn’t place it, aside from knowing it wasn’t quite lusting. But it was more than you’d ever seen in his gaze before, and it made your smile sharpen as you let your aura grow thicker in the air, sure of your victory.
“But the Almighty also tells us that if one part causes us to sin, then it’s better to cut it off and cast it away, for it is better to lose a portion than the whole.”
It’s a warning, and his tone instantly goes from calm to frigid.
Your eyes widen, and you try to jerk back, but before you can, he’s grasped your smaller frame and pushed you against the edge of the altar table in a mockery of the way you’d tried weeks before.
Suddenly, you realize what that look in his eyes had been.
It was the look of a zealot. The look of a person who was so firm in their belief, so fanatic in their faith, that there was no chance of reasoning with them.
A look that made you realize just how doomed you were.
“You made one correct point earlier. I will not turn away an earnest attempt at redemption,” Ushijima stated. “However, whatever earnest attempts you make are stifled by the demonic nature within you.”
There’s a sound of fabric rustling and the heavy clink of metal following his words, and unbidden, your gaze drops towards his hands. You see the dull glint of candlelight on a pair of metal shackles, and with a clench of fear, you realize that Ushijima sought more than just your defeat today. Desperately, your eyes dart past him, seeking a route to escape. But Ushijima never gave you a chance. His larger body had effectively pinned you to the table, and while you pulled back as far as you could, you were helpless to the large hands that pulled your arms forward and together before they locked the cold, heavy restraints around your wrists.
“Your problem, demon, is that you overestimated your ability,” Ushijima hummed, his tone almost conversational as he pulled away and eyed you critically. “But I am His chosen for a reason. It takes more than a simple sex demon to corrupt the Vessel of the Almighty.”
Anger surges in you again at his mockery, his dismissal of your ability, your very being, but before you can snap something out, you’ve been dragged down to your knees with a firm hand on your shoulders. The impact makes you cry out, your knees stinging from the impact before a rough tug of your hair forces your gaze up again.
“Your hubris was your mistake. But it’s for the best. After all, your hubris also gave me the opportunity to truly help you.” Ushijima said, a low chuckle slipping from his mouth at the sheer hate in your eyes. “Temper, temper. Remember, this is just the beginning of your cleansing, demon. We’ll see if your kind is worthy of the salvation of the Almighty.”
Then he’s rising, hand still fisted firmly in your hair, and dragging you down the altar steps, making you howl as tears of rage and pain spill down your cheeks in a manner far too reminiscent of the holy water that had burned you not long ago.
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You weren’t sure how long you’d been under Ushijima’s “care,” but you know it’d been long enough to grow weak from being stuck in a place saturated with holy power while your energy was constantly drained to heal yourself.
Escaping was a distant fantasy for you, a dream you’d never grasp thanks to the priest who refused to leave your side outside the times he bound you with your shackles to his quarters. The only other indication you’d had for the passing of time was the realization that your instinct to flee was so thoroughly smothered that you couldn’t even muster up the desire to try as he released your binds right after morning service.
“It seems you’re learning,” Ushijma hummed, satisfaction laced through his tone as you sent a baleful look at him from below your lashes. “Then, we’ll begin the next part of your redemption.”
That makes you shiver, gaze dropping as familiar fear prickles along your skin.
“...And what would that be?”
Ushijima gave you no answer, simply continuing his preparations. Unease stirs in you, and you try to catch a glimpse from around his frame, but all you see is a hint of rope that makes your stomach churn with unease.
Nothing good would come of that, you were sure.
Suddenly, Ushijima straightens and approaches you. The hand that rests on the small of your back is almost gentle compared to what you’d been expecting, and you only stumble a bit as you’re directed to the other side of the room. He stops you before one of the thick support pillars, and confusion fills you as you fight the urge to turn and ask him what was happening.
Ushijima never appreciated questions, and you knew that before long, he’d answer any you had without prompting. And he did.
“The next stage of your redemption is absolution.”
Just not with an answer you liked.
“Excuse me ?”
The disbelief was evident in your voice, but Ushijima didn’t pause, pulling that godforsaken rope out and approaching you as you warily took a step back.
