#monster!v

There were worse ways to serve the Ministry than helping former Papa Primo in the greenhouse. It was warm in here, and it was easy to forget about the frigid morning air until the wind howled outside for a moment, briefly rattling some of the looser panes of glass. Primo paused his work to observe.

“Would you like me to tell someone in maintenance about those windows, Papa?”

Primo nearly always had a dour air about him, at all times seeming one second away from biting off the head of anyone in front of him, but I’d learned to read his moods over the past few months. The tiniest crinkle of his eyes told me he was pleased I’d asked. Practically an ear-to-ear grin for him.

“If you would be so kind, sorella,” he said in his soft, thin voice. I jotted a reminder down in the little notepad I carried with me —another thing that had warmed Primo to me was that I was nothing if not diligent, and I saw the approval in his otherwise enigmatic face before he went back to his pruning.

After a healthy stretch of silence, he asked, “Are you excited for the party?”

“A little.”

“You do not seem very enthused.”

I tried to hide by sticking my head behind some large leaves to reach some damaged parts. Papa Perpetua’s birthday party was all anyone could talk about the last few days. A lot of that was gossip as to why his twin brother was out of town for the occasion, but people were excited to celebrate Papa —it was worth celebrating! I had never gotten used to him, though, and after so many months, my unease upon seeing him had only grown.

There was nothing I could point to, no act or word that could explain why he unsettled me so. Nothing beyond the way he moved, and the frigid anxiety that crept down my spine when I caught his eye.

I had joined the Ministry mere days before Papa Emeritus IV was unseated. In the span of a week, he had enchanted me and then fallen into bitter, secluded disillusionment. I had been swayed to belief, though, and was optimistic that Papa’s brother would be just as wonderful to follow —how could he not? Yet when I first laid eyes on him, a chill ran through me. The same mismatched eyes that marked all the Papas felt unnatural peering out from his odd metal mask. More unnerving than magnetic; calculating rather than charismatic.

“I’m not really a party person,” I finally said, then asked, “Are any of the flowers going to be used tonight?” quickly trying to change the subject.

“No, no. Not enough are in bloom,” Primo said, “Only the Stargazers, and they are, eh...too pungent.”

“I’ll say,” I chuckled, and Primo’s lip actually twitched into a hint of a smile. One small patch of the lilies had bloomed early, and just that one small patch of hot pink flowers was almost overwhelming the greenhouse with their scent.

He slowly got to his feet with a strained grunt and patted the dirt off his knees. “Regardless, I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Probably won’t stay long,” I said, then stood and stretched my back.

“Well…” he seemed...hesitant? I’d never seen him look uncertain about anything, but now he reached into his pocket and restlessly tapped his papery fingers against the small envelope he revealed. “You may want to consider planning for a longer night.” He handed it to me, traces of the soil on his fingertips streaking across the paper.

“What’s this?” I looked at him curiously and he gifted me a rare smile, then, shockingly, a pat on the shoulder.

“Open it in your room. I will clean up here.” He stooped to pick up his pruning shears, then shooed me away.

The party was a blur. I barely spoke to anyone, too preoccupied running through the message over and over. After reading it so many times I had it memorized:

You have been granted the honor of attending a private event celebrating the birth of Papa V Perpetua.

This privilege has been extended only to a select few; your discretion is required.

You are expected in the basilica at midnight.

As I restlessly played with the envelope in my pocket, I watched Papa.

He charmed everyone in the room as though it were nothing, the laughter that surrounded him evidencing a wit as sharp as his smile. Not to mention the fawning way people looked at him as he walked away: admired and desired in equal measure. I didn’t understand it.

He seemed handsome, but with half his face always covered it was impossible to say. He was slender and lean with a swaying grace to his movements, assured and feline-confident, but something about his body and mannerisms didn’t sit right with me. He moved a little too smoothly through the world, and wherever that pale eye settled, I was certain it saw too much.

Did no one else see it? Did no one else notice that he just...wasn’t right? Papa —my Papa— had been beautifully, vulnerably mortal, never seeming different or apart from his adoring flock but for his position. I didn’t need to hear stories of his empathy, his warmth, how grounded he was; his kindness and humanity were plain to see upon meeting him.

Nobody spoke of Papa Perpetua that way. He was respected, he was revered, and he was wanted —almost fanatically so— but I never heard of him being loving. To the contrary, he was frequently described as aloof and solitary, a contemplative and quiet man when not in front of a crowd. His cool demeanor had still enchanted so many, though; a distant and detached man will always attract attention if he’s powerful or handsome enough.

A sudden collision and the shock of a cold drink spilling over most of my habit jolted me from my observations. An unfamiliar bishop slurred, "Sorry," and clumsily attempted to pat my arm —as though that would dry me off— nearly spilling the rest of his drink on me in the process. I reeled back, less from his touch than the fact that he smelled as though he’d switched his bathwater out for cologne. I couldn’t help pulling a face, nor reflexively waving my hand in front of my nose. He frowned at me and whirled around, tottering precariously into the crowd without another word.

The bishop saw Papa across the room and changed course toward him, and as I watched I saw Papa sniffing the air. The displeasure on his face matched mine as he realized the aromatic drunkard was making a beeline for him. Papa said something to the people around him and ducked into the crowd, out of sight within moments.

The wine had soaked through my sleeve, but thankfully I had plenty of time to go back to my room and change. More than a few of my siblings were wandering the halls, hungry hands and mouths seeking each other out in the shadowed pockets of the Ministry, paying me no mind as I scurried past.

I removed my soiled habit and was about to pull on a clean one when I smelled the wine on my shoulder. Papa seemed to have a good sense of smell; even if I found him discomfiting, I didn’t want to smell like a brewery at a private party especially for him.

I started washing my arm off in the small sink as I ran through what I’d seen. He didn’t just have a sensitive nose. His focus had snapped onto that bishop from nearly thirty feet away. And not because the man was drunk, either; the disgusted crinkle of his nose told that loud and clear. The man’s cologne had been strong, sure, but to notice it from that far away…

It was odd, but it was also 11:40. I could think about it later.

There were already a dozen people waiting in the basilica when I arrived. No one I knew personally, though I knew some of their faces: an elder sibling who oversaw the Sisters of Relief, the more medically-minded students, another I knew to be applying their talents to restoring artworks in the archive, a sister whose singing voice was prized in the choir.

All esteemed, all respected, and all senior to me in age, position, and deeds. I studied them all carefully, trying to figure out why I’d been included, when I saw someone else I recognized. I didn’t know his name, but he was the assistant to former Papa Secondo and that was, as far as I knew, his only notable distinction.

I must have been invited because Primo liked me, that was all. While it didn’t feel great to know I was here simply because someone with some sway was fond of me, I had joined the Ministry only a year ago and already had a former Papa thinking well of me. Earning the favor of someone as infamously cantankerous as Primo was an accomplishment of a sort.

