Chapter Text
Suguru has lived in this village his whole life.
He has no memory of his parents; he was told they passed away after leaving him with the church and the Father was kind enough to raise him as his own son. Suguru doesn’t think he lived a bad life. He was fed, clothed and had a bed to sleep on. He was far better off than some of the kids he’s seen in the slums. All he was asked to do is to pray to some unseen entity they liked to call God.
When he came of age, Father requested that he don the church dresses. He doesn’t question why he was asked to wear the women’s robes. He rarely questions things. There was something about Father that has always intimidated him. It was easier to ignore and listen to whatever Father wanted. He was his good, perfect boy.
Father had gotten him used to the church over the years so that he’d know every crook and crevice of the place. He expects Suguru to work his part when he comes of age.
What Suguru did not foresee was how the village men had looked at him.
They were waiting for him to grow up, to grow even curvier and make him into their village whore so they could fuck into him without the risk of him breaking. They could use him whenever and wherever they wanted. It was why Father and the village men were so keen to raise him, feed him and house him.
The sun is setting when Suguru reminisces about his life. He usually does at this hour. When the sun sets and the brightest rays shine through the windows and grant him the briefest of respite before it goes away to hide behind the clouds and never to be seen again until tomorrow. He puts his bible down and fixes his dress. The dress has gotten too small for him by now. It hugs his curves at his waist, so tight that he’s afraid that if he breathes wrong he might actually rip the seams. It hugs him so tight that he knows men look at his ass when he walks through the market for groceries.
Father tells him he looks fine, so he must be. He never questions Father. He’s probably overthinking it.
Except he’s not.
He knows what he really looks like. He looks like the women at night when they’re roaming the streets to find a warm body to pay them for a round of bed warming. And he knows Father knows. But he never questions Father.
He never questions even when Father has him enter the prayer room every night after the sun sets. He makes him enter the prayer room without his underlayers, wants his pussy bare under his dress and his body ready for the nightly prayers.
He opens the door to the prayer room to be greeted by the usual village men. Their cocks are hard in their pants and their breath is heavy on their tongue. Suguru greets them with a smile, “Good evening.” The closest one by the door grabs him and shuts the door hastily, “We have been waiting for so long, Sister Geto.”
Sister Geto. That’s a name that sounds incredibly wrong on the tongue.
But Suguru doesn’t mind it. It has a nice ring to it but he thinks Sister Suguru might sound a little nicer; though a little too intimate. He hears someone click the door shut and he goes on his knees, making sure they’re comfortable on the one single cushion that they had so kindly prepared for him. He settles down on it, shifting his dress a little and making it ride up his thighs, “What plagues my kind sirs so much that they require my nightly attention?”
One man quickly walks up to him, shoving his hard clothed cock into his face and his breath is heavy in the air. Suguru’s eyebrow twitches a little at his behavior but quickly recomposes himself, “Is it this naughty rod that seeks my flesh?” He reaches up to give it a stroke, feeling it twitch under his palm. The man almost chokes, “Yes! Sister Geto. I have dreams about plunging into your warm, wet heat every night. My wife cannot sate my desires and I need to sink my king into your fleshy tongue!”
Suguru opens his mouth and lets his tongue roll out, “Very well, sir. May your sins be cleansed within me.”
The man quickly shoves his pants onto the floor, letting the fleshy part of his cock slap Suguru in the face and he plunges his cock in his throat in one inconsiderate thrust. Suguru doesn’t choke, he doesn’t even blink. The man’s cock wasn’t even big enough for him to choke but nevertheless he puts his throat to good use to make the man moan.
The other village men in the room start to remove their garments. Some had already started fisting their cocks in their heads. How pathetic, Suguru thinks, that they would only find pleasure in a sullied man like him. But that’s fine, this is his job. Father has appointed him to take care of the village men. He will do what is asked of him.
He doesn’t even flinch when someone grabs his hips, making him reposition so he would be on all fours like a dog. He dislikes this position, it makes him feel less than a dog. He thinks even dogs would know what dignity is, but the village men care nothing about dignity when they’re busy shoving their sinful rods down his throat and pussy in his church. The man behind Suguru doesn’t even prep him. He shoves his hard, angry cock into his pussy without a thought.
This is why Suguru takes the time to finger himself between breaks during the day.
Village men have no class.
