I'm putting this first so you're all aware:
Yes, this will be one of those lemons.
No, it won't be cutesy and fluffy, nor will it be light and comedic.
Yes, I do in fact do it all for Leo.
Enjoy.
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The Maiden's Blessing
The chapel was dimly lit. Nine of every ten candles had been extinguished to spare them from waste. What remained wasn't even enough to illuminate the stained glass, let alone banish the shadows from the corners of the modest hall. But it was enough for a glimpse.
He heard the door close behind him. He hoped he'd imagined the grinding of wood against steel that signified it'd been barred from the outside. Though he wanted nothing more than to flee, he thought of God, prayed for the strength to fight his selfish nature, and stepped forward, towards the pews.
He saw her quickly. Kneeling, praying at the altar, she blended in with the shadows, only visible by the pale luster of her long hair that captivated him, stopping his march in its tracks. He'd known, of course, who she was, but only upon seeing her in the flesh could he be sure that the rumours were false and she was, in fact, a holy maiden sent down to aid their battle.
Except 'Holy' wasn't a word he'd have used to describe her. Pitch black armour, dented and forced outwards, jagged edges raised to catch and tear skin. It wasn't something a paladin would ever wear. Yet she was still as a statue, comfortable enough in it to march and fight and pray for hours on end. Or perhaps earthly things like irritation had no hope of ever reaching her.
"Late."
Correction. She was definitely irritated.
"Tardiness. So your respect for my command was only this much."
She rose. Armour scraped and ground against itself. As she turned to face him, it let out a mournful screech.
Her eyes were a pale gold. They stared straight into him.
"Speak." Her voice might've been beautiful once, but now it could barely be linked back to the young girl it belonged to.
He stammered. "I, uh, that is, my name is-."
"No." She stepped forward, mirroring his steps yet not. Where he'd slunk in like a terrified animal, the holy maiden marched proudly, chest thrust forward, eyes ahead. "I did not ask for a name. Your first words should have been an apology, followed by a request for forgiveness. Who you are is secondary."
"I... I'm, sorry-."
"Fear." Once more, he was cut off. Once more, the distance between them was chipped down. Her skin was as pale as the rest of her. White clothed in black. A sickly white more like the moon than the sun. "You are afraid of me."
It wasn't a question. The answer was written on his face, so it was merely an observation. "Do you have reason to be apprehensive? Am I not your holy maiden? Did I not save your Orleans from destruction?"
Rapid fire. One after the other. Each question hammered at him like a blade. Instinct told him to step back, to flee, but he knew that to do so would be the greatest insult of all.
She stopped. Inches away, she stopped. Waiting. She was smaller than him, he realized, despite the armour keeping her up. Yet he couldn't help but be cowed by her presence.
He bowed his head and sank to one knee, calling up the lines he'd practiced, memorized, begged the local friar to write up on his behalf. "I come to you now, holy maiden, to beg for forgiveness for my sins, and to offer myself up, so that I may aid you and relieve you of the heavy burdens you carry, if only for a night. God gave you a great mission, and we of..." He almost stumbled over the name of his village, so removed did it feel from the dream-like present. "...hope to support your struggle however we may."
"Hm." Her response was monosyllabic and noncommital. But even that was preferrable to her harsh words from before. He dared to raise his head and look up, and found himself staring into something resembling a smile.
"Of course. You are mine to use, then?"
"Y-yes."
"No." A gauntlet closed around the front of his tunic, dragging him up until their faces were almost pressed together. Something sharp and metallic was poking his neck. He could see the whites of her eyes, and her delicate skin. "You are God's. And tonight, my will is His will." Her breath was warm.
He was released, and collapsed backwards, arms quaking and mouth flapping soundlessly.
"I know of your crime," she said. One gauntlet closed around the other, twisting as she spoke. "Illicit relations. No thought of marriage. With the daughter of a respected artisan." With a snap, it came off and was tossed aside. Her hand was daintier than the armour hiding it would've suggested.
"I, we, I didn't want to make her wait for me, if I couldn't come back from the war."