“Everyone gather around, please.” An elder Sister and Cardinal stood in front of the altar, beckoning us all closer. “Papa Perpetua will be here momentarily.” She had barely finished her sentence when the bell tower tolled midnight. Before the twelfth chime rang out, the basilica doors opened and Papa entered, flanked by two Ghouls.

“Welcome, Papa,” the Sister and Cardinal said in unison, then gestured for us to repeat it. The chorus of faithful greetings brought a slight smile to Papa’s face as he approached the altar.

He had changed from his formal cassock into much more casual attire: jeans and a loose button-up shirt, both black as night. He stuck his hands into his pockets as he strolled toward us.

“I’ve been informed by my Ghouls that my birthday party isn’t quite over yet,” he said, his tone light and breezy even as his canny eyes scanned the room.

“We’ve arranged a little surprise for you, Papa,” the Sister smiled, then turned to face us again. “We’ve invited some very special members of the Congregation here tonight: our most talented, most dedicated, most devout...to have some well-deserved fun.”

Oh no.

My heart started to race, thumping hard when Papa Perpetua’s face split into a sly grin.

Despite being at the Ministry for a year, I hadn’t...indulged in quite so many things as my siblings eagerly did. A lifetime in a strict Catholic household was a hurdle I hadn’t quite been able to jump yet —I had devoted my new life to sin, sure, but that didn’t mean I was ready for an orgy.

I was already running through a litany of excuses when she clarified:

“You’re all going to play a game with Papa.” 

A game? Papa looked curious too. “A Ministy-wide game of hide and seek,” she grinned, and this time his face lit up in a way that made me shiver.

“Now, listen up,” the Cardinal raised his hands to quiet the amused murmurs that filled the room, “Ground rules: You pick a spot and you stay there! No moving around or actively avoiding Papa. The dormitories and certain maintenance areas are off-limits, and there are Ghouls posted around the grounds to mark other off-limits areas.”

A Ghoul was walking around with a small wooden box, offering it to each of the attendees.

“Everyone is to take a token. If Papa finds you, you bring that token back to the basilica so we can keep track of how many players are left, understand?”

The Ghoul held out the box to me, and I pulled out something like an ornate poker chip, metal and surprisingly heavy for its size.

“Last person found is the winner,” said the Sister, and someone in the group asked what they would win.

“The winner gets to request something from Papa, of course. Either a personal audience, or, you know, dinner or something,” she laughed. “Papa will do his best to fulfill this request. Right, Papa?"

The cunning smile that had been creeping across his face reached his eyes when he said, "Of course."

“Now," she continued, "aside from the off-limits areas the Cardinal mentioned, the entirety of the Ministry grounds are fair game. You’ll all be given a ten-minute headstart, and then-” she grinned, wriggling her fingers in a spooky threat and dropping her voice low, “Papa’s on the prowl for hidden siblings.”

The Cardinal clapped his hands together, and pleasantly said, “Everyone ready?”

Another wave of murmurs arose, but all I could focus on was Papa Perpetua. He looked...excited. And very pleased, but not like he was appreciating a kind gesture from his devoted followers. More like a cat who’s spied a particularly fat and unsuspecting mouse.

“Ready...set...go!”

Most people dashed away immediately, shrieks of laughter echoing as they fled into the building. I stood frozen for a moment, then felt Papa Perpetua’s gaze settle on me. I met his eyes, he smiled, and then I turned and ran.

I jogged down dim, empty hallways, faintly hearing the echoing footfalls of my competitors, trying to think of where in this huge building I could hide. Would it be better to go outside? Ten minutes sounded like a lot of time, but the estate was multiple acres. And it was cold out, except for-

The greenhouse. I careened around a corner and redirected myself. I didn’t know how much time had passed already, but I was pretty sure I could make it within the time limit. And since most of the other hiders had run deeper into the building, I reasoned that Papa would probably follow them first. When I opened the door to the outside the night air was like a slap against my hot, sweaty face, but the greenhouse was in sight.

In the distance, so faint it could barely be heard over my pounding heart, I heard,

“Ready or not, here I come!”

“Shit!” I yelped, then slapped a hand over my mouth, as much an old reflex against obscenity as it was to keep quiet. I dashed to the greenhouse, sighing with relief upon finding it unlocked.

Much of the day’s heat had faded, but it was still preferable to being outside. I shut the door behind me and considered my options. The small potting shed was an obvious choice, but maybe too obvious, and there wasn’t much in there to really conceal me. There was a large stack of bags of soil next to the shed, though, and they happened to be arranged well enough that I could potentially hide.

I crept toward one of the walls and took a good look outside. The half-moon and small lampposts marking the paths around the grounds gave decent visibility, but aside from some bare trees swaying in the wind I saw no movement. I started moving the bags of soil around a little, just to make myself a more comfortable hiding spot, occasionally peering outside to make sure I was alone. I sat down on a soft, cool sack of dirt, tucked my knees to my chest, and waited.

Alone in the quiet dark, I finally thought to wonder why I was taking this seriously.

A request of Papa Perpetua? Did I even want to win? Objectively, I knew it was a good prize, and an enviable one, but just the thought of being close enough to converse with him gave me the creeps. What would I even ask of him? A vacation? To be initiated past my current novice status?

I bowed my head to my knees and shut my eyes against a sudden flood of tears, summoned by the bitter realization that there was something I wanted. Something impossible: I wanted his brother to be Papa again.

Even a year later it was still so vivid in my memory: the sunlight streaming through the stained glass surrounding us as Papa Emeritus IV had so gently taken my hand, helping me kneel before him. I still remembered the smooth leather of his glove, cradling my cheek and asking if I was willing to dedicate myself, to devote myself to the inversion of my entire previous life. I was one of a dozen new devotees that day, but when he smiled at me it was as though the entire rest of the world disappeared. He was looking at me only. He held my face, and he held me. He anointed me, marking an upside-down cross onto my forehead with a fragrant oil, and I felt like I mattered for the first time in my life.

My existence had been so empty, and when he helped me to my feet it was in a world now blooming with color and music. When I looked into his eyes, I would have walked through a house on fire if it pleased him. Those eyes held untold depths of kindness and understanding.

At least...they did.

Before him.

Papa Emeritus IV had been the sun, but he was Frater Imperator now, and Frater Imperator was shrouded by a darkness as total as an underground cave, as hollow as my heart when I looked at him now. In the brief time I’d known him as Papa, he had a smile for me every time we passed in the halls. He greeted me by name —he remembered my name. Frater Imperator smiled at no one, and his eyes never stayed on anyone long enough to bother remembering them.

Within a week of that moment, feeling seen for the first time, he was gone. The reign of Papa Perpetua had begun.

I tried. I had pledged to devote myself to this community, hadn’t I? When I still called myself Catholic I’d lived through three Popes and embraced them all in turn. Why would a new Papa be any different?

When Papa Perpetua had first entered the basilica and stood before us I felt a tiny bit of hope. He looked frightening, sure, resembling his brother nowhere but for his eyes, but he exuded confidence and composure. He seemed bright and quick and energetic; much younger, somehow, than his twin.