“Absolution. It’s required to free you from the sins that weigh upon you and allow you to be redeemed.” Ushijima recited almost carelessly, matching you step by step until your back is pressed against the pillar and your breath is fast with a sort of panicked fear you could barely control.
Absolution wasn’t kind, not in the Church. Yes, absolution was release from your sins, but it was not a release that came freely. Absolution was release through pain, release through blood, and you didn’t know if you had it in you to take that after the constant threat you’d already faced.
Didn’t know if it wouldn’t break you when you were just barely clinging to your fraying threads.
The priest before you paused, eyeing you consideringly. Something must have shown on your face and told Ushijima just how thin your threads were because the man doesn’t just force you to hold yourself still for him to bind.
To your surprise, the man reached out to grasp your chin and held it gently but firmly as he tipped your head back until your fear-wide eyes met his calm, still gaze.
“Relax. You have served your repentance as I deemed fit, and my word is the word of the Almighty. Do you understand?” he murmured, waiting until you nodded as well as you could within his grasp. “Your absolution has been earned. It is a reward for your efforts.”
It’s almost bizarre, the coaxing tone his voice takes, the way he’s trying to soothe after having been your tormenter. But despite that, despite the fearpain hurt that lingered in your veins, you felt the faint, foolish stirrings of hope.
Because you’d had enough of pain, enough of hurt, and the promise of rewards made your heart ache with longing.
“That’s it. Just relax for me, like a good lamb,” Ushijima praised, his grip loosening as his hand smoothed up your cheek to brush through your hair. It was the kindest gesture this man had given you, and you couldn’t help but lean into the soft touch that whispered pleasure across your senses instead of pain.
You’d always been a creature weak to pleasure. It was in your nature, in your blood.
When Ushijima pulled away, you felt a flicker of disappointment in your heart, but it was rapidly pushed out as you realized what you’d been doing, what you’d been feeling, and instead, you felt revulsion rise in its wake.
What were you doing? This man was your tormentor, your target. He’d tortured you for who knows how long, and there you were, leaning into his touch like a pet seeking the comfort of its owner.
The thoughts were enough to have you tensing again, stiff against the pillar as you tried to cling to the disgust and hate.
But a strong hand cupped your hip and pulled you forward, and you couldn’t fight the strength of his hold as he put you exactly where he wanted you.
“Just relax. This won’t hurt. This is absolution, not punishment,” Ushijima coaxed, waiting until you’d slowly let the tension from your body before he reached up and placed a hand on your shoulder. Then, with almost bated fascination, you watch as he trailed his hand down your arm, gently tapping at your elbows until you lifted your arm. “Absolution is a reward, a forgiveness. It’s a gift for your efforts.”
He continues on your other arm, the same slow trail down, stopping only to tap until you lift that arm.
“Like any gift though, you must show appreciation for it, little lamb,” the priest paused as he spoke, tucking the rope under his arm before taking both hands and laying them against your forearms. “And the proper way to say thanks in the presence of the Almighty is with prayer .”
He gently nudges your arms closer together, and you realize what he wants after a moment. Swallowing slightly, you bring your hands together as if in prayer. Before you can clasp them, he stills your hands, making you look at him in confusion.
“Just like that. You’re doing very good, just as I’d expect from one who had earned their absolution,” Ushijima praised, sending a thrill of pleasure through you before you desperately squashed it down. You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t enjoy his praise, you reminded yourself.
But it was so very hard when the praise was so much better than anything you’d felt in a long time.
“Now, be still for me, little one,” Ushijima commanded, voice firm but not unkind, and you found yourself almost unable to move as he began to work the rope around you.
Watching him was lulling in a way you hadn’t expected, his focus on the ropes intense and contrasted with the almost caressingly soft touches left on you, first your torso and your shoulders, before working towards your forearms and your wrists.
Each wrap of the rope was solid, though not overly tight, and with every pass of the surprisingly soft material over your skin, every press of his fingers, and wash of his breath against your skin, you found yourself melting just a bit more.
