Chapter Text
Fuck Satan.
Fuck Satan. Fuck his Ministry and their sins. And absolutely fuck his stupid Cardinals with their stupid hats and magic fingers.
It’s been weeks since your little escapade in Copia’s office. Weeks since you’d finally found a semblance of inner peace around his wicked fingers and warm tongue. Weeks since his painted eyes had last dared to meet your own along the ministry hallways or in the refectory. In those weeks you’d become sure of two things; if looks could kill Copia would have currently been six feet deep somewhere in the nearest cemetery, and whatever he had done to you in his office had most certainly been a formative experience. Ever since you’d walked back to your dorm with your thighs still wet and your knees threatening to buckle from underneath you, you hadn’t been able to remove the sight of him from your mind. Him trembling on the floor of his office, his make-up stained across his face, your own slick smeared across his lips and chin. It had been the next day when you’d mindlessly started the washer without your clothes even inside that you realised it. You had unwittingly entered Copia’s office to relieve yourself of one problem and had unknowingly burdened yourself with another.
And it bothered you. Sure you had had your fair share of short-lived flings - when working in a satanic clergy, brief fumblings in dorm rooms were almost a requirement. But that’s all they had been - flings. No strings attached. No complications save for that secret little problem no one had known about. Until him. It almost horrified you, the fact you just couldn’t stop picturing him, thinking of him, his scent, his voice all so clear in your memory. You had willed yourself to calm down and be rational, convinced it was just a natural reaction to his generous treatment of your … condition. Yet to your own annoyance you had found yourself seeking him out in the hallways, anxious to hear his voice just once more. Eager to hear his praise, to feel the soft brush of his gloves against your skin, to make him proud of your improvement.
You weren’t naive. You were well aware of the fact that the Cardinal clearly had some experience in helping others in the Ministry with their … problems . If his particular skill set didn’t indicate as much then Papas invitation to his office certainly did. You were also well aware of the fact that he was an upstanding member of the clergy, with probably very little time to spare between giving lessons, leading masses and conducting his own clerical research. But, it had felt like something when you had been confronted with the image of him, vulnerable and ruined kneeling on his own rug, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. It had definitely felt like something when you’d slipped your ruined panties into his pocket with the sweet promise of “next time” with that soft smile pulling at his lips.
So you had waited.
You weren’t entirely sure what for, never having been one for Papa's harems and their ‘ totally inconspicuous letter under the door ’ policy. Still, you found yourself pausing slightly when footsteps sounded outside of your room, waiting to hear a knock or the shift of an envelope against the floor. In the morning you’d sorted through your letters extra carefully, so as not to miss anything important. You had even taken it upon yourself to conveniently, and for no particular reason, take the long walk to the library via his office. Just to see if you could catch sight of him behind his desk. But his door had been unceremoniously shut, the soft orange light that practically haunted your dreams no longer spilling out into the hallway.
And so you’d started to sour. The anticipation and excitement had started to spoil and ferment within your insides. You hadn’t mentioned your little tryst with the Cardinal to anyone, but you still found yourself listening to the other Siblings in the library or refectory, ears pricking every time you heard mention of his name. Nothing too salacious ever caught your interest, it was mainly just complaints about his “ pretentious ” Latin for Beginners class. You’d grinned at that, remembering just how particular and demanding he could be. You’d lie thinking about exactly that late at night, once again unable to sleep, thighs wet, back slick with sweat as you lay unsatisfied against the sodden sheets, only now for a completely different reason. It was almost unnerving, how your mind had been taken over by thoughts of him, glimpses of his touch arising randomly throughout the day, the offhand remark of a Sibling reminding you of how he spoke, how he moved, how he’d simultaneously owned you and set you free in his kitschy office chair. It seemed unfair, you thought, how he had managed to ensnare you so thoroughly, while he himself seemed so unmoved at the sight of you.
Your sourness eventually had twisted into spite, angered by the Cardinal’s unfilled promise of more. You couldn’t help but feel stranded, cut loose with so much more to be taught, to be felt, to be learnt. Other siblings had offered to try and scratch that particular itch for you, secretly hushed into the darkness of your room, fumbling around in your sheets only for you to stop them halfway with broken apologies and the excuse of a “headache.” Rock bottom, you had decided, had come with the invitation of another Sibling to your dorm, on the condition that they brought along their ministry issued leather gloves. To your utter dismay even that hadn’t been enough, the drag of the leather not quite right, the pressure of their touch not how you needed it, the whole thing was just very decidedly, not him. It was after this specific rock bottom you’d decided enough was enough. For your own sanity you needed to see him again.