Then he spoke. Papa Emeritus’ voice was heavily accented, lending him an unusual, charming cadence, pleasing to the ear. Perpetua, on the other hand, had evidently been raised in America. And he sounded like it. His rough voice sounded like every man I’d ever heard at a pulpit growing up.

I still sat through his Black Masses every week, but purely out of duty. My new faith only survived by way of the other former Papas and their sporadic weekday services. That was how Primo had first noticed me.

A distant noise grabbed my attention and stopped my crying. I craned my neck to look for the source, wiping my nose and sniffling as quietly as I could. There, toward the Ministry building: a movement. It was him. Walking across the grass, the arms that were too long for my liking swinging casually by his sides, just barely visible in the dark. The faint moonlight reflected off his strange mask as he scanned the grounds, the skeletal contours completely shadowing his eyes. He slowed to a halt and raised his face to the sky. Even from this distance I could tell he was sniffing the air.

I swallowed back a sudden lump of fear. Seeing him like this: outside, at night, completely comfortable despite his clothing offering no protection from the cold —not even wearing his usual gloves— was profoundly unsettling.

He started walking toward the greenhouse. I curled up tighter, wanting to just call it quits and go to bed; unable to articulate why being found didn’t feel like a good idea.

A gust of cold air announced the door opening. I heard his shoes scrape across the floor, then…

“Ugh.”

I peered at him through a gap between the bags of soil. His nose was crinkled in disgust again. He took a few more steps in, then turned and left, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Daring to peek through another gap while trying to keep my shaking breaths quiet, almost certain my heart was pounding so loudly he’d be able to hear it; I saw him walking past, behind the greenhouse and, presumably, further into the grounds. I heard the faint sound of some twigs snapping, moving further away, then silence.

The sudden loss of adrenaline left me limp and shivering as my muscles finally released. I’d been holding myself so rigidly and so taut that I’d nearly drawn blood from my palm, and I shook my hands to bring the feeling back. Even with how strange and off-putting I found Papa Perpetua, I couldn’t understand why he’d sent me into such an unbelievable panic. It was as though him finding me would be more like being caught, and just the thought of his long, thin hands nearing me dropped a core of dread into my guts, hard and cold as a stone.

But he didn’t like the greenhouse.

I’d been sitting in it for so long that I’d forgotten; even with their blooms closed for the night, the perfume of the Stargazer lilies hung heavy in the air. Papa’s delicate nose was no match for them.

A smile crept across my face. Maybe my one wish couldn’t be granted, but maybe he wouldn’t find me at all. Maybe I could have one tiny victory over Papa Perpetua, if only in a stupid game for children. Maybe Frater Imperator would hear about it, and he would hear my name. Maybe he would remember me again.

I was dozing off when a man’s scream jolted me awake. I snapped to full alert, scanning the portions of the windows I could see through. Another scream, back behind the greenhouse; distinctly tainted with fear.

“No, no, no!” Maybe 20 feet away and getting closer. I heard a loud thud, then a husky laugh. 

“Papa, please! Ple-”

The man’s voice cut off suddenly, replaced with a wet gurgle. A strangled, gasping groan, another thud, and then a long, raspy, satisfied sigh. I could just hear Papa, muttering over the sound of something dragging along the ground.

“Ghoul!”

I jumped at the shout, so loud it could have been right next to my hiding spot. A metallic mask was coming toward the greenhouse, just catching the moonlight.

“Another one for the clinic,” I heard him laugh, “That’s the last of them, though.” I didn’t hear the Ghoul respond, only Papa Perpetua speaking again. “You said there was one more left! That’s him!” Another pause, then a growl, “Fucking useless. Fine.” The Ghoul passed the window again, carrying a limp body over their shoulder.

I couldn’t see who it was. I only saw the blood smeared across Papa Perpetua’s mouth.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, then froze as he slowed for a moment, turning his head as if he’d heard it, his neck angled just unnaturally enough that it made me shudder. He kept walking, though, accompanying the Ghoul back to the main building.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered, “Oh, bad. This is...this is bad.”

It had been ridiculous to think Papa wasn’t entirely human. I had thought it more than once, but chided myself back to reality each time. But his just-barely-too-long limbs and just-slightly-too-sharp teeth, his unusually-keen perception and eerie, unsettling way of moving through and looking at the world...he had never been quite right, and now I knew why.

Even if I could make it back to the dorms in one piece, would I be safe there? How many of those esteemed devotees had been taken to the medical clinic while our Papa grinned with their blood in his mouth? What if all the Ghouls were part of this? Was it even possible to return to the dorms, or would they turn me over to Papa if I tried?

I was the last one, though. Maybe I would just win. Maybe if I made it to the basilica, where the Sister and Cardinal were supposed to be waiting, I would be fine. There would be witnesses.

Except...they had to know.

Why else would they arrange something like this in the first place? They would know about the others who were taken for medical care.

They knew. And they still did this. Primo invited me to this.

So much for the favor of a former Papa, a man I’d begun to tentatively think of as a friend. I fished around in my pocket for my little notepad and started writing as legibly as I could in the dark.

Papa-

I don’t know what I did to displease you, but I will be asking to be moved elsewhere when I can. If I live through tonight…

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t quite prevent the rest of my resignation letter from being a little ingratiating, but eventually I tore out the pages and quietly emerged from my hiding spot to put my note in the potting shed, where he’d be sure to see it. Even now, thinking back to his hesitation to extend the invitation, almost certain he’d known about Papa Perpetua, I felt an inkling of affection for the old man. I’d grown fond of him, even if he apparently felt differently.

I took one of his small trowels from its hook on the wall and weighed down the note with it, both to keep it in place and because I knew a tool out of place would immediately get his attention. I moved to return to my hiding spot and froze.

Clouds had covered the moon, and a dark silhouette was approaching.

A burst of adrenaline propelled me back to my little nook, and I curled myself into a tight ball just as he entered. When the door shut this time, however, he stayed inside. In my haste to conceal myself I’d laid down facing the wrong way; all I could fix my panicked eyes on was the side of the shed as I tried to make out his quiet footsteps over the blood roaring in my ears.

“You’re a clever thing, aren’t you?”

If I hadn’t been so rigid with fear I might not have been able to stay still. He was near, but still looking. Circling.

“Everyone else just hid in closets and cupboards,” moving further away, occasionally sniffing, “but- well, one of you hid up a tree. But he got stuck and the Ghouls had to get him down. No fun for me.”

Circling closer again: “No one else thought to camouflage themselves. No one else knew they could.” The sounds were slightly muffled now. He was in the shed. “No one but you. I would say it was dumb luck, but Primo did say you were bright.” My heart thudded painfully at the confirmation of his betrayal, and then I heard the rustle of paper.

“’Did you know about Papa Perpetua?’” he read with a laugh, “Oh, sweetheart. They all know at least some of it. And I don’t think any transfer requests will be approved, either.” When he ripped up the paper I pulled my pen, the closest thing I had to a weapon, from my pocket and held it against my chest with a white-knuckle grip. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath as his sniffs and footsteps circled the shed.