There was a fog in your head you weren’t sure how to handle, one that made it difficult to do anything but watch the priest work. Finally, he stepped back, a look of satisfaction coloring his usually stoic features in a way your fuzzy mind decided was very pleasant to look at.
That satisfied look didn’t fall away as he noticed the haze in your eyes and your body’s loose, relaxed pose. In fact, it seemed to grow stronger, and a part of you glowed at the realization that you’d pleased him.
Because if Ushijima wasn’t frigidcold angry at you, then you wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t fear. If Ushijima were pleased, you would feel good.
A soft laugh almost startles you until you feel Ushijima’s hand cupped against your cheek, the feeling making your eyes slip in contentment.
“Look at you. So happy in your gratitude for your absolution, aren’t you?”
Were you? That felt…wrong. You were grateful, but it was for something else, wasn’t it?
“No. Your joy, and gratitude, are for the absolution I grant you in the name of the Almighty. You’re good because you’re grateful to me for giving you this gift of forgiveness.”
That…that was…
“You are finally something worthy of care. Something worthy of kindness and forgiveness. You enjoy being worthy of this, don’t you? Enjoy being good for me and being forgiven.”
You…you did. You did enjoy this, the way it made you feel good.
“That’s right. The forgiveness and the regard I give you, that the Almighty lets you have through my touch, my actions, makes you feel good .”
Yes. Yes, it did. It felt so good, and you craved feeling good, feeling pleasure.
“You can feel even better soon, little lamb.”
Please. Please, you wanted to feel better, wanted to feel good.
“That’s it. Such a good, obedient lamb you’re being. Just relax for me now, and you’ll be rewarded.”
And how could you do anything but listen, deep beneath the fog as you were?
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Time passed, as it was wont to do, and you spent most of it under that same foggy haze Ushijima had instilled with that first gift of absolution. It wasn’t hard - not that he constantly praised you for your obedience. When he called you good and forgiven as easily as he breathed.
It was addicting in the worst of ways, and in your brief moments of clarity, you felt hopeless hysteria fill you while you laughed brokenly against your own desperately clasped hands.
You were breaking. You knew this with a certainty that was relieving, just as it was terrifying. Because you hadn’t wanted this, and it scared you that what was happening didn’t make you angry.
It’d been so long since you’d been able to feel anything but hazy pleasure and the desperate desire to please that you weren’t sure you knew how to anymore.
The only thing that kept you grounded anymore was the small, almost defeated part of your mind that had curled around itself that first day for protection, the remnants of the things that reminded you that you weren’t Ushijima’s lamb.
The pride and the power of your demon blood weakened though they were. The dark, simmering want for revenge, for freedom, that flickered so, so weakly.
And hunger.
Because no matter what Ushijima did to you, no matter how he drowned your mind in a pleasurable haze, in pain-filled obedience and forgiveness, nothing he did satiated the hunger. The cravings your body had for sustenance that no water or food could give it. Because you were a sex demon deprived of your primary source of sustenance, your main method of empowerment. And instinct was powerful when suppressed and held back for so long.
You bided your time, keeping the desire, the aching need hidden in your moments of clarity. You kept it growing, fierce and wanting and angry in the depths of your mind, a last resort in the war you were losing with every passing hour.
Until one day, Ushijima had left you early in the morning, bound to the post with nothing but the ropes around your wrists. It was a rare day where he hadn’t stolen your senses, your mind, from you.
Just your hands, and those were quickly freed with a carefully applied amount of demonic strength.
It was a testament to your weakened state that just that minor task left you feeling incredibly, pathetically drained.
But you couldn’t stop there.
So with a shuddering breath, you cling to the pillar and drag yourself up, biting back a pained whimper as your body protests vehemently. But eventually, you rise and begin to stagger towards the door on shaky, aching legs.
You count it as a small miracle that your legs held until you could stumble into the firm wood of the door that led to the sanctuary. Then, with a shaky breath, you threw open the door, staggering your way across the room at what felt like an agonizingly slow pace. But eventually, you reach the center aisle, and freedom is close enough for you to taste on your tongue, to feel in your bones.
You take the first step towards your escape, eagerness flooding your body.