It wasn’t long after you came to that conclusion that you found yourself tucked nicely into the wooden pews for the evening mass, one of the few times in the week the whole ministry actually gathered together. The daily morning masses were often missed by members of the clergy who were otherwise engaged in meetings or classes, you yourself often missed them whilst completing chores or finishing up work. You’d sat next to an affable Sibling you’d previously been familiar with, sometimes joining him to study or eat together. He had a natural gift in being funny, and admittedly, annoyingly good-looking. You try to chat casually with your neighbour, laughing lightly when appropriate, trying to stop your eyes from flicking up to a certain red velvet seat that was, as of yet, empty. The seats began to fill slowly, the hum of low chatter starting to echo around the chapel, the smell of incense starting to fill the room as preparations began. You started to bounce your leg impatiently, anxiety starting to gnaw away at your insides as his chair remained unoccupied. Would he even show? Even if he turned up, would he even look your way, would he even try to find you in the crowd? Your teeth chewed away at the skin of your lip.
“ Hey- ” The Sibling next to you speaks softly, his wide palm coming to rest around the top of your bouncing thigh. It felt warm and solid through the habit, almost comforting as it stopped the bouncing through your muscles.
“Don’t be nervous. It’s just Mass, okay?” He squeezes your leg softly, and God it almost feels good. You nod a tight lipped smile towards him, regretting suddenly that you can’t even remember his name.
“Just cold in here.” You mutter as an excuse, moving to rub your arms as if to prove your point.
It’s right then that two things happen at once. You think you briefly remember his name, it’s Daniel , or Damon , or definitely something beginning with D, and just as he comes to rest his arm around you to warm you, Copia appears along the upper row of the gallery. It’s like time moves in slow motion for a second, the heavy weight of your neighbours arm coming to rest across your shoulders just as that white eye flicks directly towards you. A dead weight falls to the pit of your stomach, like a rock sinking in water. You’ve waited weeks, desperate to remember how it felt when his painted eyes flicked over you like that, like he could see every inch of you even in the habit. And yet, he had made no effort to look your way, not even once tried to catch your eye, until right fucking now. You suddenly become very aware that Daniel is talking to you and that your mouth is very much wide open, eyes flicking frantically between him and where Copia is taking his seat. You notice the Cardinal isn’t looking at you anymore, eyes focused hard on the altar, but you see his face harden as he clenches his jaw.
Painfully aware that you haven’t been listening to a word your neighbour has been saying you let out a giggle in response, equal parts grateful and impressed when it comes out surprisingly level. This seems to appease him as he moves to face the front again, the weight of his arm still heavy across the back of your neck. You take a moment to flick your eyes up to Copia again, that familiar simmering in your stomach starting to burn after seeing him again. He looks tired, you realise, and it strikes you that you can still see the vulnerability in his features that you saw last time. You wonder if it’s always been there and perhaps only now you can see through the mask. Momentarily letting your eyes scan down from his face you see he’s in his red cassock this evening, the cloth fitting just as nice as the black one you’d grown so accustomed to in your daydreams. The light from the candles reflects slightly off the back of his gloves and you swear you could hear the light creak of the leather from where you’re sitting. He makes no move to look down at you again, his eyes firmly fixed on the altar at the front of the hall. Annoyance simmers through you once again, at his reluctance to even acknowledge you, at his seemingly empty promises, at how fucking good he looks in that stupid red cassock.
Before you can even think through whether what you’re about to do is a good idea, you return Daniel’s gesture in kind, moving your hand to sit right at the top of his thigh. That piques his interest. He flicks his eyes down to you, smirk on his face once again, eyebrow raised toward you as if he’s asking a question. You respond by biting down on your lip, leaning into the warmth of his arm a little more. Somewhere in the back of your mind you notice that Mass has started, the soft pipes of the organ echoing as the smoke of the incense grows stronger. The call to kneel is sounded as Papa enters, only you take the opportunity to bring your hand even higher, palming him through his slacks. The low groan he lets out has your blood singing, the adrenaline making you giddy as you think about Copia watching you from above. You slip your hand into his pocket, stroking at him for the entirety of Papa’s opening sermon, watching his arms strain against the back of the pew in front of him. You wonder briefly if you should feel bad for dragging him into this, knowing you’re just doing this for some selfish, sick sense of satisfaction in tempting Copia to watch. When he had warned of Lust opening the door to other sin you certainly hadn’t envisioned yourself in this position. As you move to sit with the rest of the congregation he quickly slips a hand under your thigh, inconspicuously bringing your own leg to rest on top of his. He looks down at you with a smirk, eyes glowing with it as he runs his hand up under your habit.