Fingers slowly tapped into place, one by one, on the bags behind me.

My thin whimper earned a soft laugh, and when he touched my shoulder my flinch got another.

“Found you.”

A strong hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me to my feet. I fell back against the shed and cried out at the impact, turning my face away from him and simply waiting for whatever dreadful thing he had planned to begin.

“What’s the matter?” The concern in his voice sounded almost genuine, but he couldn’t help a little waver of laughter on the last syllable, “You won, didn’t you?” His palm landed heavily against the wall next to my head. “You get to ask anything you want of your Papa.”

Not mine, I thought as I fought back tears, you never will be. He was going to lift me from the baptismal waters, reborn and finally belonging, and you-

“Surely there’s something you want,” he drew closer, his other hand now on the wall, caging me.

you would only drown me.

“Please don’t kill me,” I whispered.

He sucked his teeth disapprovingly. “Waste of a wish.” In the corner of my eye I saw his head tilt curiously as he asked, “What’s that you’ve got there?” He touched my hand, still holding the pen in a death grip, and tried to pull it closer. His hand bumped against me and I felt something shake loose from my pocket. The metal token fell heavily to the patch of concrete under our feet, and his attention snapped to it. Without thinking, my hand flew toward him and plunged the pen deep into his neck.

He let out a horrible wet sound as something dark spurted from his mouth. Even in the dim light I saw his eyes blinking rapidly, and the pale one locked on me as he pulled my weapon from his neck. He coughed up another dark spatter, then loudly grated his throat clear.

“Good-” he rasped, rubbing at the open wound now trickling more of that inky fluid, “good one.”

For some reason, I stammered, “I-I’m sorry,” and he let out a thick, wet laugh.

“Didn’t think you had that in you.” He leaned closer, “Still so meek you apologize for it, though.” The pen dropped to the floor with a dull metallic clink. He lifted something in a handkerchief to his nose and inhaled deeply, then spat black off to the side and wiped his mouth before looking me in the eye again.

“It’s just a game, dolce,” he said, “It’s an honor to be invited, remember? No need to risk your place here by attacking your Papa.”

I looked at the dark smear at the side of his mouth and asked the only thing I could think of:

“What are you?”

A cold smile spread across his face. 

“Something you’re better off not knowing about.” 

A disgusting, muffled symphony of bones and joints came from within, a tune sung by no human skeleton as he stood straighter, slowly squaring his shoulders back and standing tall. His arms dropped a little lower, his legs stretched longer, and he stood more than a few inches higher than before. I saw his limbs retract slightly, closer to normal human proportions but not quite there. When he spoke again his voice was almost the same, but lower and rougher.

“So, dolcezza," he said, "tell me: what is it you want?” I looked up at him, into the eerie, still-human eyes, and gathered my wavering courage as best I could.

Somehow, staring into the face of unreality, I managed to say, “I...want Frater to be Papa again.” There was a beat of silence.

“Can’t be done,” he said, flatly.

“But-”

“We serve higher powers here, child. Certain things can never be undone. Even if I wanted to grant your request, I couldn’t.”

I looked down at the ground, eyes blurred with tears, and hugged myself tightly.

“What else you got?” he asked. When I simply shook my head he touched an off-putting hand to my shoulder, “Come now, the winner must have a prize.”

“That’s the only thing I want,” I whispered.

“Dream a little smaller.”

“Just…” I wiped my eyes, then blurted out, “can’t you just be kind to him?”

“Eh?”

“He’s your brother, and he’s miserable.”

He sighed. “Satanas, but you are devoted to that dope.”

I kept myself from yelling “He’s not a dope!” and stared into those cold eyes as stubbornly as I could manage.

“If I were to do that, what would you offer me?”

“What? What about my req-”

“You already used that, dolce. You asked me not to kill you.”

“And you said it was a waste of...why are you asking me then?”

He shrugged. “Curious. So what would I get in return for being nice to the old man?” Old man?

“You’re twins.”

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, “we are indeed brothers. ‘Twins,’ though…” A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, “Not precisely.” He stepped closer to me, making me back fully against the wall, and plowed past the myriad questions summoned by that answer. “So you want me to be nice to him?”

“Not nice. Kind.” I said, hesitating before I added, “And...not just that.”

He sighed and sniffed at his little bundle again, “What else?”

I hesitated again, embarrassed to have him hear it, but needing him to.

“Can...just- tell him about me- about this, I mean. Not me. Just...let him know someone still cares about him. And...thinks of him.”

“How sweet,” he laughed. “That’s two extra wishes, then. What can you offer that’s of any worth?”

I had nothing. Nothing but…my brows knit together as I weighed the trade.

It could tip almost any scale, the love I bore for the man Frater Imperator used to be. And this one toppled over almost immediately.

After a moment, I quietly said, “I can offer you something no one else has ever had.”

“Oh?” he sounded amused, “And what’s that?” I bit my lip and looked away, trying to hide the flush that immediately crossed my face. He cocked his head curiously to the side, then I saw the realization dawn in his eyes, followed by a wicked delight.

“Oh?” He stepped closer. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Not once?”

Another nod.

“Primo told me you’ve been here for a whole year, and you never…?” he trailed off as he ran a cold finger down the side of my neck. I shivered and shook my head.

His voice dropped lower, “Are you lying to me, dolcezza?”

“No!” I said, “I’m not a liar.”

“Nothing?” he pressed, “No one’s ever gotten inside you, not a drunken prom date or-”

“I wasn’t allowed to go to prom,” I hotly said, blushing and furious at this interrogation. He laughed softly and moved closer still.

“Tell me,” the finger on my neck went to my chin, turning me to face him, “has anyone else even touched you?” I shook my head, avoiding his eyes, desperately unhappy that already his hands had been on me more than anyone else.

“A kiss?”

“No.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he laughed, “have you even hugged someone you weren’t related to?”

“I’ve hugged people,” I snapped defensively. He smirked.

“Whore.”

“If you’re just- if you’re just going to be an asshole about it, then-”

“Now, now,” he chuckled, “just having a little fun with you, dolce.” I blinked back furious tears as he leaned toward me.

“You will offer yourself, all of that, to me? Just to be kind to my brother?”

I’d already given his brother my soul to carry; what was my body compared to the burdens weighing him down? How could I not help him?

I nodded.

“Speak it, child.”

“Yes,” I whispered, “I offer myself.”

“I accept." He immediately pressed himself against me, pushing me firmly against the wall and his lips against my neck, smearing hot kisses against my skin.

“Tell me, dolcezza,” he murmured, “have you even touched yourself before?”

I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut. “Only a few times.” Only for the sake of trying to sin had I done it, still too ashamed of pleasure for its own sake.

“Only since joining us?”

“Y-yes…”

He chuckled softly, and his lips brushed my ear as he asked, “Have you ever made yourself cum?” I flushed and looked away.

“That a no?”

I bit my lip and nodded, face burning.

