Chapter 27: Sacred Extortion
The world swam back into focus, blurry at first, then sharp and unforgiving. The blindfold was gone, ripped away by Georgina’s capable hands. Rupert blinked, his eyes stinging in the dim candlelight. The first thing he saw was the large calendar on the wall, the smiling, ordinary face of July—Georgina’s face—seeming to mock him from its place beside a wooden crucifix.
“There now,” Georgina said, her voice a low rasp. “I want you to see this. I want you to watch where your offering goes.”
She moved away from him, her bare feet whispering on the stone floor. She went to a small, ornate wooden cabinet and opened it. From within, she drew out a heavy, brass collection plate, its surface deeply engraved and gleaming dully in the candlelight. It was the very plate he’d seen passed along the pews every Sunday, the one into which he’d dropped his neatly folded ten-pound notes.
A cold dread, entirely separate from the cold metal lodged in his ass, trickled down his spine.
Georgina returned and knelt before him on the velvet cushion, the plate held in both hands. She set it on the floor directly beneath his aching, dripping cock. A single, clear drop of pre-cum fell from his tip and landed on the polished brass with a soft, distinct ping.
“Look at that,” she murmured, a slow smile spreading across her face. “The first donation.”
Then, she let go of the plate and brought her own hands to her cunt. She was still wet from his mouth, her folds glistening. She spread herself open with two fingers, showing him her pink, swollen flesh. “Now, you watch. You watch an old woman make herself come on the Lord’s collection plate. And you, Rupert, are going to donate properly.”
She began to touch herself, her middle finger finding her clit with practiced ease. She circled it, her hips making small, grinding motions against her own hand. Her eyes never left his, holding him in a trance of shame and raw, undeniable arousal. The plug inside him felt like a live wire, sending jolts of pleasure through his groin with every slight shift of his body. His thighs trembled violently, threatening to buckle.
“That’s it,” Margot whispered from the sidelines. He could see her now, leaning against the old wooden table, her skirt hitched up, her own hand working frantically between her legs. “Look how hard he is for you, Georgina. Look how he’s dripping for you.”
Georgina’s breathing hitched. Her movements became more frantic, her fingers sliding through her slickness, smearing it over her clit. The lewd, wet sounds of her masturbation filled the quiet vestry, a profane counterpoint to the scent of beeswax and old books.
“Come on, accountant,” Georgina grunted, her composure slipping. “Don’t be stingy. Give me your load. I want to see it splatter all over this brass. I want to count every fucking drop.”
She plunged two fingers deep inside herself, fucking herself with hard, urgent strokes while her thumb pressed down on her clit. Her back arched, and a guttural moan ripped from her throat. “Now, Rupert! Now!”
The command, the sight of her coming apart, the relentless pressure of the plug—it was too much. His orgasm tore through him without permission, a seismic shock that ripped a ragged cry from his lungs. His cock jerked, and a thick, hot rope of cum shot out, splashing onto the collection plate. Then another, and another, painting the sacred object with streaks of white.
He convulsed, his body seizing, his vision spotting as he emptied himself completely, his spend pooling in the engraved dish meant for alms.
He slumped forward, spent, his forehead resting on the cool stone floor. He panted, the air burning in his lungs. The plug was a heavy, uncomfortable weight now, a reminder of his utter defilement.
He felt a hand on his back. Georgina’s.
“A most generous donation,” she said, her voice thick with satisfaction. She picked up the plate, holding it up to the candlelight to examine the contents. “We’ll have to ensure it’s put to good use.”