You lean your head back a little, savouring the fact that it finally feels good, his fingers burning up your skin on the way to where you need them. And Lucifer , it’s almost a shame that Copia has this twisted hold over you, because the way he presses his fingers up against the wet patch on your panties has you choking back a moan. As you tilt your head back up you decide to chance it, glancing just from the corner of your eye at where the Cardinal is sitting in the gallery.
Bingo.
Just as you lock eyes with him, you feel your panties being pushed to the side, the warm, rough pads of fingers coming to brush against your clit with delicious friction. Naturally, you play up to it, mouth falling open as you keep your eyes locked with Copia’s, looking at him from underneath your lashes. There it is. That look, the one he used in his office as he first flicked his eyes over you in your habit, as he’d slipped your soaked panties off, as he’d turned you over to finger fuck you into his chair. You feel giddy with it, the power you feel when you match his gaze, the sick pride burning in your belly at having him finally look at you once again.
‘In for a penny-’ You think to yourself as you squeeze yourself closer into your neighbours side, letting his fingers brush against your entrance. For the first time during this whole exchange, Copia moves, leaving your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, lungs unable to fully fill with air as he grips the railing in front of him. His eyes haven’t left your own once, and you can see him taking quick breaths under his cassock, the material filling out around his belt as he breathes out. Your mouth falls open as the Siblings’ fingers push into you, thick and solid as you clench around them already. As if he can feel it, Copia’s lips part briefly before he clenches his jaw again, eyes still locked onto yours. His face looks dark, bordering on sinister in the way he stares you down, the white of his eye looking more unnatural by the second. And yet he’s still handsome, even in the low light of mass he looks so fucking good - it has you shaking . The angle you’re at is admittedly, a little awkward, his fingers not quite reaching where they need to - but you are resigned to putting on a show anyway, angling your hips a little, biting your already reddened lips. The Mass continues somewhere in the background, the dreary voice of some older Sibling carrying through the hall, not that you can hear anything but your own blood rushing through your ears and the soft breaths coming from your mouth. Copia is sitting on the edge of his seat now, hand still gripping the bar, gloves tight against his skin, as if letting go would have him teetering over the edge. His face remains still, his features refusing to give anything away, just the heated glare of his eyes looking down onto you.
Eager to push your show a little further you whisper words of encouragement into your partner's ear, grinning as his fingers start to move faster and deeper. Although the weight and heat behind Copia’s gaze has you wetter than you’ve been since you were in his office, it’s not enough. But the Cardinal doesn't need to know that, and neither does … Daniel? The irony isn’t lost on you as you start the familiar process of faking it, working through the steps like you had so many times before, making sure it looks convincing. You make sure to open your mouth, roll your hips, twitch your thighs around his hand as you “come”. Your heart pulls a little just thinking about it, remembering the mindless, hedonistic pleasure the Cardinal had shown to you compared to this stale act of faking. You let your stare harden as you look at him, as if you’ve finally proven your point, before flicking your eyes away, grinning towards your chosen partner in thanks.
When Mass finishes up you chance a final look up at the gallery, only to see Copia’s chair is empty again, dark without the vivid red of his cassock in view. You shook your head, the surge of adrenaline still singing through your veins at the sight of him watching you, yet not quite enough to fill that gnawing feeling of dissatisfaction. It would have to do for now. Managing to slip away alone from Mass you decide to wander towards the library, mulling over which book you’re going to cosy up with that evening. You preferred to visit later in the day, most Siblings chose to spend their nights elsewhere, leaving the shelves free to browse without too much interruption. If you were extra lucky the oversized, unreasonably comfy reading chair that sat underneath the stained glass would be free too. As you’d expected the library was empty as you entered, the shelves washed in the pale orange glow of the lamp lights. Starting your aimless wander through the rows you traced your hand across the shelves, eyes flicking over titles as you waited for something to catch your eye.
“Do you think your actions appropriate , Sister?” His voice interrupts from just behind you, deep and low, heated breath tickling at the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.
You startle briefly, having not heard footsteps or any sign that you weren’t alone in the library. Determined to not show your alarm you carry on scanning the shelves, voice level as you reply even as your heart patters against your chest.
“I was merely practising what I have been taught. Is that not what any good student should do, Cardinal ?” He scoffs lightly in response from somewhere behind you.
“I believe I taught you many things, Sister ” His voice is closer now. You close your eyes as the space fills with the smell of him, still sweet and warm from the incense in Mass, and god you’ve missed it.