He was practically purring when he tugged at the collar of my habit. “And after a whole year here, too. You must be-” he paused, then grinned. He grasped my chin and looked intently into my eyes.

“You were saving yourself for him, weren’t you?”

I looked away with a whimper, wishing I could sink into the earth and disappear. He laughed at me again, then, to my horror, his voice changed.

“Would you imagine being on your knees in front of me, tesoro? Making Papa so happy and proud?”

Tears spilled from my eyes hearing it. A perfect imitation of his brother, every syllable draped in his accent and mannerisms.

“Don’t-” I whispered.

“You stroke that pretty cunt at night and think about me using every sweet hole you offer up to your beloved Papa, hmm?”

“S-stop,” my voice had no hope of keeping steady. Papa wouldn’t talk like that, he wasn’t like that at all, he-

“Oh, cara mia,” even his laugh was a perfect replica, “if you only knew how many stupid little things like you had the innocence rough-fucked out of them by dear old Cardi.”

“Stop,” I pleaded, “Why are you doing this?”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, back to his normal voice, “I’ll just be me, then.” He brought his lips back to my neck, hot breath fanning over my skin as he tasted me. “If you come back for more in the future, you can ask for it, though. I won’t tell him,” he murmured, “Though I’m sure he’d be happy to know someone still thinks about him at all. If I tell him a sweet little virgin sister was pining after him, he might even think of you when he jerks off. Would you like that?”

“Please…” I whispered, “I just...can we just do this?”

“Well, if you’re so eager...” he nuzzled at my jaw, the cold metal mask pressing against my cheek and making me shudder. A finger ran up my neck, dragging a sharp nail across my skin, then tilted my chin up to face him. Our noses were almost touching as he fixed his eyes on mine, letting out an excited, shivering breath carrying the faint scent of blood.

Half-lidded eyes locked on me, and then his lips parted to slowly meet mine. Surprisingly soft and surprisingly gentle for a first kiss from a monster. What had been faint on his breath was obvious on his tongue, and the question of whose blood I may be tasting made me shudder. My first kiss was brief, thankfully, and that sharp finger keeping my mouth angled for his momentarily caressed my skin before he gripped my chin and pulled away. He stretched back up to his full height, the one I’d never seen before tonight, then swiftly scooped me up in his arms. I squeaked with surprise and tried to squirm out of his grip, but his hands wouldn’t budge.

“You’re too short,” he grunted, as he carried me across the greenhouse, “I’m not going to keep bending over.” He stopped and looked around, scanning the interior before muttering something. He started heading toward the door.

“Where are you-”

“You want to fuck on a radish bed or a normal one?” he interrupted. The temperature outside had dropped dramatically, and he chuckled when I reflexively curled my body against his. The wind whipped at the loose sleeves and collar of his shirt but he seemed unbothered, striding confidently back to the Ministry. I was already shivering as we neared the doors, but he carried me past the entrance, around the side of the building. I clung helplessly to him in mute panic as he started walking toward some bushes.

I had just about summoned the will to protest losing my virginity in a shrub when he broke into a sprint.

“What-”

We were in the air. There was a brief hanging moment before my stomach felt like it would crawl out of my throat, and then a jolt of impact.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” I whimpered, panic stifling the self-censorship that usually kept that kind of language inaccessible to me.

He was scaling the side of the building like it was nothing. With an arm still wrapped around me he was leaping and clawing his way up, one-handed. I heard a breathy laugh when I pressed my face into his chest, only capable of a weak, terrified keening.

He finally stilled, balancing in a one-legged crouch on a windowsill. After a few moments of scratching at something, the window opened and he carried me through to a dark bedroom. He set me down and I immediately reached for a wall, dizzy and so anxious I could barely stand.

“Careful, there,” he said, and one of his long, strange hands slipped around my waist to keep me on my feet. With his free hand he shut the window, then turned back to me and grinned, “Don’t want you to get hurt, dolce.” The horrible wet cracking sound emerged from his body again, making his words come out crooked. I stood frozen, dumbstruck as I found out he had not been at his full height before. And I had overestimated how much of him might be human. 

He loomed over me now, limbs and features an uncanny representation of a person. His face still looked the same, mostly, but there was a wrongness to it. His jaw seemed sharper, his smile more so, and his body had given up the facade of what would fall under “normal” human proportions. A person if you squinted; something just to the left of a real man.

I couldn’t tell if he was unable to stand up straight now or if he was leaning over simply to intimidate me, but when he reached a thin hand out I backed away, feeling not even a little stable or steady on my feet, yet totally unwilling to share solid ground with him. He slowly stepped closer, smirking at my retreat, moving me further into the room until the back of my legs hit the bed and I awkwardly fell back to sitting.

His leg went between my knees as he stood before me, running a hand through my hair and along my jaw, making me look up at his mocking, angular face.

 He held my gaze for a long moment, then flicked his eyes further back on the bed and nodded for me to move. Once my legs were on the bed he advanced, observing me with a predator’s intensity. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do, so I knelt on the other side of the bed and just tried not to shrink away.

A long finger hooked into the collar of my habit and tugged me forward, up onto my knees and into a loose embrace. His hands moved from my shoulders down my arms, then pulled me against him, bringing our faces to almost touch. He stared down at me, almost contemptuously, and I whimpered softly when his hands circled my waist, one palm flat against my lower back as the other started undoing buttons. He had settled back on his heels enough that we were at eye level, so I clearly saw when the corner of his mouth twitched, as if to smile.

“I have things that need unbuttoning too, dolcezza.”

“Right,” I nodded, numbly working to open his shirt, grateful to look at something that wasn’t his unnatural face. He bowed his head to the crook of my neck, the cold radiating from the metal mask raising a wave of goosebumps as his low voice reminded me, “You are offering yourself, not simply being taken. That means you participate.”

When I nodded again the hand undoing my habit grabbed my hair and pulled me back to look him in the eye again.

“That’s not how you address me.”

“Y-yes...Papa.”

His hand returned to my back, pushing away the fabric to expose a patch of skin to the cool air. I’d finished unbuttoning his shirt and moved my hands away, hesitant to touch someone else’s skin —a man’s skin, sort of— and he pulled me closer, pushing my palms into the hair on his chest, and then his face was buried in my neck again.

With a deep inhalation, he sighed, “You were in there so long that you picked up their scent. You smell like a spring garden, dolce.” I felt his tongue slipping against my skin, then across my face to kiss me. He pushed into my mouth, working a hand into my hair to keep our lips together, and I kept my eyes squeezed shut and tried to reciprocate, feeling foolish and ignoring the warmth spreading through my chest. Cold as his mask and demeanor were, his hands were warm and his mouth was certain.

He pulled away, flicking his tongue across his lips. “I believe you,” he said, a mocking smile crossing his face, “That you’ve never kissed anyone.” When I flushed with embarrassment he laughed, “Didn’t know they still made ‘em like you nowadays.”

“Like me?” I wavered.

“Good Catholic girls. Plenty come to us still sweet and innocent, but they never last. And most of the time they’re not as innocent as they look.”