"War? You are nowhere near war." The other gauntlet, now. She wore no helm, but there was a head-guard of sorts that she slid off her scalp. "Sin is sin, no matter what lies you tell to mask it."
To hear such a condemnation from his one hope of salvation was more than he could bear.
"Please!" He prostrated himself before the terrifying girl. "I've been horrible, yes! I've done wrong, but I seek to atone for it! Can I yet be saved? I've prayed every day, I've donated a third of everything I make, I-!"
"You've done nothing." Her word was final. "Not yet. Now get up. And disrobe."
"Eh?" Once more he raised his head from the cold stone. The armour was coming off, piece by piece, to reveal a similarly dark dress beneath. It was no noble cloth, rather something one might find in the wardrobe of a peasant girl, that she'd worked and scrapped for and finally bought for the rare special occasion that might light up her dreary life.
"You heard me." Even without the armour, her words were curt and demanding. She spoke as if her authority could not possibly be doubted. "Before God, we are all but children. Clothing is a product of shame, of the sin Adam ingested. Remove it. Toss aside earthly vices and submit yourself fully."
"But, that is, it would be improper-!"
He was silenced. Not by her words this time, but by her foot, which had swung forward and smashed against his face with enough force to leave his head spinning. She wasn't wearing footwear, he realized, as the limb pressed forward, forcing his head upwards so that he could look nowhere but at her disapproving eyes. She pinched his nose between the first and second toes and squeezed, making him remember the pain of when he'd smashed into a post and broken it years ago. This was one step below that, and with a twitch it could be one step beyond.
"Finish that sentence," she said softly. "And your sin will have been magnified a hundredfold. Adultery can be forgiven with some atonement. Heresy would require something heavier. Get up. I will not say it again."
She released him, leaving him smelling dirt and sweat and possibly blood. He clambered to his feet.
Her hand went to her side. Abruptly he realized that there was a sword hanging from her waist. But wasn't the holy maiden simply a flag-bearer?
It wasn't so much a motion as it was a brief flicker, a slight breeze in the stagnant air. She released the hilt, and his tunic fell to pieces, leaving him shirtless in the chilly chapel. His hands wrapped around his sides and he started shivering, both from the cold and fear he wasn't allowed to feel.
"You wonder why I do this," she said. "Why I am so cruel to you, who has done me no wrong. You think, and you can't understand, and you resent me, feeling that your treatment is unfair."
Another flash. His pants this time, leaving him in his underwear, nearly naked. She smirked upon seeing him so defenseless.
"Come to me." Standing there, the unholy maiden spread her arms as if asking for a hug. But there was not a hint of softness in her expression.
He didn't want to. He didn't want to. He didn't want to.
He stepped forward, shaking like a leaf in the wind, eyes downcast.
"Look at me."
Eyes up. Her own were glimmering, as cold and pale as they'd been when he first glimpsed her.
"I was chosen to weather your hatred. I was chosen to forgive your sin. I was chosen to drive back those who would threaten you. I was chosen to communicate the judgement of god..."
In her hand was a ribbon. She palmed it, and reached towards the front of her dress. His heart thundered in his chest as his mind was suddenly invaded by the most unexpected of thoughts. She couldn't be. She wasn't. He was simply imagining-!
"And," his eyes too late went back up, then down again. "I was chosen to administer it."
He didn't notice the scandalous teases of bare flesh that had been revealed by the tying back of her dress. He didn't notice that her stockings ended halfway up her thighs, leaving a perfect amount of white flesh ringed by pitch blackness. He didn't even notice that she wasn't wearing the chaste underwear he'd have expected of a girl in her position.
He didn't notice because all of his attention had been captured by the turgid meat sprouting from her crotch, standing erect in the cool air.
It had to be a dream. A sinful imagining invading reality. It wasn't possible that France's holy maiden, the saviour of their country, could possibly sport such an erection. But she did, and there it was. The thing was almost perfect in its overwhelming realness, in terms of shape and size, both of which he immediately compared to his own, and found himself wanting.
