Chapter 26: Holey Communion
The tremors still coursed through Rupert’s thighs, a lingering aftershock of the violation that had left him hollowed out and strangely weightless. The cold stone bit into his knees. Georgina’s fingers, now gentle, traced the line of his spine. "Such a good offering," she murmured. "But we're not quite finished with your penance."
He heard the click of a latch, the soft slide of a drawer opening in some hidden cabinet. A bottle was uncapped, the sound loud in the hushed space. Then her fingers were back, slick and cool, smearing more lube over his tender, stretched hole. He flinched at the touch.
"Shhh, now," Georgina cooed. "Just a little fullness to keep you mindful."
Something cold and solid, impossibly so, pressed against him. Not a finger. Metal. It was a smooth, unyielding curve, chilling the inflamed flesh. He gasped as the tip pushed inward, the stretch a familiar, burning echo of her fingers, but somehow more profound, more permanent. It was wider than two fingers, a relentless, cool intrusion that made his breath hitch. He felt his body resist, clenching instinctively around the foreign object, but Georgina applied steady, inexorable pressure.
"Relax, boy. Open for it," she commanded, her voice devoid of its earlier gentleness.
With a final, slick pop, the widest part slid past his tight ring of muscle and settled deep inside him. A low groan was torn from Rupert’s throat. The initial shock of the cold was subsiding, replaced by a pervasive sense of fullness. The solid, unyielding shape of the plug seemed to press directly onto that newly discovered, hypersensitive spot inside him, a constant, throbbing reminder of his vulnerability. He could feel the flared base, cool against his skin, a secure anchor that meant this wasn't coming out anytime soon.
"Good," Georgina said, patting his buttock. "Now, up you get. Onto the cushion. There's worship to be done."
Margot’s hands joined hers, helping his trembling legs to straighten. They guided him forward a few shuffling steps until his knees pressed into something soft and velvet—a prayer cushion. The change in position made the plug shift inside him, sending another jolt of intense sensation through his groin. His cock, which had softened, gave a interested twitch.
Georgina moved in front of him. He could smell her, that same potent mix of lavender and musk from before, intensified. Her hands, still slick with lube, cupped his face. "You have a talented tongue, Rupert," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips. "Let's put it to better use than begging."
She guided his head forward. His face met the soft, downy hair of her mound, then lower, into the wet, heated core of her. The blindfold forced him to rely solely on taste, smell, and touch. Her flesh was softer here, the folds more yielding than before, slick with her own excitement and the remnants of the lube from her fingers. She ground herself against his mouth. "Lick me clean, boy. Every last drop. Make an old woman sing."
Rupert obeyed, his mind a whirl of conflicting sensations—the hard, cold fullness in his ass, the soft, warm wetness against his face, the scent of her arousal and the faint, metallic tang of his own release still hanging in the air. He lapped at her, his tongue seeking out the familiar topography he’d learned earlier. He found her clit, swollen and hard as a berry, and focused his attention there, circling and flicking with a desperation that felt like prayer.
Georgina moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him deeper. "Yes! Just like that, you filthy fucking accountant. Right there!"
Her hips began to piston against his face, fucking his mouth with a raw, grinding rhythm. The plug inside him shifted with every movement of his body, rubbing relentlessly against his prostate. The dual stimulation was maddening. Pleasure, sharp and electric, began to coil deep in his belly, intertwined with the deep, humiliating fullness. He was hard again, achingly so, his cock leaking onto the velvet cushion beneath him.
"Look at him, Margot," Georgina panted, her voice ragged. "Look at your husband. Blindfolded, plugged, eating my cunt on a prayer cushion in the house of God. Is this what you wanted? Is this the passion you were missing?"
"Oh, yes," Margot breathed from somewhere close by. Rupert could hear the slick sound of her fingers working between her own legs. "Fuck, yes. Look at him go. You like that, don't you, Rupert? You like having that cold steel up your arse while you taste her?"
He couldn't answer, his mouth full of Georgina, his body alight with a shameful, overwhelming ecstasy. He redoubled his efforts, sucking and licking with a fervor he didn't know he possessed, driven by the need to make her come, to lose himself in the act, to justify the strange, dark pleasure coursing through him.
Georgina’s cries grew sharper, more frantic. Her thighs tightened around his head, trapping him. "I'm gonna come! I'm gonna come all over your fucking face! Don't you dare stop!"
Her body went rigid. A guttural, broken scream was torn from her throat, echoing off the stone walls as she convulsed against his mouth. A fresh flood of her release, hot and bitter, spilled over his tongue and chin. She held him there, grinding through the waves of her orgasm, until she finally slumped back, her grip loosening.
Rupert panted, his face soaked, the taste of her embedded in his senses. The plug felt heavier now, a constant, throbbing presence. Georgina gently pushed his head away. He heard her stand, her knees cracking softly.
"Your turn, Margot," Georgina said, her voice hoarse but satisfied. "I think he's earned it. And I think he's ready to burst."