He doesn’t do it to cum. Suguru has never orgasmed by another's hands. He never found the need to; he is but the village whore. The village hole that the men go to at night to break their dutiful promises to their wives and to pour their dirty, filthy cum in him and tell him to bless them with his mouth and dripping pussy.
And he does. He always does. This is his duty that Father has bestowed upon him.
Suguru is passed around the room like a gloryhole. The men don’t even blink when they shove their cocks into his already-filled pussy. They murmur things into his ears that send chills down his spine but he doesn’t orgasm.
He never does.
By the end of the night, Suguru’s body is stained with mortal filth and his pussy is dripping buckets of cum and the only thing he’s thinking about is the amount of time he’s going to take to clean the room. Cum is hard to clean, especially when it starts seeping into the carpets. He doesn’t even take the time to rest, letting the cum drip down his thighs and he goes off to grab a bucket of water and some cloth.
He probably reeks of sex, cum and filth. God must be angry at him.
Or maybe there’s no God at all.
What kind of God allows their servant to be used like a meat slave?
But Suguru moves. He walks across the hallway on his tippy toes, making sure that none of the sisters wake from his nightly activities. He grabs the bucket from the cleaning supplies and quietly shuffles back to his prayer room. He passes the statue of one of god’s angels.
The angel's name is supposedly Raphael. Out of habit, Suguru tilts his head down, eyes shadowing over Raphael’s feet and he murmurs his prayer out of habit, “Raphael. O Raphael. Lead us toward those we are waiting for. Raphael, O Raphael. May all our movements be guided by your Light.”
“You’re praying to Raphael? Of all people?” comes a voice from the shadows. It’s cold, harsh and it resonates within Suguru like a bell that rings when the dawn breaks.
Suguru snaps his head up in surprise.
“Confessionals are over,” Suguru says.
The voice pauses for a second and booms into a loud laughter. It echoes loudly and bounces off the walls, “Confessionals? That’s what the mortals call it when they use you like a meat slave and fuck their filthy seed into you? Confessionals! Oh dear, if only God knows what his servants are doing under his name.”
Suguru blushes, falters a little and the bucket in his head spills a little, “Who are you? I’ve never heard your voice before.”
“You would remember people by their voices?”
“I choose to not remember faces. They are filthy. Their eyes are sinful and they are not as pure as they should be when they come to the church and pray for forgiveness.”
The voice in the shadow hums, “How very interesting.”
“What is?” Suguru snaps. The stranger in the shadow is speaking in circles but he hums a little. It sounds like he’s toying with Suguru, he hates it. He hates being looked down upon. He would prefer being looked like he’s a prized possession. He would prefer being a prized village whore than.. whatever this is.
“Maybe when the day comes that you tire of this farce, pray for me, my cute little village whore. Pray not for God, but for the demons to make your prayers come true. Pray for the Devil to take you into paradise. Maybe you’ll actually get an answer from your prayers this time.”
And then there is silence.
The voice is gone and Suguru knows the man lurking in the shadows is also gone.
He almost laughs. Did he say the Devil? The devil brings you nothing but misfortune and a life of lies. Why would he ever pray to the Devil? It isn’t as if he was living a hard life. He spreads his legs twice a week, he gets fed (sometimes he even gets meat!) and he has a roof over his head. That’s really all he asks for.
Suguru is lying.
He hates this.
He hates being the village whore. He hates having to spread his legs to take in some small cock that barely even reaches in deep. He hates sucking cock and having them cum all over his hair. He hates it all. Most of all, he hates himself for being unable to talk back to Father. He hates being conditioned like this.
But (he lies to himself, yet again) he’s fed, he’s housed, he’s clothed.
He keeps it to himself and locks it deep within him. He scrubs the floor with his teeth biting down his lips (not enough to draw blood because Father will notice) and airs the room. Only when he is completely sure everything is clean, is when he retreats to the bathroom to scrub himself clean of any filthy residue.
Only when he has his fingers deep in him to scoop out the last of the cum is when he allows a moment for himself. He allows himself to rub his own clit to chase for the relief no one has ever given him. He uses his fingers to flick the little red spot that sends him shivering down to his thighs. He only knows about this spot because he overheard the tavern ladies talk about ‘that spot that feels incredible’. He had immediately scurried home to touch himself and by dear Gods, does it feel amazing.
But no man has ever touched him there.