Only to be drowned in painpainpain as a burning hand, dripping fire across your skin, clamps on your shoulder, and a firm grip finds its home in your messy hair.
A shriek escapes your mouth without permission, but it doesn’t matter because whines and whimpers of pain begin to follow on its heels as you’re dragged back towards the altar. Stumbling legs catch and smack against the altar steps, and you weep with pain and loss with every single one.
You’d been so close. So, so close!
But close meant nothing when Ushijima hauls your body up almost carelessly and drops you on the altar table.
The altar table that was suspiciously empty of any of its usual adornments.
Horror pricks at the edges of your mind, numb disbelief stealing through you. You don’t want to believe it, don’t even want to consider it.
But you catch sight of a disappointed but not surprised expression on Ushijima’s face, and what little there was shielding you from drowning in despair collapsed at what it meant.
He knew.
He’d known what you were planning, had anticipated it, and prepared for it.
He’d planned for your patience, for your desperately gathered strength, and waited until you had hope before your eyes before shattering it completely.
“Poor little lamb. I knew you had something hiding in the depths of your soul keeping you from true salvation,” Ushijima sighed, his tone mournful. “I’m sorry I had to be so cruel to you, but the Almighty told me of what we would need to do for your salvation.”
The genuine regret in his voice — was it real? Did he genuinely feel regret? You didn’t know, your head was spinning, and everything was laced with painpainpain except the warmth his words, his voice, brought to you — made your eyes burn with tears, and you let out a broken noise of pain that immediately had his hands cupping your face.
“I know little one. Everything will be alright soon. God is great, and he has told me what you need,” the priest’s voice is coaxing, gentle, and you crave it like a drug, like the people you’d once targeted craved your demonic aura. “Such a poor, desperate little thing. You craved something you knew was wrong and tried so, so hard to fight against it.”
Had you? Hadn’t you been giving in to it, protecting that craving, nurturing it?
“Even though you wanted so badly to be absolved, to be redeemed so you would be of value to me, to the Almighty, you couldn’t fight the influence of such evil,” Ushijima sighed, and the bare thread of disappointment in his words made you whine in distress. “Shh… it’s alright. I know how to fix it, how to help you become redeemed. Just be obedient for me, my lamb, and I’ll guide you to your salvation.”
The hands cupping your face had drifted, one beginning to comb through your hair, tipping your head back coaxingly, and it’s automatic as you follow the motion, the stretch sending a shiver of pleasure through you because obeying that tug, letting him move you, had only ever been good… right?
Gentle nails run against your scalp, banishing any doubt as you try to press into it. A soft whimper slips from you as Ushijima’s other hand begins to squeeze around your jaw, teasing your mouth open with firm presses.
“You thirst for something normal water can’t quench, and it drives you to sin, to immorality,” Ushijima murmured, the hand around your jaw pulling away. There’s a flicker of approval in his eyes when you don’t close your mouth, leaving your lips parted as he’d guided you to, and even that bare minimum of positivity was like a balm to your pain. “But soon, you’ll thirst no more. Because through me, God will provide you the living water, so you shall never thirst again.”
And you want that. You want it so badly.
You want the burning in your throat and the void clawing in your gut to leave. You want to be redeemed, to please this man who gave you second chance upon second chance, who was simply trying to save you from the things that caused you pain.
“Please,” you croaked, voice so, so rough with thirst and the abuse your throat had gone through because of your foolishness. “Please, Father, I need it. I need the blessing of the Almighty, of his chosen, please !”
Your voice is reduced to a plaintive whine by the end of your plea, but Ushijima doesn’t scold you for it. Instead, he lets a small, pleased smile raise his lips, and it’s enough to make you feel so, so blessed.
Enough to distract you from the victory in his eyes and the way his hand tightens, ever so slightly in your hair.
“Be at peace, little one. I shall provide for you, always. I am your Savior, after all, and I will not let a faithful one be lost because of sin,” his words are like a purr against your ears, and you practically melt against the altar at the warmth, the sense of safety that makes bloom in you.
It’s almost enough to make you forget the hunger, forget the sin.