As he watched, paralyzed, the thing twitched. A droplet of clear liquid formed at the tip. She released a small sigh. The drop fell, splattering on the floor of the chapel.
He turned and ran, screams bursting from his lips.
A hand closed like a vise around the back of his neck, lifted him off the ground.
His journey through the air was a brief one, full of dizziness and cold and a numb feeling he'd later come to associate with shock. It ended at the altar near the front, into which he unceremoniously crashed, back-first.
Pain. It exploded behind his eyes and for a moment the stars of the sky had painted themselves onto the arched roof. Then it was just him and his throbbing back, in a dimly lit chapel. And the creature approaching him one slow step at a time, just like he'd approached her.
Her. Was that word even valid anymore? An abomination. It was the only possibility.
"You think me some manner of monster." Yet the words she spoke were all too human. "Of course a skeptic like yourself would have trouble with the truth. You pray every day for the Lord to send you a miracle, and when it is finally presented, you cannot accept it. Will you do the same when you are told it is your only chance at salvation?" With each step it bobbed, dipping in the air, aimed at him like some kind of weapon. And that's precisely what it was; he feared it more than he feared the sword that had cut away his clothing.
"You're... you can't be..."
"A maiden? Oh, but I am. And forever will be." That dainty hand reached down, wrapped around the organ, and lifted it up. Beneath were no testicles, as he'd expected, but instead the familiar sight of a pair of lips. The whole area was hairless, or else the hair was so fine and pale that he couldn't make it out in the dim lighting. But he'd seen proof; she was both female and... and... "My sword is a blade forged by man. My other sword is a tool that He granted me, with which I redeem sinners such as yourself. Accept it."
She was close. Too close. His legs were numb, his back propped up only by the altar she'd blasphemed, and she was too close, much too close.
It was too close. Closer than another man had ever been to him, closer than even he himself had been, on days that he'd ventured to experiment against his father's orders. He could see the veins, the discoloration. The engorged purple head, straining against itself. But it was strange, too. There was nothing drawn back, no flap of skin to cover it when... oh.
It thrust forward, and reflexively he closed his mouth. When it struck against his sealed lips, she let out a hiss and he a whimper.
"It does not behave," her voice came from above. Hoarse. Tinged with desperation. "It is a blade with no sheathe, always ready, never resting. Even in armour. Especially in armour."
It bobbed forward again. He tried to lean back but his head clanged against the front of the altar and it shoved foward, pinning him there as it blindly thrust against his face, doing no damage but leaving bits of wetness behind, wetness he could feel all too acutely.
"Oh..." It was the most high-pitched sound he'd heard from her. "And every day I must fight, while it rubs raw against coarse fabric. Days, weeks of battle with no promise of relief, only further stimulation. The sensations never fade, only ever grow, and soon I can barely think."
Now it was tracing across his mouth, leaving behind lusty lipstick that he dared not wipe off. The thought of fighting back, of pushing her away, was nowhere to be found.
"I could use my hands, but that would be improper. Seeking relief alone is a forbidden. The torture is my gift, and I must treasure it. This monstrous, wonderful thing was meant to be used, not wasted. Can you guess what its purpose might be?"
He whimpered again and she laughed, a husky, rough thing with no room for tenderness.
"He's cruel, isn't he? God is so, so cruel. Kindness? From such an existence? What a joke." She was ranting now, pushing against his teeth. The tip was spongy, with a harder core underneath. Against his will, he could feel her heartbeat through it. "No, it's all a farce. My existence is nothing but entertainment for our Lord. Damning me to this role. And that's when I realized..."
She drew back. It drew back, connected to him by a thin strand. He dared not open his mouth.
"If I was guided by Him, then surely my actions are correct. This punishment is only fitting. This thing between my legs is a holy rod that purifies others in its filth. You dimwitted believers asked for it, so here it is. Our God revels in perverting those few rules He did not make. Every blasphemy I commit in his name is one that earns me praise. That's the sort of God you worship."
Finally, it ended. Her messy, desperate words gave way to a certain clarity of thought. As he could no more summon up a rebuttal than he could flee, the only remaining option was to stare and be silent.
