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Gaz's tail is like that of a ribbon eel, but more sturdy to power his high-speed swimming. The yellow dorsal fin extends along his spine, all the way up the humanoid portion of his body. The frills along his arms bring the leafy sea dragon to mind.

He's venomous, and has the colouration to show for it. Bright yellows, blues, and oranges all serve as a warning.

His build is more sleek than some of the other sea monsters, built for speed rather than sheer strength.

With a preference for reef habitats, Gaz spends his days lying in wait. He chooses his victims carefully. Anyone who disrupts the delicate ecosystem is at risk. A cautious scuba diver is typically safe. Respect the ocean and her children and you will be fine. It's the ones who get too close for comfort, carving their initials into the coral, picking up helpless sea cucumbers and wreaking havoc in his home who are putting targets on their backs.

He strikes quickly, the venom working to subdue any poor fool unfortunate enough to fuck around and find out within minutes.

You were new to this village, just moved to the countryside to get away from the stress and gloom the city cast over your everyday. It wasn't big, and houses were spread apart to give way to the picturesque landscape of lush green fields and blooming wildflowers. The only thing that appeared to connect the community together was their church, open to all, and a hub of connection for all.

It was the perfect place for you to start trying to integrate yourself into the community, so you showed up to a charity funfair that was on the weekend and began to introduce yourself to people, participating eagerly in the games and bake sales. You're perusing over the pastel decorated cupcakes while pursing your lips when a voice drifts into your thoughts.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart, haven't seen you before, have I?"

You glance up and there was the local priest, a tall, burly man wearing a black button down, white collar tucked in and straight. The sleeves of his button down were rolled up to the elbow, revealing hairy, strong forearms, hands in his black slack pockets. Finely trimmed and groomed mutton chops, with kind blue eyes staring at you, when he smiles the apples of his cheeks plump his face up, making him all the more trustworthy and inviting.

"No, sorry, I moved here recently." You stretch out a hand to shake, and his warm hand tightens around yours, a firm shake, a lingering touch as he pulls his hand back.

"Then I welcome you to our little community." He chuckles, "I'm John Price, Father if you're more for the formalities."

"Right, I'm y/n." You smile, then gesture around, "This whole event is really lovely, it's such a nice thing you're doing for charity."

"Of course." He nods, "I'm a sucker for a good charity case." and then he tests the water with a playful jab, "Speaking of charity cases: how about you pop around to mass sometime? I'll help get you acquainted with the community, sweetheart."

You burst out into an awkward laugh at his jab, finding it in good humour, then nod, "That'd be really nice, Father Price, thank you." You hand him some money as you pick up a cupcake.

"Anytime, sweetheart."

You enter the church and glance around, a little earlier than most of the congregation so you can get an idea of what to expect. Father Price is at the altar laying out a chalice when he looks up to meet your eyes.

"You came!" He chuckles and rounds the altar, standing at the top of the steps and beckoning you closer with a hand gesture.

The church causes your footsteps to echo as you approach the altar across the mosaic tiled floor, and just as you place your foot onto the first step you hear a tut. You look up and see Father Price raising an eyebrow in disapproval as he shakes his head slowly, strong arms crossed across his broad chest. You take your foot away and then he nods once.

"Now genuflect." He commands, "A small bow, one knee."

For a moment you're not understanding, but obey regardless, taking a knee at the steps of the altar and bowing your head, showing reverence for God in his own house.

"Good girl." Father Price chuckles, and you feel your face heat up from the compliment, a delicious shiver running across your spine as something gooey and warm pools between your thighs.

You weren't a particularly religious person, but there was something comforting about the church in this town. It was quiet, and Father Price was more than welcoming, preaching love, acceptance, and tolerance above all else. His congregation all warm, genuine smiles as they watched him with reverence.

You're the last one walking up to the altar to receive communion, looking around to copy what the others are doing. You stand there alone with a bright smile as you see John hold the small white wafer up,

"Body of Christ."