But then he moves, and there’s a rustle of fabric that reminds you of the loss of his touch upon your face, and you have the span between one heartbeat and the next before Ushijima’s cock is bared before your eyes and dragging every thought you can muster towards it.
You’d seen many people bare before. It came with how you’d glutted yourself upon the poor mortals who had become your targets once upon a time. But Ushijima was perhaps the first that brought to mind the word beautiful when you gazed upon it.
And it was.
Like every other part of the man’s body, it seemed like it was sculpted by the hands of an artist. He was well-endowed but not to the point of obscenity. The tip dragged your gaze up to watch in fascination as precum beaded and dripped down the throbbing length, the drops pearly white against reddened, flushed flesh.
And suddenly, the hunger is back with a ferocity you can’t contain, a desperate, needy noise clawing its way out of your chest as you arch towards him.
But a firm grip on your hair keeps your head tipped back even as his other hand reaches for the base of his cock and grips it tight and out of your reach.
“Patience, little one,” Ushijima scolded, making you whimper as you sank back against the altar, eyes locked on his cock as he shifted to let it hang over your mouth. “I will provide what you need. You just have to open up and accept it.”
And oh, the promise of being taken care of and blessed by what Ushijima offers you silences any other thoughts in your mind but the desperate need to do whatever it takes to taste, to be filled. You let your mouth drop open with a moan that slips out without thought, your tongue darting out to wet your lips before you stick it out fully, begging without words for what you crave.
You’re not left waiting long.
With a pleased rumble in his chest, Ushijima’s hand begins to stroke along his cock, firm, even pulls that make his precum start to collect faster. It doesn’t take long for a drop to spill from his cock onto your tongue, for him to command you to drink, and then you’re lost.
The first drop of his pre tastes like divinity, like ecstasy — and why would it taste like anything otherwise, when this was the “living water” that this vessel of God had promised you, had told you would keep you sated for eternity.
A familiar haze builds in your head, but different.
Different because there is no quiet voice screaming for you to fight this time. No flickering flames of resentment or hatred or anger.
Instead, your mind, for once, is blissfully peaceful, and you spin with the headiness it gives you. It’s like being drunk on arousal, except this wasn’t lust.
This was Father Ushijima’s words, his praise, his coaxing, his poisonously honeyed words filling your head and stealing away your thoughts while the drip of precum upon your tongue kept you drowning in pleasure you couldn’t comprehend.
This was surrender, on a level you knew you’d never escape from.
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After that day, your routine changed.
Father Ushijima no longer had to bind you to keep you. Not when you woke up in the mornings and crawled to the side of his bed, pleading eyes on him as you begged for his living water.
The passing of time no longer mattered to you. Why would it, when nothing was urging you to leave, nothing telling you to fight? No, the only things you had left were the need for salvation, the gifts only he could give you, and the lesson he forced into your head so you could better serve him and, through serving him, serve God.
Sometimes, the lessons were physical and painful.
✞—✞—✞—✞
“You’ll come to understand that these are the prices for the blessing of God,” Ushijima would murmur, his thumb pressing into your lips, steadily adding pressure until you give and let him slip inside, the heavy weight of his thumb on your tongue making your mind grow muddled. “Bruises are nothing more than proof of your devotion. After all, you must honor God properly, and only by kneeling before his vessel and offering your prayers can you do that.”
The words make sense in your mind, so hazy with pleasure and pain, and Father Ushijima’s steady repetition of the doctrine quickly becomes your norm. How could they not, after all this time? You weren’t even sure how many days, weeks, months he drilled the words of his God — or were they simply Ushijima’s words, as the vessel of God? Were they not the words of your God now, spoken by your God’s vessel? — into you.
But it had been long enough for you to believe him.
To believe that the bruises forming on you were symbols of pride — but never pride in yourself, that was a sin, you wouldn’t sin, couldn’t sin, can’tcan’tcan’t— and that you were meant to let all your bruises be seen. That they were meant to be a symbol of your dedication to the holy cause, painted like a mural for your god with mottled purple, red, and yellow along your skin.
And oh, were you a beautiful canvas. One Father Ushijima was more than happy to paint and color as a gift to God.