“I’m not innocent,” I protested.

“No?” his hand slid over my breast and gave me a squeeze, and he laughed when I looked away with a whimper. “It’s not an insult, dolce. It’s...cute. You know, normally I would just pull that skirt up and bend you over, fuck you until you can’t do anything but scream for more,” he said, smirking at the heat that instantly bloomed on my cheeks, “but you...you, I am going to savor.” His tongue was in my mouth again, just for a moment, before he pulled back to add, “I’m still going to, of course. Fuck you until you scream.” When I whimpered again his lips were already smiling against mine. I suppressed a squeak when his knuckles closed around my nipple, tugging through my clothes before spreading his fingers out to knead the soft flesh.

“So, sweetness,” he pulled hard at my nipple again, smiling at the tiny sound that escaped me, “have you ever seen a cock before?”

“I’m not a child,” I said, hotly, “I know what...what they look like.”

He tilted his head to catch my eye. “Can you even say ‘cock?’”

With my face burning, I muttered, “I can say anything I want.”

“Ah, but can you say what I want?” once again his sharp finger was under my chin, keeping our eyes level. “Your mouth is one of the things you’ve offered to me, dolcezza. You’re going to use it to say, “I want your cock, Papa.’”

“I-I…”

His face was insufferably smug upon hearing me falter. “Say it,” he grinned, “Just say ‘cock.’ Hell, say ‘cunt,’ or ‘pussy.’ Anything. ‘Balls,’ even. I’m going to make you say them all tonight, so you might as well get used to them. So come on,” he leaned in, theatrically cupping his ear, “One naughty word for Papa.”

“...C-cock,” I choked out.

“Again,” he sighed happily.

“...Cock.”

“And what do you want?”

“I…” I swallowed back an anxious lump, “I want your...cock. Papa.”

He pulled us tightly together, looking gleefully down at me. “Again.”

“I...want your...cock, Papa.”

His lips returned to my neck, “Keep saying it,” and he started unbuttoning the rest of my habit.

I squeezed my eyes shut and just tried to keep my voice steady, trying to focus on anything but the shameful, discomfiting sensations radiating from between my legs. “I want your cock, Papa.”

“Say it until you mean it.”

I kept repeating it, so distracted by the effort that he successfully drew more and more tiny whimpers from me with his hands and mouth.

Eventually, he nipped at my earlobe and said, “Well done. Now say, ‘I need my mouth and ass and pussy stuffed with my Papa’s thick cock until every fuckhole is overflowing with hot cum.” When I gasped and tried to pull away he cackled and held me tight.

“Just try it,” he laughed giddily, “Just once,” then his arm jerked and fabric ripped. I cried out in surprise and he tugged again, and then my habit was slipping off my arms and past my hips, pooling on the bed around my knees. When I instinctively tried to cover myself he laughed again and pushed my hands away.

“I’m going to see it all anyway,” his mouth was on my shoulder, soft indentations of his teeth left as he explored. I barely felt him unclasp my bra, and when he tossed it to the side I couldn’t help trying to hide myself again. My hands were moved away with a smirk as he cupped my breasts and rubbed his thumbs over my nipples. It seemed to please him, that they hardened immediately, and that I blushed and looked away.

He rocked backward and pulled me along with him, my habit abandoned on the bed behind me as he settled into a seated position with me straddling his lap. He whipped off his shirt in a flash, then pushed me down against him until he was fully between my legs, with no space between our bodies.

“Feel that?” he grinned.

“Feel what?”

He moved his hips, nudging me. Poking me with something hard. His hand was on my chin before I could look away.

“Say it again, dolcezza,” he said sweetly.

I swallowed hard, caught between the shame of profanity and the growing need building in his presence. “I want your cock, P-papa…”

He breathed out a laugh and took my hand, guiding me along its length. Even through his pants I felt it move. He leaned back, resting on his hands, and nodded for me to continue. As he watched me he somehow seemed both bored and incredibly amused, just smiling slightly as I clumsily rubbed my hand against him. It was straining against the thick black denim, the heat and hardness oddly thrilling. When it twitched against my palm my heart pounded, and in spite of my overwhelming anxiety a part of me was more than curious about it. Maybe more than excited, even.

“You’re going to have to touch it sooner or later,” he idly said, “and the longer you wait, the less time you’ll have to get used to it.” He pointedly pulled one of the laces free from his pants, undoing a knot that had seemingly been waiting to burst.

“...Yes, Papa,” I whispered. I loosened the rest of them and then hovered my hands nearby, uncertain what to do next. He grinned and wriggled underneath me to pull his pants off. I was doing my best to look elsewhere but could see he wasn’t wearing underwear. He took my hand and wrapped it around it, guiding me up and down the length, while his other hand went around the back of my neck and pulled me close.

“Look at it.”

I hadn’t lied when he asked if I’d seen one before, though my experience was...sparse. At summer camp, a boy had gotten his swim trunks pulled down in front of me and a group of girls, and at one Thanksgiving dinner with a distant branch of the family, my great-uncle’s dementia led him to wander naked into the kitchen before he was hurried out of the room by his wife. I’d been to museums, though my parents had tried their best to shield my delicate eyes from any nude artworks. But the only time I’d seen what could really described as a cock was when I was in high school and happened to see a dirty magazine someone had thrown near a dumpster. I’d only seen one page before I nervously scurried away, but never entirely forgot the sight of it.

Papa Perpetua’s...seemed different. It felt so big in my hands, swollen hard and hot, thick and heavy, and when the sheath of skin wrapped around it pulled back, it looked almost grotesque. There was more than veins running over it - bumps and textures and strange ridges were everywhere. It was darker than the rest of his body, too. Much darker.

“All of that’s going inside you, dolce,” he smiled.

I quietly asked, “All of it?” and he snickered.

“You’re going to love it,” he squeezed his hand a little tighter around mine, “Grip it harder. You want to make your Papa feel good, don’t you?”

“Yes, Papa.” When I obeyed, his breath hitched for a moment and then I felt his fingers drifting to my hip. His hands smoothly moved back, grabbing my butt and squeezing hard before a finger hooked into the elastic of my underwear. I started to tremble as his finger followed it inward, tickling through the hair before tugging the waistband down enough to let him slip his hand against me. He breathed a laugh when I whimpered, flexing in my hand.

“So hot down here already,” he worked his hand further into my underwear, just stroking the sensitive skin with a smug grin that only widened when my hips twitched toward him. His middle finger slid through me a moment later, spreading the slick I’d been denying. What I couldn’t deny was how easily his finger slipped inside me, no more than I could keep myself from crying out and leaning into him.

“Nice and wet for your Papa,” he purred, mouthing along my shoulder and neck, “Does that feel good, dolcezza?” I whimpered in response and he pushed in harder, deeper. “Speak.”

“I-it f-feels good, Papa,” I stammered, and he hummed approvingly before he started moving in and out more rhythmically. He pressed another finger inside, chuckling at the moan that escaped me.