You open your mouth for him to place it on your tongue like he did the others, only instead of the quick motion you had witnessed you felt a firm pressure as two fingers pressed the wafer into your wet muscle. Except the pressure doesn't retract, it slides back, two thick fingers gliding across your tongue and reaching the back of your mouth as saliva begins to collect in your cheeks. Your wide eyes stare up at him, only to be met with a calming face, warm blue eyes twinkling in encouragement as he smiles serenely, uncaring if his praying congregation would stir from their prayers to gaze at this scene.

His fingers stuff themselves to the back of your throat, tearing a wet, choking noise from you as tears spring to your eyes. But that gaze, that gaze made you take a breath and relax, your tongue curling around his fingers, taking in the taste of his skin that smells of frankincense and myrrh. He sighs through his nose and taps your tongue, making you close your mouth around the invading digits and give them a wet, sloppy suck, your tongue curling around them and lubing them up with your spit. Then as you're getting into it he pulls the digits out and looks at you expectantly.

"Oh-" Your flushed face takes a moment to recover from its hypnotic state, "Uh Amen?"

The next part of communion is the wine, and you watch again as people bring the gold chalice to their lips, take a sip and bless themselves, before returning to their seats to say the Our Father in silence.

Your hands wrap around the golden chalice and Father Price's gentle voice enters your head as you lift the cup, red wine staining your lips and filling your vision, "Blood of Christ."

And Christ, he can feel his blood rush somewhere down south. He watches as your neck bobs, gulping down the bitter red alcohol, a small trickle of it catching on the corner of your lips and streaming down your chin along the column of your neck, disappearing under your shirt and between your breasts where he dare not let his eyes wander. His mind has wandered far enough.

Lowering the chalice you make eye contact with him, his blue eyes baring down into you, the kindness and warmth replaced with a ravenous need to worship you with the same devotion he gave his life to, to make you meet his God in person and affirm his every belief - including the one that to sin once is not to fall, but the way of man, and he was only a man.

The air feels heavy as he draws in slow and even breaths.

You hand the chalice back and bow your head, "Amen."

That day, the communion, his fingers, his gaze, his presence - it's burned into your mind, nest in the bottom of your stomach and tingles in your cunt. Then there's the guilt that trails those memories, that you gaze at a holy man like he's the last decent meal on Earth, that you would tempt him for your own selfish pleasures. That you have stuffed your fingers inside your quivering little pussy, imagining him bent over you smelling of incense as he thrusts his thick fingers inside you, making your legs shake and toes curl as he brings you so close to heaven that you don't care if hell is in your grave.

The confessional is dark and smells of woodstain and Father Price's incense, you bask in the silence as you take deep breaths, the only light coming from the adjoining confessional that a clergymen would occupy to listen to you and absolve you of your guilt.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." You start, taking a shaky breath, "For I have thought of another man, a good and pious man, in a way that is lustful and possessive. In a way that I think... I think I want to tempt him to do something he wouldn't."

And then it's out there, the guilt alleviated from your chest and placed into the hand's of God, only for those hands to clasp around the guilt and smother it in arousal.

"And what did you think about specifically?" A familiar, gravelly voice asks you.

You squirm in your seat and lick your dry lips, "I thought of... a holy man. Of how I could lead him astray from his life of God, and let him have my flesh in any manner he seeks." Your face is burning and all you hear is a grumbling sigh from the room next door.

"Kneel."

Your knees immediately touch to the padded kneeler in front of you, hands clasped together as you think he will command a prayer from you before releasing this guilt - but instead the door to your booth is opened, the gentle golden light of the church seeping in and outlining the tall, imposing silhouette of Father Price standing there. Then he steps in, closing the wooden door behind him, and you're cramped between the walls of the booth, the only exit blocked by the man you had devilish thoughts of, and unable to move from your kneeling position.

"Forgive me father-" You squeak out, and he reaches a kind hand out, petting your hair as his gravelly voice purrs.

"I'll forgive you, sweetheart," He loosen the midsection of his black robes and untucks his uncut, thick, cock from his slacks, the weeping tip only centimetres from your lips, "as soon as I prove to you I'm not so easily led astray from God."