All they cared about was wetting their cocks but Suguru is fine with that. He’d rather not get addicted to the feeling of filthy men finding out what makes him cum. Suguru flicks his clit once more, shaking his hips in the air like a real whore and lets himself sink into the feeling of his body spasming in gentle waves. He loves that feeling. The moment when his clit gives him the pleasure he needs and his pussy lubricating and dripping down his thighs.
One day, someone will show him what true pleasure is.
For now, he is part of the church (the whore).
“I have something to attend to today, so please take over my confessional duties,” Father says over breakfast.
Suguru knows what he means. He only nods and sips on his milk. His body is tired but not because of his nightly prayers. He’s just exhausted. Mentally. But he puts his plates aside and even helps cleans his fellow sisters’ ones. He dries his hands and takes his slowest walk to the confessional. His eyes glance over the church and he already recognizes the men who are waiting to make a confession.
It’s usually the same couple of men and occasionally, a few younger, more handsome ones.
Suguru prefers the younger ones. They would fuck him like they cared about him and it makes him feel a little fuzzier inside. But they don’t come often. They would usually fuck Suguru and their eyes would cloud with guilt when they watch the cum drip out of his pussy and then they would take their guilt and run away with it.
If they ever do come back, the guilt in their eyes are gone and their cocks would stand hot and heavy in their pants.
It is something Suguru is used to.
He opens the door to the confessional booth with a loud creak and glancing over to the benches of men waiting for their turn. None of them look him in the eye, they usually don’t. They’re never brave enough to approach him in public. They’re all cowards. Their wives would never know that they spend their nights fucking a public toilet and pour their hot cum in another hole. They would never know about the sinful things they commit under God’s eyes.
Suguru holds in a sigh. He closes the door to the booth, but not all the way. He leaves a tiny opening and pulls his dress up to his waist, letting it pool around him. Spreading his legs a little to steady himself, he holds onto the frame and bends over, pussy and ass spread towards the door. He waits until he hears the door creak open.
“Tell me your sins,” Suguru whispers. His breath hitches when he feels the familiar warmth of a cock line itself to the entrance of his pussy.
He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t like looking at them.
“I’ve had sinful thoughts lately, sister,” The man starts, his hips rutting against him, “I’ve thought about spilling my seed inside you, sister. I dream about it every night.”
Disgusting.
“I would fill you with my hot seed and you would drool all over my cock.”
Disgusting.
“You’d accept my hot seed and forgive me for my sins.”
Disgusting.
“Forgive me, sister. For I have sinned.”
Disgusting.
The man spills his seed inside Suguru. His cock isn’t big enough for Suguru to feel it quite deep inside. He stays still, his legs are still spread and he waits for the man to tuck his filthy cock back in. It isn’t long until someone else switches with him. The door creaks once more. This time the man doesn’t even confess his sins. He pulls Suguru’s hips harshly and thrusts his cock into his pussy with no warning. He ruts against him, hips shaking and chasing his own pleasure.
How is it possible for men cum this quickly, Suguru thinks. It’s pathetic.
Suguru counts at least six men who have spilled their cum into him when the sun finally sets. Seems like he won’t be getting the pleasure to feel the warmth of the evening sun today. The seventh man opens the door, but Suguru doesn’t feel the familiar pressure on his dripping pussy. He’s beyond soiled. His pussy is dripping several loads of cum, his robes are sticking to his skin from sweat but he keeps his legs spread wide open. He must be the ideal village whore for Father.
The seventh man holds him up, making him straighten his back. It feels good for a second, to be allowed to stretch himself.
“Sister, I want to pray in front of God.”
Suguru’s eyes widen. He wants to do what in front of God now? Do men’s debauchery know no limits?! He doesn’t even get to protest when the stranger pulls him towards the chapel where the altar is. God’s statue is large and looming over them. Suguru can’t do this. He can’t look God in the face with cum dripping down his thighs and spread his pussy for this man. He cannot. He will not.
“No, I can’t,” Suguru attempts to stop the man, “I can’t do this.”
The man seems enraged. He grabs Suguru by the arm and throws him on the floor, “Shut up, you whore. I paid a whole month’s worth of rent to fuck your loose pussy. Spread your legs and stop resisting.”
Suguru tears up, “Please. Let’s do this somewhere else.”
Not in front of God. He cannot allow God to witness his sins.
The man climbs over Suguru’s body, in an attempt to mount him. He unzips his pants to let his cock free. For the first time ever, Suguru is afraid of a mortal’s cock. He’s trembling in fear when the man lines his cock to his pussy and the moonlight shines down on his face.