“But I did not teach you to lie.” You almost gasp as he finally lays his hands on you. He grips your shoulders from behind, hands moving down your arms as he places them where he wants them on the bookshelf. Your heart sings in your chest just at the feel of him, even through your habit it’s better than anything you’ve felt in weeks.
“ You may not respect it, Sister. But our organisation has a code of conduct.” He starts, his hands wandering from your arms to your waist now, squeezing slightly as he feels the shape of you. His touch is dizzying, that specific mix of soft and direct that is all him. You were an idiot, you realised, to ever think some Sibling in a pair of old gloves was going to compete with this. Your head is swimming with it already, a heady mix of excitement and annoyance.
“We have a reputation to uphold, Sister. I would expect you, as a member of this clergy, to act with some decorum .”
“ Decorum ?!” You scoff, a little too loud, a half laugh escaping with your words.
The sudden smack he delivers to your ass is swift and sharp, skin burning even through the flimsy fabric of your habit. You gasp in shock, head thrown back at the sweet sting of it. Sweat threatens to break out across your spine, burning up from the inside out as he rubs over your ass.
"I believe it is time for your next lesson, Sister . Lest you forget your place in this clergy.”
He pulls at your waist then, leaving you slightly bent over still leaning against the shelves. You feel the leather of his gloves against your uncovered thighs as he gathers the material, leaving it to rest above your ass. Your face burns with it as you keep your eyes fixed on your own feet, breaths coming fast as you realise you’re exposed to him once again. It’s then that his burgundy, freshly-shined shoes come into view just behind your own, one moving swiftly to kick your legs wider where you stand. A hum escapes from the back of his throat as he observes you, a noise that is so desperately him you hadn’t even realised you’d missed it. A gloved hand comes to rub at your ass again, the leather just as smooth and warm as you remembered it, soothing the sting.
“In our last lesson together, I t aught you about Lucifer's gifts to us, did I not? ” He asks, voice once again all too calm and steady as his hand moves from your ass to between your legs. You nod, eyes threatening to cross slightly as he rubs at you through your underwear, that insistent press of his fingers better than anything you’ve felt in weeks. Your lack of a verbal reply seems to bother him. He brings down his hand to spank you again, harder this time.
“May I remind you, Sister. We are to be direct.” And satanas it was so good, to be directed like this again, to be spoken to like this again, to have the firm feel of him at your back. To not have to think and overthink what to say or do.
“ Yes Cardinal.” You choke out, still looking at his shoes from between your feet. He hums in acknowledgment.
“And I taught you of your gifts to him … did I not? ” He asks, yanking your underwear down to your ankles. As if to prove his point he slides a finger between your lips, holding it just over your cunt. He massages a little, and you can’t stop your cheeks from flushing, knowing how wet you are already, feeling him slide it across you.
“ Yes Cardinal.” Your voice is embarrassingly ragged already, your eyes closed as you try not to move against his fingers. Suddenly the weeks of waiting seem inconsequential to the push of his fingers against you, his other hand solid against your hip.
Copia carries on, adding a second finger to glide against you, this time moving forward to slide against your clit, your slick cooling in the air of the library. You mewl against the shelf, knuckles white with the grip of your own hand.
“ Hm . You must consider me a bad tutor then, Sister?” He asks, voice still steady and unbothered as his fingers slide home into you, the two of them curling inside.
You shake your head, unable to even fathom what he’s saying, the feel of his fingers so good, so precisely where you need them. It’s cruel, how well he knows you already, how well he plays you, the tips of his fingers already pressing at that little spot that has you seeing stars. Copia’s Latin tutorage could arguably be questioned, but his aptitude at this was incontestable.
“ Never, Cardinal!”
His other hand moves to brace himself against the shelf next to you, leaving him draped over your back as he fucks you with his fingers. He’s warm, so warm, the drag of his fabric rough against your back and legs, his breath tickling against the back of your neck.
“ No? So if it is not my tutorage that is bad, you simply choose to waste my time intentionally, Sister?”
His voice is harsher now, anger seemingly simmering under the surface as he thrusts into you. It’s hard to even concentrate with his fingers hitting that spot each time, you’re letting out small moans for him, trying to silence them against your hand.
“I- I would n-never, Cardinal.”
He hums again at that only this time it’s not so soft, his tone seems mocking, hinting at his annoyance.
“Oh Sister, you offend me.” He jests, mocking you as he continues to fuck you, voice breaking a little from the exertion of it.
Your heart hammers, both at his statement and his fingers, a gasp of indignation turning into a cry of pleasure as he starts to twist his fingers.