“You ever tasted your pussy, dolce?”

“What?” Tasted it? He pulled his fingers out of me and slid them between my lips.

I liked the taste of his skin, and I liked the taste of me on his skin. I moaned around his fingers and felt more of that heat radiate out. He pulled his fingers from my mouth and replaced them with his lips, chasing a secondhand trace of me with his tongue. His hand patted mine, making me aware that I’d stopped stroking him, and then a moment later his arms jerked. Fabric ripped again, and the remains of my underwear were tossed aside.

His fingers pushed inside again, working in and out before he asked, “Did you take the Ministry’s sex ed course?”

“Y-yes, Papa…” He pumped his fingers a few times before sliding out, following the course of my folds.

“So you know what this is?” he smoothly stroked the nub that I’d been taught was the only part of the human body made solely for pleasure. He laughed when I cried out and clutched at his chest, curling into him.

I’d touched it a few times, but the skill needed for that particular act of devotion was one I still needed to practice. He seemed to know my body already, smirking as he made my whole being tremble with each languid motion. He was still twitching in my hand, still hard and wanting, but I was incapable of anything but crying against his shoulder as my hips rocked desperately in search of every ounce of feeling.

It was building inside me – the heat and electricity and waves of pleasure I’d heard about, and when my cries were almost one continuous note Papa grabbed my face, thumb digging into my cheek and fingers twisted into my hair, mismatched eyes intently locked on mine as I followed his guiding hand into a new world.

I faintly felt his lips on me, murmuring something into my skin, impossible to hear over the pounding of my heart. His hands were running over my body as I gasped for breath, slowly bringing me back to the world. His voice faded back in.

“...Told you I would make you scream,” he puffed a laugh against my ear, “Wait’ll you feel my tongue.” I managed to hum a questioning sound, still out of it and not up to speaking.

“Tell me again, sweetness: what was it you wanted?”

“I...I want your cock, Papa,” I murmured.

“Then you’ll offer me your mouth.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, Papa.”

“Good girl.” He scooted back away from me and settled onto his elbows. I slowly moved between his legs, hesitantly kneeling as he looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t...know what to do,” I said.

“I’m aware,” he smiled. He nudged me with his leg and I brought my face close enough for him to touch my head. “Use your hand again,” he sighed when I obeyed, then, “Just start licking, dolce.”

He was pulsing against my tongue, guiding my head where he wanted me as I tracked my tongue across and around the myriad strange shapes and bulges. It’s not normal, I thought distantly, his body isn’t right, but he shoved my head further down and pulled my thoughts elsewhere.

“Take them in your mouth,” he breathed, “Get a good taste.” I let out a muffled whimper and he chuckled. “You just keep tonguing my balls, sweetheart, no need to talk.” His hair was coarse against my lips, tickling my nose and throat, distinctly scented with something I couldn’t identify. He was so...squishy, like a bag half-filled with water, with two hard-boiled egg yolks floating inside. Is that normal? Is any of this-

He shifted his legs up and pushed my mouth further down again. I tried to shake my head in protest and his fingers tightened painfully in my hair.

“Stick your tongue out,” he just sounded amused, “I’m going to be your first for everything, dolcezza.” I obeyed with with a soft whimper and just let him move my tongue as he pleased over the tight ring of muscle. “I’m going to do this to you too,” he laughed, “and more. Speaking of which,” he shifted around again slightly, “Stick a finger in. Get it wet in your mouth first.”

I swallowed my disgust down and let saliva coat my finger, then tentatively slid it inside him.

“Good,” he breathed, “In and out, now,” he pulled my hair again, bringing my mouth back to his cock and pushing the fat, blunt head between my lips. He started guiding my head up and down and I closed my eyes, just letting him use me as I kept my finger moving. I kept gagging, my mouth doing its best to reject him, but every time I whimpered I felt myself clench. And every time I gagged his breath would hitch excitedly as he tightened around my finger.

The scent of him had worked deep into my lungs, and now that I was tasting him so directly on my tongue...I found myself starting to seek it. All the bumps and ridges rippling across my lips sent sparks of pleasure up and down my spine, and I began to swirl my tongue along the paths and creases between them, my tongue tingling, hungering for more. I had been letting him direct me but now started exploring on my own, chasing the flavor of his skin and whatever seemed to be leaking from the tip.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

I moaned a yes and worked my finger harder. Every time I pushed deep, his cock would twitch in my mouth and more would drip onto my tongue, bright and sharp and salty.

“Good girl,” he murmured, tipping his head to the mattress and relaxing back. “You keep drinking your Papa in, I’ll make a good whore of you yet.” I whimpered around him and kept trying to work my way down, no longer just wanting to please him but needing to.

“You want more of your Papa’s cock in your mouth?” He chuckled when I loudly moaned and kept trying to take all of him.

“Here, dolcezza,” he nudged my leg with his, “Bring your sweet little cunt to my mouth and let me taste you.” I awkwardly moved over his body, positioning his face between my legs as I tried to keep as much of his cock in my mouth as possible. “Now try,” he said. “You can take more from this angle, see?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, and now he slipped into my throat almost effortlessly. His hands were on me, obscenely spreading me as he twitched in the back of my mouth. Some part of him brushed against me —his nose, I realized, when he took a deep, perverse sniff. He groaned with pleasure, hardening dramatically in my throat, and then he brought his tongue to me.

I used to think heaven was a place in the sky, a seat forever at the right hand of the Lord; then I was sure I'd been witness to the gates of paradise at the hand of Satan's earthly avatar, but no. I was wrong. Heaven was in the mouth of the demonic thing beneath me, and the only place I could ever consider spending eternity now was here: on a tongue that eagerly sought every miniscule spot that could bring me pleasure, deft and sensitive as any serpent’s.

Resting my head on his hard belly, completely lost to everything but his mouth, nothing but needy, mindless noises pouring from my lips, I simply rocked my hips against him and lewdly sought his tongue. He squirmed under me, bouncing his cock against my cheek, and I ignored him. He’d tormented me all night —for months, actually, and I couldn’t bring myself to care about what he wanted, even as I still craved the taste of him.

When his hand worked through my hair and pushed my mouth back around him, I groaned with reluctance and tried to focus on my own body, but my body also immediately snapped back to wanting him. Even as his tongue rolled eagerly against and around my clit I was trying to consume him, rocking back and forth between his mouth and his cock, moaning wantonly every time he pushed into the back of my throat.

His fingers slid inside me again —for some reason I hadn’t considered that the two things could happen at once— more than before and deliciously stretching me, thrusting them fast and hard until I climaxed again, muffled by him still filling my mouth yet so loud it was a wonder people didn’t come running to see who was being murdered.

He started thrusting into my mouth, as hard and fast as his fingers, and I dimly marveled at how easily I took it before he grunted and flooded my mouth. The same bright and salty taste, but hot and sweet now too. A thick nectar that gave me another orgasmic jolt the moment it touched my tongue; a love potion I would be equally happy to drink or drown in.