Why won’t God save him?
He’s being defiled in front of His eyes and God won’t save him.
Why?
Why is God letting a man defile his body and desecrate his sacred grounds?
Why won’t he hear his prayers?
Tears are flowing freely from the corners of his eyes. The man above is rutting his cock against him. Clearly enjoying the situation.
“Please, anyone. Please save me,” Suguru whispers, “Anyone. Even the Devil will do.”
“How rude!” A familiar voice rings, “Did you just refer to the Devil as anyone?”
The man looks up, surprised at the sudden entry of another man, “Hey. It’s not your turn yet. I paid for a round and I haven’t cum in his pussy.”
The voice steps out of the shadow. Suguru’s eyes widen; if God had a messenger, he would think he looks like this. His hair spread around him like a halo protecting him. His eyes are like the ocean compressed into two orbs and given to him as gifts by God. He looks absolutely ethereal, if it wasn’t for the fact he was standing over the two of them, unfazed by their situation. Hands on his waist, devilish grin decorating his lush lips and bent over Suguru. His eyes look like hope to Suguru.
“What do you want me to do, darling?” The angel asks in a devious grin.
Suguru stares at him, his fat tears are still falling but he balls his hands into a fist, “Kill him.”
And there’s nothing but a loud splattering noise. His ears are ringing but the angel covers his eyes and smiles gently down at him, “You shouldn’t look at such filth. It doesn’t suit you.”
The angel helps him up and turns him around, so that his back is towards what Suguru assumes is a mess of a distorted corpse. He feels the squish under his feet, the moistness against his soles but the angel holds his face gently.
“Oh dear, some of it got on you. Sorry about that,” the angel uses the thumb to swipe the drop of blood away from his cheek.
“T.. Thank you..?” Suguru answers unsurely. What is he supposed to do now? He can smell the blood. That’s going to take so much cleaning from the carpet. Does he even have the right materials? Maybe if he replaced the carpet instead, it’d make his life easier. Where would he get the carpet? Does he have enough money to purchase a new one at such a short notice? He still needs to clean the confessional booth from all the cum that dripped out of him.
And the angel snaps his fingers in his face, “Earth to the little whore.”
“The name’s Suguru. Stop calling me that.”
“Suguru. Suguru. Suguru,” The angel whispers. The name sounds ethereal on his tongue, “So what do you want to do now, my beautiful little Suguru?”
“What.. What do you mean?”
“You summoned the devil! You didn’t even tell me your wish! You can’t possibly think a tiny little murder was enough for a wish!” The angel, no, the devil throws his hands in the air. “What do you want? More murder? Money? Power? Say it, little darling, and I’ll grant you a wish for a price.”
Suguru’s tears don’t stop. He cries and wails and the devil stares dumbly. The devil leans in to lick his tears and grins down, “Even your tears are sweet, little darling. C’mon, tell me your wish. I would like to not stand here in dear old dad’s sacred grounds. Shit gives me the rashes.”
Suguru wipes his tears, “Take me away. I don’t want to be here anymore. Take me far away. I don’t want to be treated like a public toilet anymore. I want a life. I want to be loved!” He babbles and babbles, his fat tears rolling off his face like little diamonds that the devil wants to swipe up and make into a necklace.
The devil smiles sweetly at him. His smile drips with a mischievous intent, his bright blues shining in glee and he reaches down to hold Suguru’s hands, planting a kiss on them, “Your wish is my command, little darling.”
The devil bends down to hook an arm from under his knees and scoops him up easily in one quick swipe. He lets Suguru settle in his arms comfortably, watching the villager look up at him with uncertainty in his eyes but the devil only smiles down, “Ready?”
“...for?”
The devil maintains his smile, “I’m whisking you away like the romance novels you humans are so fond of.”
Suguru blushes, he loves romance novels. He’s never owned any novels but he’s read some from the public library. Sure, he sucked the librarian’s cock for some private time back in the rooms but he thought it was worth it. He spent half the day reading about damsels in distress and the knight in shining armors whisking them away to live happily ever after. He wishes that for himself.
And the devil is doing that for him.
The devil has no horns or fangs; he has hair like an angel’s halo and eyes like the most expensive jewels. He’ll take the devil’s hands if God won’t answer him. Anyone would do. He’s tired of this life.