“I know what this cunt likes” He sneers into your ear, “I know what you look like when you come, what you sound like. I know how you twitch , how you shudder around my fingers.”
And Lucifer that has you on the edge, the way his gloves are pressing deep against that spot, your thighs slick once again as he growls those obscenities into your ear. You’re barrelling towards the finish, hips starting to move with him as you try and fuck back onto his fingers, weeks of unsatiated want needing to be fulfilled.
“And you presume to trick me? To have me believe that pitiful excuse of a show?” His voice is low and his tone is harsh and he berates you, his anger starting to burn brighter now.
You’d heard stories of the Cardinal and his temper. How Siblings had left his office in tears after a particularly harsh peer review or flunking a test, resigned to their rooms for at least the evening. But, naturally , members of the clergy were prone to dramatic retellings and you’d simply brushed the rumours away as nonsense. Only now - now you could see it, could feel it, the anger that comes with disrespecting his authority, his power. His fingers keep twisting deeper, speeding up just as you hit that edge, panting pathetic high noises into the shelf. You follow his lead, limbs tightening, cunt clenching around him as you work his fingers desperate to fall over that precipice once again.
“ No, Sister.” His voice is ragged as he removes his fingers from you, his hand coming up to pull at your hair through your habit. You cry out, orgasm ruined, tears threatening to fall from your eyes as you push yourself against him, yearning for his touch. You decide then, that you’d renounce any semblance of dignity just to keep his hands on you, touching you.
He moves to grip your waist and holds you steady, stopping you from moving in protest against the shelves.
“We will see how long you can play pretend now, hm? ” He mocks, moving his hands off of you for a moment.
You turn when you hear the bunching of fabric, eager to get a glimpse of him, even if just for a second. That gets you another smack.
“Eyes forward, ragazzaccia.” You can hear the smirk pulling at his lips.
You hear the pop of a button, followed by the slow drag of a zipper before he’s at your ear again, breath hot, tongue threatening to touch you.
“Forgive me, Sister, I am forgetful. ” His hands come back to your waist, moving to secure your habit up on your hips once again. His tone is so light now it’s bordering on sinister . “What did I offer to you, last time?”
You can barely concentrate on what he’s saying, his other hand creeping back down to your cunt to collect your slick from between your legs.
“My fingers, I remember .”
“My tongue, naturally-” You hear him suck on his own gloves from behind you with a dark chuckle, the sound so deep you feel it vibrate through your own chest. “ And ?”
There’s a pause, a heavy silence in the air that indicates you should be answering, should be filling in the gap he’s left for you but, satanas, you don’t even know if you can say it. The implication of it sending a shiver down your spine, your cunt clenching around nothing. You’d waited, yearned all this time just to be in this position and now you’re here you can hardly fathom it, your mind playing catch up. Just like last time, he reads you all too easily, prompting you to answer him.
“Be direct , Sister.”
“Your cock, Cardinal. You offered your cock.”
“ Brava ragazza .” He sighs in praise, you hear the sound of his slick hand coming to stroke at himself before you feel the tip of him against you, hot and heavy and covered in his own precum. You let yourself soak in the warmth of his praise for a moment, enjoying how it felt after so long without it.
You quickly realised that however his fingers, his mouth or his tongue had made you feel, it was nothing compared to the feeling of him as he breached you. You screwed your eyes shut, willing your other senses to dull just to feel a heightened sense of him. He felt thick, the head of him popping into you before the rest of him followed, hot and hard, slow enough for you to feel every pulse, every vein in him. Oh - he was long too, the relentless, steady push of him not stopping until he was pushing against your deepest wall, the whole of him still not even quite in yet. He gives a quick thrust forward then, just a nudge to fully seat himself within you. A moan escapes you both at the feeling of it, and it’s already hard to work out where you end and he begins, feeling you pulse and throb together. It’s never felt like this, never been this intense, your breath literally catching in your own throat at the feel of him. He lets out another groan, one you don’t even think he’s aware of and it’s so ragged and deep you know then you’d do anything to hear him make it again. And again.
Finally, finally, he bottoms out, the sleek material of his trousers coming to rest at the backs of your thighs. You think for a minute you can feel him shaking, tensing at the feeling of coming to rest in you. Whatever brief reprieve you think you’ve found in those few seconds is quickly dashed as Copia comes back to himself, thrusting his hips upwards to meet your ass. The first nudge forward is enough to have you moaning already, ripping noises right from your diaphragm.