✞—✞—✞—✞
Other times, the lessons were a gift, a reward, to remind you of why you were growing and sought redemption so eagerly.
They were a reminder of why you devoted so much of yourself to Father Ushijima, to serving and pleasing him.
✞—✞—✞—✞
Prayer was vital to your growth as a believer. So was worship and understanding of the scriptures. So Father Ushijima ensured you knew all there was to them.
He made sure you knew every line of the Lord’s favored prayer, could gasp them out even as Father Ushijima’s fingers trailed over your skin, blessing it with holy water that burned distantly in your senses, buried under the pleasure of obedience and devotion to a being far more significant than yourself.
He murmured to you how to sing proper worship to God, allowing you to practice your skills by singing for him, the Lord’s chosen vessel. You joyfully let him drag the sin from your body with fingers that teased it out of you, letting them drip like water across your thighs, a sign, he said, that you were becoming cleansed by God. Each cleansing was paired with encouragement, with praise, letting you know that the warbled notes of pleasured confession you let slip between your lips and spilled from your throat were like ambrosia to God’s ears.
“Your worship is the sweetest sound, the most fragrant of offerings you can give. So let him hear you through your worship of me.”
Ushijima’s voice is firm but soft, filling every last space in you, drawing out praise and adoration from you easily, making you whisper Ushijima’s name like a sacred, holy thing. Your hands cling desperately to him while his gloved fingers touch your sex, curling and pressing against you in firm, sure movements.
Dragging the filth from you and replacing it with holy essence, his essence, and then unraveling what you were from the inside out. Showing you how flawed and sinful you were until it’s too much for you. With a wail of his name, filled with every bit of the desperate desire to please, to repent, that you had in your body, your back arches, and you feel yourself spill across his gloves.
With shuddering breaths and fluttering eyes, you fall back against the altar where he’d had you, watching with dazed eyes when he pulls sticky fingers from between your legs.
The look on his face as he looks at his glove, the material soaked in your sins, is nothing short of abhorring. But he says nothing, simply turning and pouring holy water over his hands, cleansing himself of your taint.
Then that hand, dripping with the blessed water, is dragging across your stomach, wrenching a ruined cry from the depths of your body as you burn. You wanted to twist, to thrash away from it. But then Father Ushijima’s hand is around your throat, his larger body pinning you down while his other hand continues moving.
“Be still, lamb. I am placing God’s benevolence upon your skin. You should be thanking me.”
His voice is reproachful, and you feel yourself throb deep inside your quivering body, and before you realize what you’re doing, your lips are shaping your thankful whimpers, your grateful breaths.
By the time Father Ushijima steps away, your mind is gone, filled with white noise as your mouth continues shaping the praise and gratitude your voice can no longer sing.
It’s only when you hear him stride away that you realize what the angry, red skin on your body is shaped like.
Only when the door clicks shut does your slow, stuttering mind realize that the shape of God’s cross, his symbol, his claim of ownership, has been burned into you like a brand.
And it’s only when you’re alone that your body arches and a scream of silent ecstasy stretch your lips as your broken, shattered mind revels at the idea of belonging to God.
Because Ushijima was God’s vessel on this earth, and belonging to his God meant belonging to him.
That alone was the greatest pleasure you needed.
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For the first time in a long time, Father Wakatoshi Ushijima’s church doors were locked on the Holy Day.
The doors being locked was not a strange occurrence by itself. After all, there were valuables in the church, and it made sense to lock them up when there were no worshippers, no congregation to fill the room with worship and praise.
But the Holy Day was the day of Mass, the day of Service. It was the day the doors were never locked, even after the night had crept in and blanketed the village with stars and moonlight.
The fact that it was locked now, without warning, without announcement, left the congregation milling about outside, eyeing the closed doors with trepidation.
The uncertainty left them more than a little confused, jittery at the thought of something having happened to the vessel of their God, the man who had so solidly rooted himself into their minds and lives that the idea of losing him was almost a physical pain to consider. Because surely, the only thing that would keep a pious, holy man such as the Father was the worst of circumstances.