"Accept it and accept God's forgiveness, or reject both and damn yourself. For a filthy sinner such as you, no other atonement exists." Her hands ran through his hair. She dragged her nails along his scalp. Fingers settled on either side of his head. "Now. Open up."
He shook his head.
The fingers tightened, digging into his skin. "Open."
He refused.
Her fingernails were tearing into him, pushing deep, cutting into brain, cutting into thought then she let go and backed off.
"Fine." Her crooked grin hadn't been daunted by refusal. "You would've been all teeth anyway. So you refuse atonement? You wish for my other blade?" Her fingers toyed with the hilt of the sword that'd carved apart his finest outfit.
Once more, he shook his head, leaving her momentarily puzzled.
"You're not? But then..." Clarity. "Oh. So that's the kind of person you are. You won't kiss it, even if that's a mercy for your sake?" She laughed again. "You want to skip to the end, do you? Fine. I've no objection. Perhaps a masochist like you might even enjoy it."
Her hands were on his shoulder, lifting him up. There was a surge of pain, but it was the pain of life, not death. His back hadn't been shattered, just bruised, and his legs were weak but functional. Still not functional enough to hold him, however. Noticing his state, she expertly flipped him around and pressed herself up against him, sandwiching his lower half between hers and the altar itself.
Soft and hard. Above, he felt her covered breasts pressing against his bare back, and below, her stiff rod poking at his underwear. One hand circled around his chest, effortlessly keeping him up, and the other swept the chapel's prized instruments of God from the altar, repurposing it for a much holier purpose. It was the perfect height.
It wasn't until she'd hooked one finger onto his undergarments and torn them from his body in one fell swoop that he realized his manhood was as erect as it'd ever been. When she pushed him down it pressed painfully against the polished stone of the altar, but his reflexive attempt to readjust was denied completely. One hand pushed down on his back, bending him over the altar, and the other slammed down next to his head, cracking it with inhuman force.
"Hold still," she growled into his ear. "I've been backed up for weeks." He could feel her thickness resting against his naked skin now, between his cheeks. As she spoke she rocked forward and back, sliding it against his skin, pushing it through the fluid she was leaking. It wouldn't be enough, he realized. Not nearly enough. But it was too late to ask for a second chance to take it in his mouth.
Up, down. She sawed away for a bit, lubricating it as much as she could against his struggling body, but eventually her already short patience came to its end. Her free hand rose and he felt it close around one cheek, her thumb digging into the soft flesh near her target and pulling it outwards, to make her aim clearer. She drew back, and he could feel the tip kissing his hole, pressing inexorably forward.
"Wait!" He realized too late that there was a flaw in her reasoning. "Isn't this-!?"
Too late.
It was like being split open. He'd never been stabbed before, but he imagined this was what it felt like. The burning was the worst; she was indeed too dry. It felt like sandpaper rubbing against his insides, if that sandpaper was also a living breathing animal that shifted about to its liking without any regard for whose guts it was churning up. She pushed forward. Apparently it'd only been halfway. He howled for a second, until her fingers hoked around his throat and pulled up, arching his back against hers, choking the air from his lungs, and most importantly, giving her a better angle of entrance.
Her hips clapped against his. She groaned. He sputtered and tried to draw breath.
"Yeah." She pushed forward, pressing her breasts against his back, gyrating inside him, and painfully grinding him against the altar. "That's good."
The obstruction around his neck was gone. He sucked in half a breath and she pushed down, slamming him onto the table once more and driving that same breath from his lungs. The hand on his back was inescapable, an iron weight keeping him down as the other braced against his ass, pushing forward as she pulled out, each inch scraping painfully against his opening until it was being held open by her tip and the pain inside was merely an echo.
Then she grunted and slammed her hips forward, hilting herself inside, scraping open a raw wound. She let him scream this time, waiting until it was dying down to withdraw, and pushing forward the moment he seemed to be recovering. Any time he tried to wriggle away she pressed down on his back, driving the energy from his body as she stretched him open, at first moving from side to side, then up and down, and finally wiggling her hips in little circles, straining him with every motion.