The Cardinal is unnervingly quiet behind you as he finds his rhythm, seemingly concentrating, calculating the right pace, the right angle to get you to squirm. It’s, embarrassingly , already the best lay you’ve ever had, he’s filling you just right each time, building up a steady pace, the drag of his cock feeling slick and wet already. You’re admittedly already more than halfway there, content to bounce on his thick cock just like this for however long he will let you. Yet with a sudden well-placed circling of his hips and an upward thrust you realise he hadn’t even started yet, merely just found what he was searching for. It’s devastating , the realisation that once again he was working you out, calculating what made you squeak just so he could thrust back up into that spot from the same angle.
“ Fuck!” You yell, unable to stop it before it escapes your mouth.
“Still so responsive, Sister? This is good.” He teases, mocking your want for his praise.
Now that he’s found that spot it’s constant, sliding himself almost all the way out of you just to thrust back in, the drag of him exquisite as he takes you.
“Is this what you wanted, topolino?” Satanas it’s even worse when he talks, his voice deep and thick with sex as he continues to fuck you.
“You wanted my wrath? My punishment?”
You can’t help but marvel at his perceptiveness once again, working you out better than you can do even for yourself. He’s using both hands to drag you back onto his cock now as he drives into you, the grip of him on your waist suspiciously strong given his skinny arms.
“You thought you could misbehave, Sister? To push me to distraction ? To fake the gifts our Dark Lord generously bestowed upon us?”
His hand suddenly comes to rip off your habit, exposing your hair to him. You can’t help but gasp, oddly feeling more naked than you did with your habit hiked up around your waist. You’re gripping onto the shelf so hard you can’t even attempt to fix your hair, content to just shake it out instead. His gloved hand comes to tangle into your hair, scalp burning where he pulls, leaving you tightening around him again. He uses it to bring you upwards with him, his mouth close to your ear again as he whispers to you;
“If it is my wrath you seek, Sister, it is my wrath you will find.”
He pulls your head back with the hair that's still in his hand as he pulls himself out of you briefly, the loss of him ripping an admittedly pathetic mewl from your throat. You meekly try to follow him on impulse, your body reactively searching for his. He turns you roughly, hands twisting your waist and shoving you back against the bookcase.
Lucifer himself could not have prepared you for the sight of him. Wrath indeed. His face was flushed with exertion, freckles dark against the blush on this cheeks. His sideburns were dark in the low-light of the library, deepening the contours of his face. His brows were furrowed, the curve of his eyebrows distorting his paint into a more threatening shape, his eyes burning from within the paint. He seems to soften, just for a second, as he notices your hair, almost absorbing how you look without the habit framing your face. It’s quickly replaced with a scowl as he roughly grabs your thigh, propping it over his hip.
You chance a look down as he slicks up his cock to fill you again. Oh, you’d been right. He was big and thick, uncut and leaking from a red, almost purple angry head. Freckles patterned him even there, and you licked your lips as your mouth watered just looking at him. He positions himself at your entrance again, and you wait for that sick, satisfying pop as he enters.
“You are not to come.”
You feel like scoffing again. Isn’t that the whole problem? Isn’t that what got you into this stupid mess in the first place? You furrow your eyebrows and go to question it before Copia instantly picks up the pace, slamming into you with one thrust. You rise onto your tiptoes immediately, trying to lessen his direct assault on that spot as he jackhammers against it. It’s sick how quickly he finds it again, even from a different angle, like he’s got your insides mapped out in his clever mind.
He brings his other hand down to spank your pussy again, the sting of it even nicer than before now you have his cock to clench around. It’s even wetter now, the glide of him into you, the slick noise of you both filling the row. You feel a blush rise to your skin just thinking about what you’d look like if someone were to walk in, blushing even harder when you realise it’s not an altogether bad thought, being caught as the Cardinals’ plaything. There’s that flare of pride in your chest again, at having his attention, at having his cock buried in you, at having him .
You’re not sure at what point you start begging, you’re not even sure what for - for him to stop? To carry on? To never let you be without this again?
“Please, please Cardinal.” Your own voice sounds broken and wild, coming unfiltered from your chest. His mismatched eyes rake over you and it’s pure sin. He scans from your swollen pussy, to your stomach, to where your tits are bouncing under your habit as he uses you. He lingers for longer on your face, centering in on your mouth, his normal pupil blown wide as he takes you in.
“ Copia - please.” And oh - saying his name instead of his title felt good, felt like worship, like invoking a god the way he reacts to it as he looks at you, pupil blown out.