The longer the doors stayed shut and the higher the sun rose in the sky, the more restless the people became, until one brave follower stepped up to the door and pounded on it fiercely.
“Father, if you can hear us, please, let us in!” they pleaded, pressed against the door and listening for the telltale click of polished leather boots against the floor, for Father Ushijima’s voice to call back and reassure them.
But only one of those things comes, the tap of well-made soles against the ground slowly becoming clearer, causing the follower to step back hurriedly. When they cleared the door, everyone waited with bated breath as a quiet, barely audible click sounded.
Then the door swung open, revealing Father Ushijima looking as pristine as ever, though there was a light in his eyes that was unusual for the usually stoic man.
“Welcome, o faithful flock of the Almighty. My apologies for the delay. There was a… task the Almighty required me to complete, and it took me a little longer than I had hoped. But come, enter into His sacred halls. There is wonderful news we need to celebrate.”
It was more than Father Ushijima usually spoke outside of a sermon. On top of that, there was a tone in his voice, one of victory, of deep cruel satisfaction. But the people dismissed it. After all, the priest had stated there was news to celebrate. It wasn’t odd to hear victory or satisfaction in these circumstances.
So when Father Ushijima spun around and strode into the church, the people followed like the sheep they were.
It took them several moments to realize what was different, and the first to do so made a strangled noise of shock.
It dragged the attention of the others forward, and before long, everyone had seen the display behind the altar table, eyes wide as disbelieving, shocked whispers filled with sacred space.
Because behind the altar table was the culmination of all of Ushijima’s efforts.
You were splayed on a cross, arms spread and bound to the wooden fixture, the only things holding you up other than the harness around your torso and the table Ushijima had set beneath you. Your legs had been pulled apart, spread in a way that left your dripping sex exposed to eyes torn between shock and rising lust.
Your eyes were glazed over with pleasure, pain, and exhaustion, but they still saw the people as your fellow followers of the Almighty entered and cast their eyes on your sinful form.
They still saw the looks the people sent you, looks of desire that made you burn with shame and embarrassment, because how dare you cause trouble for your fellow followers? How dare you tempt sin into the hearts of Father Ushijima’s flock?
And how dare the mere thought make you clench and moan, low and rough in the stifling silence of the church, the mark of Ushijima’s ownership upon your flesh throbbing as your blood burned and roared in your veins.
“Look, my flock. Look at your fellow follower of God, trapped by the weight of the sins they’re desperately trying to expel from their body,” Ushijima drawled, pulling the attention of the followers – those poor, foolish lambs who depended on him so, so much for guidance, for salvation, for everything – “They need your help, my faithful. They need your hands to pray over them, to help drag every. Last. Bit of filth from your body. And it is your duty as my flock, my faithful, to help me lead this lost lamb to true salvation. To sanctification and purity.”
It takes them several moments to understand. After all, they were just as lost and helpless as you were, relying on Ushijima for their direction. But one catches sight of the gloves on the table beside you, and the pieces begin to click.
So when one moves, the others turn to watch, to see them slip the gloves on after approaching you. Hesitating, the follower turned, seeking Ushijima’s gaze. When they see nothing but approval in those burning hazel eyes, they sag with relief before turning back to you with renewed vigor.
Father Ushijima was counting on them to help you after all. And help you, they would.
The first touch of a hand that wasn’t Ushijima’s almost makes you scream and flinch away. But you catch the priest’s fierce gaze, hold it, and know better than to try and pull away.
They were helping your masterownerg o d shepherd lead you to salvation.
“You should be grateful.”
The words echo in Ushijima’s voice, and you sink into them, let them wrap around you as your fellow follower’s hands cautiously trail over your thighs, towards the place that tempted and pulled you and others into sin.
Soon, others began to walk up, the assist the touches that dragged out every drop of your shame, sin, and imperfection. It made you burn, made you ache with humiliation and shameful desire.
But as your eyes lock onto the darkly satisfied, approving stare of Ushijima seated upon the front pew like a god – no, like the Almighty – you can’t help but feel the same warmth you felt after Ushijima’s mark had been burned upon your skin.
Because at last, you were serving your purpose, earning your salvation before your one, true God.