Chapter 25: Sacrilegious Service
The Volvo’s tires crunched onto the gravel car park beside St. Bartholomew’s, the engine cutting abruptly into the heavy Sunday-afternoon silence. The scent of damp stone and fading incense drifted through the open window. The last parishioners were trickling out the main doors, their murmured farewells and the clunk of car doors echoing softly. Rupert blinked, disoriented. The village green? The church? Why here?
Margot was already out of the car, moving with a swift, purposeful energy that brooked no hesitation. She opened his door before he could unfasten his seatbelt. Her eyes, still dark with that unnerving intensity from the drive, held his. "Out," she commanded, her voice low and thick. "Now."
"But Margot, the church? It’s—"
"Shut up and come." Her hand clamped around his wrist, pulling him from the car with surprising strength. He stumbled slightly, his boots scraping on the gravel. She steered him not towards the main doors where the stragglers were leaving, but around the side of the ancient stone building, towards the shadowed archway leading to the vestry entrance. The coolness of the stone passage enveloped them, amplifying the sound of their footsteps and Rupert’s quickening breath.
Before he could protest again, Margot spun him to face the mossy wall. He felt the soft, unexpected pressure of silk against his eyes. "What—?"
"Quiet," she hissed, her breath warm on his ear as she deftly tied the blindfold tight behind his head. Darkness, absolute and disorienting, swallowed him. The familiar scents intensified – damp stone, beeswax, incense – now mingling with the lingering aroma of mud and sex still clinging faintly to his clothes, and Margot’s own sharp, aroused perfume. Her hands gripped his shoulders, propelling him forward through another door that groaned softly on its hinges. The air inside was warmer, stiller, thick with the smell of old wood and candle smoke. The vestry.
The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in hushed privacy. The murmur from outside vanished. Rupert stood frozen, blind, his senses straining. He heard Margot move away, her footsteps soft on the stone floor. Then another sound: a soft, wet sigh, close by. The rustle of heavy fabric.
"Georgina?" Margot’s voice was a whisper, thick with anticipation.
A low chuckle answered, rich and unexpectedly sensual. "He smells of the farm," Georgina observed, her voice closer now. "And Felicity. And… exertion." Rupert felt the air shift as she approached. He could smell her now too – lavender water, faintly floral soap, and beneath it, something warmer, muskier, unmistakably female arousal. "Did he tell you? Did he tell you how filthy it was?"
"Every gritty detail," Margot breathed. Rupert heard the hunger in her voice, the same hunger that had vibrated through the steering wheel. "He needs cleansing, Georgina. Proper cleansing."
"Indeed." Georgina’s voice was right in front of him now. He felt the soft brush of fabric against his chest – the heavy, rough weave of a choir robe. Then fingers, surprisingly strong and cool, slid beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the waistband of his trousers. "Kneel, Rupert." The command was gentle but absolute, delivered with the quiet authority of someone used to directing parishioners. "Let us pray."
His knees hit the cold stone floor almost before he consciously decided to move. The shock of the chill seeped through his trousers. The blindfold intensified every sensation: the cool air on his exposed neck, the scent of incense and Georgina’s arousal thickening around him, the rustle of fabric directly before him. He felt hands – Georgina’s hands – grip the sides of his head. They guided him forward, pressing his face into soft, yielding warmth covered by the rough robe. The scent intensified exponentially – warm skin, damp curls, the deep, earthy tang of a woman’s sex.
"Open," Georgina murmured, her voice vibrating against his forehead. Her fingers slid into his hair, tightening possessively. "Taste devotion."
He opened his mouth. The rough wool of the robe scraped his lips for a second before it was pushed aside. His mouth met hot, slick flesh. Soft folds parted against his lips. The taste exploded on his tongue – musky, salty, complex. Georgina gasped, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the quiet vestry. Her thighs clamped gently around his ears, holding him firmly in place. "Yes," she sighed, her voice trembling slightly. "Just there. Lick. Like a good acolyte."
Rupert obeyed, driven by the darkness, the scent, the sheer taboo of it. His tongue explored the soft, swollen contours, finding the hard nub of her clit. He circled it tentatively, then flicked it. Georgina moaned, low and deep, her hips pushing forward against his face. "Harder, boy," she commanded, her grip tightening in his hair. "Worship it properly."
He pressed his tongue flat against her clit, rubbing firmly. Her thighs squeezed tighter. He heard Margot move closer, heard her sharp, shallow breathing. Georgina’s moans grew louder, less controlled, echoing off the stone walls. Her hips began a rhythmic rocking against his mouth, grinding herself onto his tongue. "Oh god… yes… just like that… filthy tongue…" Her words dissolved into incoherent gasps and whimpers. The wetness flooded his mouth, slick and abundant. Her thighs trembled violently around his head. With a final, shuddering cry that seemed to shake the very air, she convulsed against him, her grip on his hair almost painful as she held him deep against her pulsing flesh.