His hand curls around to the back of your head and encourages you forward, your mouth drops open immediately and you take his cock in slowly, allowing him to guide the pace of the interaction. You barely reach the base before you splutter and attempt to pull away for panic, but he holds you firm and gently soothes, "Like the eucharist, love, suck and take some deep breaths, know you can do it."

Inhaling deeply through your nose your throat relaxes and he's able to sink his cock all the way to the base inside your tight heat, your neck bulging ever so slightly as his tip invades your esophagus. Your nose is buried into his coarse pubic hair and a musky, hypnotic scent fills your lungs. His fingers thread through your hair, gathering up strands and then giving it a gentle tug - like a leash, and he pulls you off slowly, watching your stretched out, plump lips pull off his hard, glistening cock, leaving only the tip resting on your bottom lip, before snapping his hips and bottoming out into your mouth again.

He sets a brutal pace, his cock sliding down your throat as he lets out shuddering, animalistic moans, while you focus on sucking his hard, heavy flesh deeper into your mouth, using your tongue as a welcome mat as it massages over the pulsing veins along his shaft to then swirl around his angry, leaking tip. His cock and pubes are covered in saliva with how aggressively he uses your mouth to please himself, and you find saliva running down your chin and dripping everywhere while his heavy balls smack against your chin, tightening up as the thrusts become more stuttered.

Then a hand is on the back of your head, holding your nose to his coarse hair on his mons, the tip of his cock halfway down your throat and you sore mouth stretched tight to accommodate the sudden residence. He moans your name out as you feel something thick and warm shoot down your throat, trickling into your stomach, and then you taste the bitter, musty salt in the back of your mouth and know that Father Price has spent himself inside you. He pulls his cock out with a slick popping noise and taps the softening member on your cheek with a chuckle, before putting it away and hiding most the evidence beneath his robes, the only piece remaining being the fucked out woman he leaves kneeling in the confession booth.

That Sunday you're entering the back rooms of the church, finding his office and opening the door just as he's changing out of his mass robes, "We need to talk." You say seriously.

"Whatever about?" He raises an eyebrow as he begins to roll up the sleeves of his button down, and you feel your resolve crumbling, the want to end this for both of you leaving your mind for more devious pleasures.

"What happened in the confessional."

He sits against his desk as his kind blue eyes stare at you with concern, "What happened in the confessional, sweetheart?"

"We- We had sex!" You balk at him, giving him an incredulous and confused smile.

"Did we?" He blinks, feigning innocence, "I can't say I've ever had sex, vow of chastity, yknow?"

"But you stuck your cock down my throat?"

He purses his lips and shakes his head, "I can't say I recall ever doing such things - but if it is making you feel so worked up and upset for having fantasies, I may have the remedy."

"Now just you listen here-" You refused to be gaslit.

"Across the lap." He pats his thick thigh.

Nevermind, then. The sky is orange and bears wear tutus, he can gaslight you any day for a chance like this.

You lay over his lap, ass presented to him as he runs his hand along your spine and grips the soft, jiggly flesh, "I'm going to punish you for the sin of lust. All you have to do, is take the punishment and say a Hail Mary without stuttering. Am I understood?"

You take a delighted shuddering breath, "Yes, Father." his hands take both your wrists and then he uses his white rosary beads to bind your hands tight together on the small of your back, and when you give them a tug you realise you can't get free at all - your legs dangling off the ground - and now you're stuck on his lap as the first, hard smack lands on the centre of your plush arse.

"Hail, Mary, full of grace-" You breathe out the the first line, only to yelp with the second smack collides with your other cheek, matching red blossoms beginning across your ass. Another smack that leaves you jolting forward as he tells you to hurry up - but it's so hard too hard to remember the words.

"The Lord - the Lord-" you stutter, and then a harsher smack piles into your sore flesh.

"Start over. No stuttering. You should be seeking forgiveness without hesitation."