Her free hand clapped down on his ass with enough force to make him squeal, despite the ever-present discomfort. "I bet you're wondering," she said, relaxing for a bit with herself completely buried within like the sword in the stone. "If this is against the rules."
He was, but he dared not admit it, let alone try to voice any opinion at all.
"It need not be. After all, this is punishment, not pleasure. The Lord forbids homosexuality, but as I am a girl and you are presumably a man, we can cross that sin off of the list."
She removed her hand from the small of his back. Shakily he rose, propped himself up on his elbows, and drew in deep breaths, trying to ignore the burning rod lodged in his backside. He could have sworn it was going too deep, piercing even his organs. Then he noticed why she'd removed the hand.
They were both around his hips now, gripping the narrow part of his waist. Holding him still she drew back, not as painfully now that he was somewhat used to it, and pushed forward while keeping him in place. Each cycle was accompanied by a grunt. The only two sounds in the chapel were the slapping of flesh against flesh and her own wordless vocalizations. Each time he so much as squeaked she pushed harder, squeezed harder, and growled, warning him as a wild animal might warn the mate it had forced itself upon.
"Oh, you've no idea how good that feels." It must have been hours later that she spoke, or a few seconds. "And you never will, if you are lax."
Lax? Was there something to watch for, other than pain and humiliation?
"This punishment is ooooh just a job. This rod is like any other, except instead of birch, you get flesh." The last part was whispered again, as she pressed down on his back and made him support both their weights on his shaking arms. She was just too short to reach him, but tall enough to nibble at his ear until she drew blood.
"I take great pleasure in this, you know," she continued, pausing to thrust away even harder rubbing him raw from the back and the front, inadvertantly. Despite it all, he was still erect, even leaking abit despite his discomfort. "Because of course, aiding others in His name can only ever be a good thing. This is a mm selfless act, is it not?"
Selfless. Selflessly she pushed against him, selflessly she abused his hole and his ass, sometimes clawing hard enough to leave scratches in sensitive flesh. Selflessly she laughed, seflessly she twitched and leaked and sweated and turned her entrance from a dry intrusion to a slick symphony of flesh sliding against flesh.
"But see, you must be vigilant, oh weak one." Now, in the midst of his greatest torture, her voice had sweetened into something a girl might say to seduce a lover. "Because you mustn't feel good. Oh no, that would be..." She went deep again, pushing until she hit one particular spot and sent a shudder through his body. "...absolutely heretical."
What? What was she saying? Heresy? Feeling good? Why would he ever-!
Oh. Ooooh. The moan escaped from him before he could restrain it. His body was more sensitive than ever. At some point the pain had stopped being pain and become simply something to be tolerated. And now even the flat surface of the altar grinding against the head of his dick wasn't a discomfort. In fact...
"Don't you remember?" Her nails traced lines down his back. He imagined her back straight, looking down at him as she moved just enough to stimulate herself and keep him from forgetting her, eyes narrowed and warm breaths dissipating in the cold air. "Only one kind of person would enjoy recieving someone else in such a place. We call them 'Sodomites'."
No. He wasn't.
"Don't think I haven't noticed. In this position you could hide it for some time, but I'm no fool."
She drew back, exiting completely. Somehow he felt strangely empty, as if something he'd finally gotten used to was gone and he wanted it back.
Hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him up roughly, then spun him in place and thrust him back down as if he was a doll incapable of moving by itself. His back, overly sensetized to the cool air, shivered against the cold, wet surface beneath. But more importantly, he could see her face, just as rapturous as he'd imagined.
And she could see him, standing as tall as he ever had, leaking more than even her rod had. She stepped forward, grinding herself against him, comparing their sizes. Of course she was straighter and longer and thicker. An instrument crafted by God couldn't ever be defeated by a mortal. But still, the shame he felt was such that he had to look away. When he did she reached forward, wrapped her fingers around his chin, and jerked it back, forcing him to gaze upon the perverse sight.