She slumped slightly, breathing heavily, her thighs relaxing their vise-like hold. Rupert pulled back slightly, panting, his chin slick with her juices. He heard the heavy rustle of the choir robe being shed completely. Then Georgina’s hands were on his shoulders again, pushing him backwards until he was sitting on his heels. Cool air washed over his torso as Margot swiftly pulled his shirt over his head. Then his trousers and pants were yanked down his legs in one rough motion, leaving him kneeling naked and blindfolded on the cold stone floor.
"Hands and knees," Georgina ordered, her voice regaining its composure, though still thick with satisfaction. "Arch your back. Present yourself."
Rupert complied, shuffling awkwardly on the unforgiving stone. He lowered himself onto his hands and knees, feeling utterly exposed, the cool air prickling his skin. He heard a metallic clink on the stone directly beneath him. The collection plate? The thought was absurd, dizzying. He felt Georgina move behind him. Her fingers, slick and cool with something viscous – lube – traced the cleft of his ass. One fingertip pressed firmly against his tight, untouched hole.
He flinched instinctively. "Georgina… I…"
"Shhh," she soothed, her other hand rubbing his lower back. "Relax, Rupert. This is grace. This is cleansing deeper than any hymn." Her fingertip pressed harder, insistently. "Push out. Like you’re trying to shit. Yes… just like that… good boy."
He obeyed, a flush of humiliation and strange, unwanted arousal washing over him. There was a burning stretch, intense and alien, as her fingertip breached the tight ring of muscle. He gasped, his knuckles whitening on the stone floor. The sensation was overwhelming – invasive, painful, yet undeniably intimate. She worked the finger slowly, twisting it gently, the lube easing the passage. "Breathe," she murmured. "Just breathe through it. Feel it."
He tried, sucking in air. The burning subsided slightly, replaced by a deep, internal pressure. She crooked her finger inside him, probing. He grunted, his hips shifting involuntarily. "There," Georgina breathed, a note of triumph in her voice. "Found it." Her fingertip pressed against a spot deep inside him that sent a jolt of pure, unexpected sensation straight to his cock, which twitched violently against empty air. A low groan escaped him, part shock, part involuntary pleasure.
"Oh, he likes that," Margot observed, her voice husky and close. Rupert hadn’t heard her move. He felt her hand then, wrapping firmly around his aching erection. Her touch was electric after the internal invasion. She began to stroke him, slow and deliberate. "Feel it, Rupert? Feel what Georgina’s doing?"
Georgina added a second finger, slicked generously. The stretch was sharper this time, making him hiss. She scissored them gently, stretching him, her other finger relentlessly massaging that deep, sensitive spot inside him. Each press sent shockwaves through him – intense, confusing pulses that blurred the line between pain and overwhelming pleasure. Margot’s hand tightened on his cock, her thumb swirling over the slick head. The dual assault was maddening.
"Fuck…" Rupert gasped, his head dropping between his shoulders. He heard the wet sound of Georgina’s fingers moving inside him, the slick slide of Margot’s hand on his cock. The pressure inside him built, strange and insistent, radiating out from that deep point Georgina was ruthlessly stimulating. It wasn't like the urgent need to come he knew; it was deeper, fuller, a swelling tide threatening to burst from a place he didn't know existed.
"Let it come, Rupert," Georgina urged, her fingers working him with practiced precision, curling and pressing. "Let the sin out. Give it to the collection."
Margot’s strokes quickened, matching the rhythm of Georgina’s internal massage. "That’s it," Margot whispered fiercely. "Give it up. Give her your filthy offering."
The sensations collided – the deep, rhythmic pressure inside, the tight friction of Margot’s hand, the utter vulnerability of his position. The pressure peaked, unbearable, terrifying. With a choked cry that echoed off the vestry walls, Rupert felt something give deep inside. Not the familiar pulsing release from his cock, but a hot, insistent gush of fluid he couldn't control. It splattered down onto the cold metal plate beneath him with a series of wet, rhythmic pulses, utterly distinct from ejaculation. Wave after wave of intense, almost painful relief washed through him, leaving him trembling violently, gasping, suspended between humiliation and a profound, shocking release he’d never imagined.
Georgina’s fingers slowed, then gently withdrew. Margot’s hand stilled on his cock, which was still hard, twitching, untouched by his own climax. The only sounds were Rupert’s ragged breathing and the faint, wet drip onto the collection plate. Incense, lavender, sex, and the faintly metallic tang of his own unexpected offering hung heavy in the silent air. Margot leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. "Beautiful," she breathed, the single word laden with dark, possessive satisfaction.