You take a deep breath as his massive hands paw at your ass, gripping the flesh possessively and jiggling it before giving it a small smack, a moment to let you gather your thoughts and recite the prayer properly.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee."

Smack!

"Ah- Blessed art thou amongst women-" Smack! And your moans are getting more keen and delirious, the pain only lasting a moment before endorphins rush and you feel so sinfully good, "and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

"That's it, sweetheart, let God hear you." He rumbles above you as he delivers another brutal smack to your tender ass.

"Holy Mary, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."

A firm smack lands over your soaked, clothed pussy and you feel electric thrum through every fiber of your body as you gasp out the last word, "Amen!"

Father Price chuckles above you, his hand caressing your ass, almost in apology for potentially hurting you, yet his eyes show no remorse whatsoever, "Do you feel closer to God now, sweetheart? Feel his forgiveness take that shame from you?"

You bite you lip and shake your head, "No, because now I'm ashamed I enjoyed it too much and I'm wet and I - I came here to stop this."

Price nods in understanding and helps you to stand before bending you over his desk, hands still bound by the rosary beads on the small of your back. He flips your skirt up to admire your pink ass and then pulls your panties down, your hungry pink slit leaking down your thighs, entrance winking at him and beckoning him in.

"I think I can see the problem." He says in a dire voice, "How about we treat this sin at its core, sweetheart? Perhaps then we can find how to help you better, hm?" He chuckles, reaching for something on his desk.

"Yes, Father... I think that'd be wises- what are you!?" you look over your shoulder as something hard and square presses against your slick, something wooden running between your folds and lubing the object up as you grind pathetically against it, clit throbbing in delight when Father Price smacks the object against it like a paddle. Then once he's satisfied it's adequately lubed he helps to move your position.

Sat on the desk with your legs spread, panties around your ankle while one of his arms helps you to sit up, while he makes you watch as he pushes a crucifix into your weeping cunt, the smaller section across ensuring it never slips all the way in, like the base of a plug. You watch through hazy eyes as your puffy, desperate cunt greedily pulls the wooden toy in, and you let out strangled moans when he bounces it inside you, making it prod and smack against your gummy little spot of pleasure.

"That's it... sing as good as the choirs of heaven, you do." He rasps into your ear as he watches you with a warm smile, like he isn't doing the most depraved sacrilegious act to you in his office.

Your back arches as you let out an ecstatic whine as he places tender kisses across your neck, the crucifix battering against that spot inside you that pulls you up the staircase towards heaven, and it glides deliciously in and out of your pussy with little resistance, being jiggles and smacked inside your gummy walls as every spot of pleasure is abused. Your gasps begin to pitch higher and you squirm, arms wanting to be freed to hold onto anything, but his hand grips the rosary around your wrists and tugs it to stop your squirming. Your toes begin to curl and you shake your head.

"No, Father, no I'm gonna-!"

"That's it, love, get every last bit of that deadly sin outta ya... then we can work on putting something godly in." He rasps in your ear before rolling the lobe around his teeth and giving it a gentle suck.

It's enough to tip you over the edge, your eyes rolling back to see the bright white of heaven itself, while your whole body trembles and shakes as orgasmic bliss baptises it anew. Your swollen pink cunt squirting around the crucifix as its plugged tight into your welcoming hole.

Then it's over, heaven leaving your grasp as you come back to earth, your eyes opening as Father Price removes the crucifix from your sex, and undoes the rosary beads that bound you to pleasure.

"I exorcise you in the name of God, may the lord have mercy on this sinner."

"Amen." You sigh in satisfaction as you lay back.

Today was bad. Really bad. And you were tired. So, so tired. Even getting home was a chore; you were so irritated that every little inconvenience on your way back to your safe haven of a home had you seething. All you want is your bed—you want to sink into the sheets and not come out for as long as possible.

But your husband, your perfect husband who could do no wrong, has other plans. You know he means well, of course he does. All he wants is to help, but it feels like he's smothering you.

Finally, you snap.

