Tie her to his Bed

She pales but nods her consent. He leads her to his bed and throws the raggedy covering aside. You leave her to his touch, their hands between each other’s legs, and search for bindings. The moans follow you to the small kitchen and smaller hallway. Your cock, hard and naked, bobs with each step.

You will have to use two of his belts, his moth-eaten stole and a short rope once used for packaging, but you will make do.

On your return, she is on her ass, her back against the bed. The Priest-In-Rags, towering over her, forces his cock again and again down her throat. He steps aside when he notices you, smirking and slapping her one last time with his spit-slick member. She coughs up drool, sucks in air, and then opens wide again to receive your staff.

You help her up after the second slurp.

The Harried Housewife offers her limbs and she is tied down, arms to the headrest and legs spread wide, face-up on his filthy mattress. Her nipples stiffen as you probe her dark-furred sex with two fingers. The Priest-In-Rags, meanwhile, climbs over her. He kneels on her naked chest and pushes the tip of his cock back into her waiting mouth.

She gags and quivers, tightens and sucks in your fingers. You rub and pull until they come free, her arousal flooding from between her opened petals. The Priest has bulged her throat and her well does not ebb as long as he uses her. You guide her with your hand and drink her until she spits him out, screaming and thrashing against the bonds.

He takes your spot and her ass, grabbing her hips to calm the maddened struggle. You play with her breasts, teasing the tops to make her scream, and then fill her open mouth with your length. His cruel thrusts have her buck against her bindings, and your moments of restraint have her begging and slurping, the syllables malformed by a wearied tongue.

"Fu – hrgngh! Ahhhh..."

You step back and demand access. The Priest buries himself thrice more inside her before he makes way, his seed seeping from her gaping backdoor. The tension leaves her body with his tool and she sinks back to the filthy mattress, gasping for air. You let her breathe but then tease her with your tip. She calms, smiling at you through half-lidded eyes.

You linger at the threshold, bulging but hesitant. Her furrow is ripe with dew and the touch of the plough makes her howl. A word single word flows fast from her lip and you push deeper.

"Master!" She repeats. "Master!" A moan. "Master!"

"Sing fast, but drink faster," says the Priest. He strokes his cock.

The first thrust takes her voice, and the second makes her speak. Rope, belt, and stole snap, and she rises, whispering.

"A dawn. A dawn and you are here." Her heart beats with fear and care. "O brother of the beast we hate!" Her skin shines, botched with pearl. "Apricots! The ****, odorous and nice." Her eyes spark, little beaten brassware pots. "Glory in the ****-blade! Sell the rotten, buy the ripe! The heads are weak; my pockets burn."

His bony hand touches yours and you relent. He guides her down on all fours and makes her suck him back to hardness. She writhes and throws herself against you. Another thrust rocks you both, her tightness convulsing around you.

You open your eyes to her on her back, to your softening cock connected to her overflowing sex by lust and arousal, and to the Priest covering her angelic face with his slime. She paws at your chest, smiling through the filth.

You kiss her hand and trace your fingers along the rope-burns. The red welts shine in a golden light.

{if A Heretic = 1}

Glass shatters. Only the leaden Prison remains.

The RATTLE whirls in his Chains

{elseif An Occultist = 1}

Glass shatters. Only the leaden Prison remains.

The SECOND whirls in his Chains

{else}

Glass shatters. Only the leaden Prison remains.

{endif}

”I’m blessed,” she whispers, marvelling at your touch, and insensate to the cum dripping from her well-used ass and cunt. More falls from the corners of her mouth. "Safe return."