Without saying anything Copia brings one of his gloves to your mouth, the implication clear even in your hazy state. Like some sick reverse communion, you spit onto the fabric ready for him to use on you. He examines his gloves with a smirk before drops his hands down between your legs to rub against your swollen pussy. If you had been capable of feeling embarrassment at this point, the noise you let out would certainly have contributed to it. The Cardinal groans as you clench around him again, his mouth falling open a little as he continues to thrust into you.
“ Si - now that is not pretend, Sister.” He groans, to himself more than to you, savouring the squeeze of you around him as he works you from inside out.
You feel him throb inside you, his cock impossibly hard as he carries on the relentless drag of his hips, his skin coming to smack against yours each time. You’re close. Way too close. His instruction not to come rings through your head as you gasp out for him, desperately clutching at the front of his cassock. It feels twisted, the fact that yet again he’s got you hurtling towards the edge, where no one has had you before, or since , and now you’re not allowed to come.
"You thought that Sibling could give you what you need, hm?” Copia teases but the undercurrent of envy is clear in his voice.
“Maybe I should send a ghoul for him, so he can learn how to fuck you properly , hm?” The hand stroking at your clit comes to smack at it again. You shriek at the feeling of it. There’s an edge to his voice that matches the shrunken pupil of his white eye, dangerous and threatening, a sign of his authority.
“And the others ? Did they leave you unsatisfied too?” He spits, anger thrumming through him more clearly now, his thrusts becoming more pointed and rough. Your eyes fly open at his question. His eyes are burning into yours, face morphing into something sinister in the dark as he pants above you.
“How did-? ” You question, wondering how he knew, knowing you hadn’t told anyone of your sad attempts at hooking up.
“ Ah-ah , I have little birdies to tell me these things.” He cuts you off, crowding you further into the bookcase.
“Is this what you were looking for, Sorella ? A nice fat, cock to enjoy? Hm?” He spits, cock kicking as he pulsed in you again. He moves to smack at your breasts where they move under your habit, nipples hard as he catches them.
It hits you then that Copia hasn’t realised. Your clever Cardinal, always two steps ahead and yet not quite getting it . You hadn’t been searching for anything else, or anyone else, just him. You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you as you look up at him in earnest, eyes wide.
“Just your cock, Cardinal.” You confess, tightening your grip on his collar as you pull him closer.
His pace falters at your words, hips stuttering, his balls tightening and he rutted into you. His head falls back, mouth open as he grunts deep and pained as he starts to come, his cock kicking and pulsing as he releases into you. It feels sinful, the hot, wet heat of him filling you up as he continues to fuck that spot. His gloved hands come to grip at your hips, keeping you steady as he empties himself into you. And oh - he’s vocal . Moan after moan spilling broken and guttural from between his lips as he savours his orgasm. You try to listen, really listen, enough to memorise his sounds for your own satisfaction later on.
You both stay wordless for a few minutes, your deep, rushed breaths thankfully the only sound in the library. He’s still fucking you lightly, using your pussy to ride out the rest of his orgasm, legs shaking with the feel of it. He looks like sin and bliss itself, his face flushed, mouth still hanging open as he revels in the feel of you. Eventually, he sits you to rest on the bottom shelf, both legs splayed open over his hips.
Copia falls forward to where you are resting on the bookshelf, mouth pressing kisses to the side of your neck, right under your ear as his breath comes back to him. The tickle of his moustache and the surprising softness of his lips create butterflies in your stomach, the feeling oddly intimate, perhaps even more so than the fact that his cock is still very much inside you.
“I thought about your cunt for weeks.”
It’s brazen, how the words leave his lips, his tone more casual than you had ever heard him before, than you’d ever thought him capable of. You flick your eyes to his with a gasp as he comes to stand up again, his green-eyed pupil blown wide and dark.
“Since we are admitting our sins, yes ? Hehe .” He chuckles nervously, though his face is still.
For once, words escape you.
Copia moves and you remember then that he is very much still inside you, as he slowly drags himself against that spot, deep and purposeful. You gasp, cunt clenching at the feel of his own spend moving around him, slick and warm. It’s enough, you realise, to finish you off. Copia, as always , seems to know that too, meeting your eyes with a knowing look.
“It was embarrassing , Sister. To be a man of my standing, and feel not in control , si?”
It’s hard to concentrate as he continues to fuck you slowly, you’re half marvelling at his words and the fact that he is still fucking you. You mewl as you watch him take you, the material of his red trousers darkening with your shared slick.
“I could not remove you from my mind, I could not forget the sight of you, the taste of you. Could not forget the gifts you had given to me.” He grips your leg nice and tight as he continues to work his cock nice and slow against you, huffing at the way you tightened around him. His other hand comes to rub at your clit, gathering your own slick to ease his glove along. It was cathartic, hearing him confess his feelings, so similar to your own they were almost identical. Relief flooded you, overwhelmed you move to grip at his cassock again, pulling him closer.
