Damned: Trapped Among Sinners

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Zinyael was the 1000th of the Seraphim born from the mists of God’s wisdom. The last of his daughters before mankind was created. She entered the realm of heaven being one of the lowliest of the seraphs and thus it was her duty to serve as one of the guardians of humanity. Favored souls on earth were to be protected and gently guided towards saintly lives. Among these, the least favored were given to Zinyael, to protect until she was called upon to return to her duties in heaven. For thousands of years she carried out this duty without fault.

Until tonight.

On this cold, rainy night, Zinyael finds herself in the bedroom of a teenage human named Clark Bennett. Against all conventions of heaven and judgment of the thrones, she is about to do the one thing she has been forbidden to do: appear to the young man she is charged with protecting so that he might experience the love of a woman. Clark Bennett is pale, scrawny, and wears thick eyeglasses. He is not a handsome man, which contributes to his intense loneliness. He is considering doing something terrible to himself and Zinyael cannot allow that to happen.

She appears as a warm glow in the corner of his bedroom. Clark sits up in bed, shocked by the light coalescing beside his childish posters and shelves of figurines.

“W-what is happening?” He pulls his knees up to his chest and stares in wonder.

Zinyael emerges from the light. She has chosen a youthful appearance, with slender limbs and a narrow waist, but ample breasts that presses against the gauzy veil of her gown. Her hips are wide and enticing and her quim, created just for this moment, hairless and as delicate as the petals of a flower. Her platinum blonde hair flows over her slender shoulders as she gently lands from the light on the cheap carpeting of Clark’s bedroom. She folds her glorious white wings against her back and regards Clark with her pale blue eyes.

“W-who are you?” He gasps, seemingly paralyzed with fear.

“I am your guardian angel, Clark Bennett,” says Zinyael in a kind voice. “I know the pain of loneliness you suffer and I know your good deeds. I am here to alleviate your suffering.”

Zinyael walks slowly over to Clark’s bed, the golden light dimming, but a radiant halo remaining around her head. With each step she takes towards him, her gauzy gown begins to dissipate and reveal the creamy mounds of her breasts, her slender abdomen, and the soft furrow of her sex.

“Y-you’re beautiful,” whispers Clark.

“Your soul is beautiful, Clark Bennett,” says Zinyael, kneeling beside his bed. “The good you will do in your life will far outweigh the sinfulness of this moment.”

“This moment?” He looks at her with confusion.

The last of Zinyael’s gown melts away and she climbs atop the bed. Clark’s eyes are wide and innocent. Her delicate hands draw down the shorts he is wearing and his cock springs free. It is not particularly thick for a man, but it is quite long. She grasps it in her hand and smiles serenely down at him as she straddles his hips. She does not sheath his cock in her virgin quim immediately. She lets his hardness rest against the warm folds of her entrance, feeling her angelic heat and the slickness of her nectar.

“Is this what you desire, Clark Bennett?” She asks him.

“Oh, my god,” he moans. “What… what are you?”

“I am Zinyael. I told you, I am your guardian angel.” She keeps one hand on his steely cock and uses the other to gently stroke his acne-reddened cheek. Poor Clark may one day be a handsome man, but he is not handsome at all now, which is a source of his pain. Zinyael does not care of such things. She sees only the beauty of his soul. “Is this what you desire, Clark Bennett? Do you wish to know the pleasure of a woman?”

“M-more than anything,” he moans, daring to rest his hands on her hips.

“Very well,” she says, moving her hips and letting her petals part against the tip of his cock. Clark moans and trembles beneath her as her juices begin to drip over the head of his cock. “Remember, Clark Bennett, you are loved by many. And you will find this pleasure again with a human.”

Zinyael lowers her holy vessel upon his staff, biting her lip and whining with pleasure as his hardness fills her tender depths. She sheaths every inch of his manhood within her clutching walls and takes a moment to steady herself, so powerful is the pleasure that radiates through her body.

“Ooohhhhhh, it’s so good,” moans Clark, writhing beneath her.

“Yes, my sweet,” coos Zinyael. “It is wondrous. God creates these pleasures for us to discover.”

She rests her hands on his shoulders and begins to move atop him, sliding up the hot, velvet channel of her cunt up to the very tip of his cock and back down again. The bed softly creaks beneath these movements. Her heavy breasts bounce as she rides his teenage cock.

“Oh, ohhhh… may I… may I touch you?” Clark asks, looking up at her with his wide eyes.

“Of course,” giggles Zinyael. “Is my body pleasing to you?”

“Your breasts are so nice,” moans Clark and he reaches up and cups her soft mounds with both his hands. He squeezes the soft flesh and rubs his fingers over her pale pink nipples.