"Just leave me alone, John!" You bark all of a sudden. You storm off to your shared bedroom and the door rattles on its hinges from the force with which you slam it shut. By the time you've thrown yourself under the duvet and buried your face into the pillow, you're already regretting what you did. Your face burns with shame as you imagine what his reaction was, the look that was on his face.

Luckily, he does give you space. The door only opens an hour or so later, once you've cooled off to a simmer. Not a full rest, but not boiling either. You bury yourself further under the sheets to shield yourself from the light that floods into the room from the hallway and then the light from the lamp that John turns on. His weight settles on the bed behind you and you melt under the heaviness of his warm hand on your side. He's silent—letting you think, you assume.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, voice muffled by the pillow under your head. He hums in response and starts to rub your shoulder. "I know, sweetheart." His voice is warm, calm, a perfect contrast to your own choked up tone. "It's alright."

There's a brief pause. It's tense and it causes you to turn over and peek up at him. He's looking down at you with his silvery blue eyes and your gaze meets his meekly. "You know that was inappropriate. You don't talk to me like that," he says, and although you're being scolded, he sounds anything but angry. You still feel terrible for what you did, but you know he wasn't upset with you. It didn't stop you from pulling the sheets over your face childishly.

"Come on, love. Get up," he tells you, firm yet patient as always. You knew what was coming next and it made you shudder with anticipation. You do as he asks and he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. You shuffle in front of him, dragging your feet and still avoiding his eyes. Your muscles tense when he takes hold of your thigh, squeezing it. "Over my knees."

You know he wasn't punishing you. This was anything but a punishment; it was for you, not for him. When you're laid over his legs, your face nuzzled into his side, you know that he's taking care of you and it makes you sigh softly.

His large palm massages the meat of your thighs and up to your ass, then his fingers find their way under the waistband of your pants. He tugs them down to your knees, taking your underwear with them. You shiver at the wash of cold air that breezes across your bare skin and John, ever observant, takes a moment to warm you up with his hand in wide circles over your ass.

When his hand pulls away, you immediately brace yourself, eyes shut tight. He brings it back down with a harsh slap to your ass and you yelp. He smooths over your skin as a slight comfort. "Don't forget to count, love," he instructs. You murmur out a small 'one,' and wait for his next spanking.

You're holding back tears after you reach seven, your asscheeks and thighs burning hot and prickling with pain from the intensity behind each hit he laid upon you. He takes a pause, running his hand up and down your spine. You glance up at him, silently questioning him.

"Tell me what happened today," he says with a leveled gaze peering back down at you. You go back to bury your face in his side, but his other hand takes hold of the back of your head, redirecting you to look up at him again. "I'm not asking," he reminds you with a tight squeeze to the nape of your neck. "Yes, sir," You respond with a nod.

You start recounting your terrible day, telling him everything that happened one after another, all the while keeping count just as he told you. The tears finally fall as you spill all of the feelings that were building inside you all day, everything that was pent up and ready to burst at the seams. You eke out apologies to him between your sobs, and he listens to everything you say intently, reassuring you that things are going to be okay. You squeeze his free hand tightly when he offers it to you and all of it is just so much. It's so overwhelming; it's cathartic.

When you tap his thigh, John knows that you've gotten it all out and you're finally relaxed, lost in a floaty, comfortable state far above the sea of troubles that you were stewing in before. He bundles you up in his arms and totes you to the bathroom, running a warm bath for you to rest in. Your eyes are puffy and rimmed with red while you stare up at him, leaning into his touch while he cleans you up from head to toe. His calloused fingers scrubbed along your scalp, keeping you drifting in subspace.

Once you’re cleaned up and dried off, he lays you on your stomach in the bed gently, peppering your warm skin with kisses. Across your shoulders, up and down your spine on the bruises that were forming on your ass and thighs. Looking back at him over your shoulder, you can see his soft eyes looking back at you, practically glowing in the light of the bedside lamp. Soon enough, you’re lathered up in lotion, cooling your irritated skin enough to let you drift off to sleep peacefully, cuddled up next to your husband. You could talk more in the morning, but for now you just needed to rest.