“Hold on tight,” the devil warns and suddenly Suguru sees the world under his feet.
The village is suddenly a flurry of constellations in the distance, the night wind falls gently on his face and the moon is bright against the devil’s skin. Suguru wouldn’t even be surprised if the devil had wings. Maybe God condemned him for his beauty. Such beauty truly must be a sin. Even mortals and angels alike would want to covet it for their own.
But the devil actually does have wings. They're large and they're fluffy, even.
But they're not white like his hair. They’re raven and rivals Suguru’s own hair.
“Did God condemn you?” Suguru asks softly.
The devil blinks, “What makes you think that?”
“You’re too beautiful to be called the devil,” he whispers softly.
The devil cackles with laughter. Even that sounds like music to Suguru’s ears.
“You’re not wrong but I was not condemned for my beauty. My beauty is a special grade that cannot be condemned,” The devil winks, “Now hold on tight, I’ll bring you home.”
Suguru freezes. Home? What is home? He has no home now. Not when he literally prayed to the devil for freedom and murder. He’s no longer a servant of God. Maybe he never was in the beginning. Maybe that’s why God has never answered his prayers. Maybe that’s why Father had him serve as the village whore; because he was beyond saving since the start. That’s why his own parents had left him first.
“God never has and never will answer a mortal’s prayers,” The devil says quietly, “He’s stuck-up that way.”
Suguru clasps his hands to his mouth and realizes that he’s said all that aloud. He lets his head hang in shame and flushes to his ears, “Am I a failure of a human being..? Is that why God has given up on me?”
The devil shrugs, his wings flapping behind him like a sign of reassurance, “You mortals care too much about how you look in his eyes. Just live life, my little darling. God literally does not care what mortals do.”
Suguru stays quiet in the devil’s arms. He feels warmer than any physical warmth anyone has given him. The devil holds him close and Suguru doesn’t even feel afraid that they’re literally flying through the clouds. Instead, he just takes in the night air. It’s cold and it feels like he’s floating in the sea when he feels it between his fingertips. The devil is silent, as if afraid to intrude on his little bubble.
He chuckles quietly to himself, the devil is more considerate than God.
When they arrive, it's a large mansion in the forest of monsters. When Suguru says large, it is the biggest building he has ever seen in his life. The architecture is far more superior and sophisticated than the church and the roofs have towers that reach into the sky. The walls are made out of the sturdiest stone and the surroundings are decorated by strangely colored flowers. Suguru has never seen blue flowers in his life. They must smell amazing too.
“Gojo. Welcome back,” comes a stern voice from the shadows.
Suguru flinches but the devil gives him a reassuring pat before putting him down.
“I’m back, Nanami! Can you get this little darling all cleaned up for me? He smells like cum and sweat and I want none of that in my estate. That includes the insides of his pussy too,” the devil jabs a finger at him.
Suguru flinches. He forgot that he probably smells like after hours of a lot of sexual activity.
“Don’t worry, little darling. We’ll get you cleaned up and we can have a wonderful discussion over a nice warm meal!” The devil sings and gestures two servants to come attend to Suguru. The servants growl at Suguru’s dress, “He’s a servant of God, Gojo-sama.”
“Well, he serves me now! Burn the dress afterwards.”
The servants nod and escort Suguru into the house.
Suguru only looks over his shoulder once more to see the devil waving at him with the same smile on his face. He’s unsure what would happen now but god, does he want a nice warm bath and a warm fucking meal. If the devil has decided to take his soul, he might as well make the most out of it before he kills him and eats his heart. Maybe he’ll even ask the devil to eat his pussy like how the women in the taverns love to sing about.
There’s so many questions, so little answers.
Suguru only strips quietly when the servants ask him to. They are all too happy to watch the church robe burn in the fireplace, the fire reflecting in their eyes and the glee in their smile. “Thank you,” The servants said kindly, “We don’t get many opportunities to burn God’s things. That was fun.”
“You’re welcome,” replies Suguru.
It feels weird to be thanked for something so blasphemous.
But he’s in the devil’s abode now. He has to get used to it.
Suguru sinks into the warm bath, heaving out a sigh of relief that he’s been holding in. Hopefully, the devil will be kind enough to listen to him before he decides to eat his heart. Gojo, Suguru murmurs under his breath.
Gojo. Gojo. Gojo.
The name rolls off Suguru’s tongue like butter.
It’s a beautiful name for a devil.