“-Wore those gloves for a week just to smell you-” Copia chokes out as you near the edge, the feel of his slick dripping out of you paired with his unnervingly precise movements getting you where you need to be.
“I have wanted lots of things, Sister. This post, my office, a chance at being Papa - but nothing like this. Nothing that consumes me so.”
The honesty of his confession shocks you, blunt and open in the quiet of the library. You move your eyes from where he’s fucking you to his face and your chest tightens. You see it then, that vulnerability was back, only now somehow sat perfectly with that hint of darkness, that ambition that he has within him. And he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you whole, like he would fight Lucifer himself for you.
It’s that look that sends you over the edge, you cry out as you milk whatever is left of him, clenching around his cock as his slick covered gloves work your clit. It's slow and satisfying and Copia refuses to stop moving until you have used him as he sees fit, grunting at the feel of you on his oversensitive cock, praising you as you take him.
“ Magnifica. Ti riempirei ogni giorno, sei una dea mandata dall'inferno.”
He moves his hand from under yours and goes to move, leaving you panicked even in your hazy state. You go to follow him but he pauses you with a hand, getting onto his knees before you. He goes through the motions of pulling up his cassock, like he had in his office, the routine of his movements comforting and sweet. The Cardinal lifts your legs onto his shoulders, his face rubbing gently against your skin as he closes his eyes at the feel of you. He kisses gently up towards your thighs until he is kneeling upright, underneath you.
“I admit, I hid -” He carries on his exploratory journey with his tongue and mouth, nibbling away at the skin of your thighs, “And then my birds, they tell me of your late night visits, and I burned.”
He takes another deep inhale as he nears where you’re open and leaking for him, just as obscene as the first time in his office.
“I felt envy , Sister. For the first time in a long time. I did not know what to do with it.”
He moves his gloves to pull you open in front of him, mouth hanging open as he watches his spend leak out of you, your thighs smeared with your own. He mutters in broken Italian under his breath before coming to catch it with his tongue.
It would be perverse, outrageous even if he hadn’t done it with such reverence . Careful not to touch where you were overstimulated. He continues to lick from you, kissing as he does, eyes closed as he mutters what sounds like prayers under his breath. There is that sick, sated pride again, burning up in you as he worships at you.
“And then your cruel trick in Mass, I could not bear it.” He sounds pained, and you think you’d almost have felt guilty had his tongue not been licking at you still. And if he himself hadn’t driven you to such madness.
“You have bewitched me, topolino.” He admits low, his head moving to hang down in what you perceive as shame.
You move your hands to lift his red Biretta, carefully placing it onto the shelf next to you. He flushed under your gaze as you mussed his hair a little, moving it into place after it had been flattened by his cap. You smile down at him, having missed the sight of those greys, the ones at his temples that broke up the strands of brown. You swiped at some paint that had smeared, brushing it back into shape as you admired his features, strong and unique.
“ Mi hai stregato, Cardinale. ” You confessed, bringing his gloved hand up to your mouth to kiss at his fingers individually.
He moves to stand, not without a grunt, and a complaint about his knees, and cups your face in his hands, swiping at your cheek with his thumb. Quickly, he moves to cover you and tuck himself back into his pants, handing you your habit as you hand him his Biretta back.
“ Also not that I would ever comment on your tutorage, Cardinal.” You start with a lazy grin, “but I still think we are missing a sin. I don’t think our Dark Lord would be impressed.”
He sighs and brushes off his hat, placing it back on his head carefully. He moves to smooth out his cassock as he offers you his hand.
“And what sin might that be, tesoro?” His smile was bright, radiant on his face at your teasing as you place your hand into his.
“ Gluttony , no?”
He laughs.
“Oh no, my little topolino . I have lots of extra credit planned for that.”
You begin to walk to the entrance of the library together, no particular destination in mind, both seemingly just content to be walking there together.
“ Cardinal… ” You blurt out before you cross the threshold.
He stops dead, clearly anxious about his own confession and your own. Just as he read you so easily, you found yourself reading him, his avoidance to meet your gaze and the flush still on his cheeks.
You break out into a smile.
“I am pretty sure you still have my underwear.”
He relaxes, shoulders sagging as he breaks into a laugh. The sound of it far too nice.
“I am sure, I don’t know what you’re referring to, Sister.” He shakes his head, bringing your arm to link his own as you carried on walking out.