"Mm. You're still erect," she observed. She reached forward and for the first time touched him with that small hand, free of calluses or scars. It wrapped around him and around herself, sandwiching them together. She started rocking back and forth, rubbing against him as he rubbed against her. "That's no good, is it?"
It wasn't?
"See, as long as it's a punishment, you are tested." They were slick with sweat and pre-cum. The friction couldn't be called painful anymore. "You must endure pain and from enduring pain you atone. But if it becomes pleasure, then it's not atonement anymore, is it?"
He finally realized it, and upon seeing the terror written on his face she grinned and pushed against him. "That's right. If you release, it means this was for nothing. It means you are guilty of much more than you admitted. It means you're not worthy of being a man."
She punctuated that last word by releasing herself pulling back, and thrusting herself inside as husband would enter wife. Except instead of producing an heir, she simply sought to plant her seed in whatever willing receptacle would take it. As she bottomed out she struck that spot again, and he jumped, arching his back, feeling the shock running through him.
Her next assault was swifter, rougher than the first. She bottomed out, plowing into him as she would a field, and it was here that he realized she truly was a soldier; he'd have tired out long before, but her stamina was endless and she showed no sign of slowing down, even as his own body complained of tiring. The entrance that he'd gotten used to was becoming painful again, not from lack of lubrication but simply because he'd been rubbed raw by the friction. It would've been a welcome pain if it could stop her dire prophecy, but it only seemed to bring him closer to the edge that he'd become painfully aware of the moment it became the difference between life and death.
"Look at you. Flopping around so uselessly." Between grunts and groans and girly moans she insulted him mercilessly. "Man was not meant to recieve, yet here you are, revelling it. Wasting the gifts you've been given."
He wasn't. He wasn't leaking like a broken faucet. He wasn't feeling a surge of something in the back of his shaft every time she struck that accursed spot inside him. He wasn't close. He couldn't allow it.
"And what a fool you've been, too." Her hands tightened around his hips and pulled him towards her, forcing their movements to match. "A holy maiden. You assumed someone like me would be blessed? It never occured to you that I might be a corruptor instead?"
No. That wasn't-.
"That I might be here to drag you into the depths of perversion?"
She was, he'd thought-!
"That you've accomplished nothing but giving yourself to some demonic freak of nature!?"
She bottomed out, felt around, found his button, looked him in the eye, and shoved herself into it, sending him closer to that perilous edge. She knew it. He knew it, and for a brief instant he pleaded silently for mercy, unable to so much as vocalize his despair.
There was no mercy to be found. Only lust.
"Do it."
The next thrust shook the table.
"Go on. Denounce Him! Shame yourself! It will be the greatest thing you ever feel."
It shook him to the core. Even the pain was pleasure now, the fat thing inside him a blessing he wasn't allowed to love.
When they joined as one and she leaned forward and thrust her lips against his, he could once more feel her heart beating in time with his. When her tongue captured his and drew it out and her teeth bit down, it drew blood. When she moaned into his mouth, the only screams he could summon up were of gratitude.
She erupted inside him and he into the air. His seed splattered harmlessly upon his own stomach while hers sat heavy in his gut.
She straightened, stepped back. Her rod was limp, finally, as was his. He was empty yet full, and she was full yet empty. His exit, now an entrance, burned. Something warm slowly oozed down the back of one leg. She licked her lips, satisfied. Her pale cheeks glowed a rosy red.
"We are finished." She untied the ribbon holding back her dress. In an instant she was modest again, while he lay there, naked and defiled, lacking the strength to even move off the holy altar he'd profaned.
One by one the pieces of armour went back on. The girl was a warrior again. She turned to leave.
"W-wait..."
She turned back. "Forgiveness, yes? I've no need for such a thing. If you can, forgive yourself. If not, continue to suffer. That, you certainly deserve. You all do."
With a flick of the wrist the barred door was reduced to kindling. A faint breeze from outside washed over him, bringing with it the salty smell of sea water. She was gone.
The next morning they found him there, naked and shivering, curled up in the darkest corner of the devastated chapel.
He would say nothing of the holy maiden's blessing.
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Originally Posted by Bloble