Zinyael whines again with pleasure as his touch sends shocks of ecstasy flowing through her. She moves faster and her inner walls begin to contract around him. Unfamiliar with such pleasure, Zinyael throws back her head and cries, “Something is happening! Ahhhh!”

Zinyael has only the glory of heaven with which to compare this pleasure. It grips the cock inside her as it pulses in waves through her body. She cries a bit louder, her voice like that of the holy choral when singing a pronouncement of the Lord.

“Ohhhh, Zinyael!” Clark cries, thrusting up and into her. His cock jerks within her walls and she feels something hot and wet squirting inside her. With another cry of pleasure, Zinyael’s holy vessel receives Clark Bennett’s human seed. Each hot spurt fills her fluttering walls and drips down from her thighs to his quivering stones. He slumps beneath her, a contented smile upon his face. “Th-thank you, I—“

The words freeze on his lips.

“Clark?”

Nothing moves in the room, not even the drop of sweat trickling down Clark’s face. There is a terrible peal of thunder that shakes in Zinyael’s chest. The booming voice of Metatron declares, “THOU HATH SINNED!”

Terror grips the young seraph. She knows it is true and can do nothing to escape the judgment of thrones. Harsh white light envelops her and she feels the dizzying rush of being lifted up to heaven to face her punishment.

The light fades and she stands in a room of pale white marble. The council of thrones gathers in their golden seats. The archangels gaze down at her with serious eyes. Beyond them, glows the mist of God himself, silent, but watching as always.

The archangels are terrifying creatures, even to Zinyael. They are the founders of the heavenly hierarchy and their wisdom and judgment is second only to god. These are the warrior angels who battled Satan and his fallen angels.

“Please,” cries Zinyael, falling to her knees before the council. “Forgive my ward. He acted on his desire, I only sought to protect him from harm. He is a good man. He is doing things to help people with his machine.”

“You violated one of the cardinal rules of seraphim and became intimate with a human,” booms the voice of Gabriel. “Such action, undertaken for any reason, is forbidden.”

“We forgive your ward,” says Michael. “He will receive another guardian and another chance. You, Zinyael, for your sin of fornication and for your attempt, no matter how well-intended, to sow corruption, will bear the whole of the punishment.”

“Y-yes, I understand,” says Zinyael, looking up and wiping tears from her pale blue eyes.

“Your deeds for God and the thrones will protect you from hell,” says Sachiel, the only archangel on the council Zinyael knows personally.

“You are to be stripped of your wings and immortality and sent to the mortal coil to live among the sinful humans,” booms the voice of Gabriel.

“There is still a path back to heaven,” says Sachiel, tears glistening in her eyes. “Do good deeds. Do not yield to sin or allow your body to be given over to pleasure. Do not bear a child with men. If the minions of hell know you walk the earth, they will hunt you and try to seduce you. Be strong my—“

Metatron stands suddenly, raising his iron glove. The other archangels fall silent as Metatron’s eyes begin to glow.

“YOU. ARE. DAMNED!” His voice thunders.

There is a terrible crack and an agony beyond any pain Zinyael has ever known as her wings are torn from her back. There follows another peal of thunder and a flash of painfully bright light. She feels herself falling…

Zinyael awakens to twilight. She feels the heaviness of her body without the buoyancy of her holy power. She is naked and sprawled in a grassy field and for a moment she almost believes she has returned to the field of heaven. The painful throb in her upper back reminds her that her wings were uprooted. She bends her hand back and feels the scar tissue where the wings were torn loose.

Groaning softly, Zinyael rises to her hands and knees, her breasts dangling heavily. Something nudges her side and she looks up to see a black-and-white cow. Its nostrils flare as it sniffs her and chews its cud.

“Hello,” she croaks, rising unsteadily to her feet. “Are you friendly?”

The cow bumps her with its nose again, nearly knocking her over. It seems to be trying to push her out of the way. Other cows mill about in the field. Some of them look her way with bovine interest, but most snuffle at the grass.

Beyond the cows, Zinyael sees a distant farmhouse and barn. She trembles against the cold, her nipples painfully erect. Her breath steams from her mouth. This is what it is like to be human? Constantly in one sort of pain or another.

There is a light in the farmhouse, but the barn is dark and silent. Lights move down a stone path nearby and a humming sound grows louder as the lights grow brighter. She shields her face and an iron machine passes her by. She knows these machines. They carry humans to different places. That means there may be humans within them. Humans who might help her.

She is uncertain. Many humans are bad. Perhaps she would be safer at the farmhouse or in the darkness of the barn. Her chin begins to tremble as she fights to keep her teeth from chattering. Whatever she is going to do, she decides, she must do it soon. Her naked body is not suited to this cold air.