My mouth had become so sensitive when he came in me, the feel of his cock hitting the back of my throat nearly as good as his fingers in my cunt and I chased that feeling, sure that if enough of his seed coated my tongue, that alone could make me cum. With my eyes rolling back in my head I swallowed it all, mewling desperately as I worked my greedy tongue against him, earning a few more spurts before he groaned and sagged beneath me. 

His hand was on my head again, stroking my hair as he caught his breath. “That’s it, dolcezza,” he sighed, and his cock flexed in my mouth, “The more you have the better you’ll feel, so you drink up.” I lapped at the tip, whining when no more came out. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m going to fill every fucking one of your holes with it tonight.” He laughed softly and patted my head, “Would you like that, sweetness? You want more?”

“Yes, Papa,” I whimpered. He took a deep, groaning breath and settled more comfortably underneath me, then he was spreading me open again with an admiring hum.

“Did you like my tongue?” he said, clearly amused at the sounds I made just having his fingers nearby. Despite my head feeling a little clearer, my whole body throbbed as I replied, “Y-yes, Papa.”

“Your cunt just clenched up,” he mused, “you sad that it’s empty, dolce?” I bit my lip, wanting to have him inside me again yet feeling the old shame nagging again already. His fingers strayed closer, teasing my entrance with a feather touch.

“Yes, Papa.” In spite of myself I tried to move closer.

“Ask for it.”

I whimpered softly and bit my lip again. Just a few minutes ago I would have gladly screamed any profanity he wanted, but now it was like a lock was clicking shut over my vocabulary again.

“’Papa, please fill my cunt again,’ or maybe, ‘I’m offering up my cunt for your use,’ or ‘My pussy feels empty without you inside it,’ any of those would be fine,” he said, and I could hear the smugness in his tone. “You’re practically dripping wet, you know. It’s no secret,” he was rubbing his thumbs along the outside, playing with my hair and keeping me spread open. “You should say what you want. It’s easy, just-”

“I-I’m offering...myself for your use,” I said quickly.

“Say what I told you to say,” he chided. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block everything but how close his fingers were to where I wanted them.

I took a deep breath and said, “I’m offering my cunt for your use.” His fingers immediately pressed back inside me, curling into sensitive areas I never knew about, all the slick making my arousal audible.

“There, doesn’t that feel good?” he cooed, “Don’t you love Papa inside your pretty little cunt?” When I whimpered a yes, his fingers left me and I let out an offended cry. “Don’t worry, sweetness, I’m going to be inside you all night, one way or another,” he said, then smacked my thigh and added, “Onto your back.” I pushed myself up onto my shaking arms and managed to crawl off of him, flopping to the bed as he tucked himself against my side. His arm went under me, turning me toward him, holding me like a lover as his lips claimed mine again.

He’d ceased being gentle, his tongue twisting against mine much differently than before. It felt...longer. Sinewy. The fingers stretching across my thigh and pulling it over his leg felt longer too, and bonier. His hand followed the curve of my mound and slipped inside me again, coaxing me toward another climax with finger and thumb working in tandem. Until he pulled his mouth away to look down at me with a smug grin, I didn’t even realize I’d twined my fingers into his dark, glossy curls.

The arm underneath me somehow twisted closer, allowing him to grasp my chin and keep our eyes locked. One of his fingernails was digging into my neck, just enough to hurt, and then from the corner of my eye I saw his thumb. Except I was definitely looking at a claw. Whatever was nearly drawing blood under my chin wasn’t a fingernail. When I whimpered in fear, unable to take my eyes off it, he chuckled.

“You like it, dolcezza?” He slowly dragged one of those talons across the delicate skin standing between my carotid artery and death. His fingers slipped out of me and moved further down, pushing at-

“N-no,” I blurted out, “That’s-”

“I’m claiming everything,” he purred, “You offered me your mouth and your cunt, now you offer this,” he grinned. “Say it.”

“I-I…” his finger was rubbing and pressing, and it felt good but-

He gripped my chin tighter, keeping my eyes locked on his. “You’re mine tonight,” he reminded me. “Tell Papa you’re offering your ass.”

“I’m...offering you my...my ass, Papa,” I whimpered. He pushed in immediately, laughing at my cry as always. I couldn’t feel the claws, but his fingers were so bony and knobby now, and I could feel every knuckle as they moved in and out. He crushed his lips against mine again, serpentine tongue snatching up every mewling breath as they came more and more quickly. The blood that had tainted our first kiss was long gone, and now he simply tasted good, almost as good as his cum and almost as good as he felt sliding in and out of my ass. Another finger entered me, then another, and when I whimpered in pain his thumb returned to my clit and coaxed me back to pleasure.

“Could probably get my whole hand in you if I wanted,” he said, and I immediately squeaked in fear. “I doubt anyone else would stake a claim there though. With you, I mean. Another time, maybe.” He nipped at my neck and chuckled, “Feels good though, doesn’t it? Looking forward to me fucking you here later?”

“N-no,” I lied. He pulled away with a knowing smile, then moved to sit back against the headboard.

“Up,” he tugged at my arm, pulling me into his lap again, grabbing my hips to push us together and make me feel him throbbing underneath me. His teeth grazed my ear, sharp and jagged now, as he growled in a low voice, “You want your Papa’s cock, yes?”

I whimpered and tried to avoid answering, but he grabbed my face, gripping me so hard that the claws dug into my cheeks.

“I know you want me to just take you, dolcezza, and let you tell yourself later that this wasn’t something you wanted, but I won’t have any of that Catholic shit. You want my cock. Your pussy is sopping wet with how bad you want me to fuck you, so you’re going to do it. I promised to stuff your pretty little cunt full, and I will, but first you’re going to admit you want it.” He was rubbing the tip against me, just barely pushing for entry. He tightened his grip on my face and kept my eyes fixed on his. Just teasing at my entrance was enough to make my hips rock for want of him, finally drawing out a whine.

"I...I want it," I whispered. He grinned and finally obliged me, purring, "That's it," when I finally started sinking onto him, “You’ll take every inch, won’t you?”

“Hurts,” I whimpered. He kissed my cheek and hummed sympathetically.

“I know, dolcezza, but the sooner you take all of me the sooner Papa can make you feel good. The more I'm inside you the more you'll like it.” He nipped at the outside of my ear and said, “If you rub your clit it’ll be easier.” I whimpered softly, and he added, “Unless you want me to do it again. Want Papa to touch you again, hmm?” I nodded against his shoulder, jumping when his hand suddenly cracked across my butt.

“Words.”

“Please touch me, Papa,” I whispered.

“Good girl,” he chuckled, but his hand moved around my backside, sliding back inside, into-

“You wanted me to stretch your ass again, sì?” he purred, “You didn’t say what you wanted, so I had to guess.”

“N-n-” I tried to protest, but he silenced me with his mouth, filling every hole with a part of him. The boniness of his knuckles had somehow increased, and there was a distinct swell and taper to the shape of his fingers as they worked into me.

It still felt as though he would tear me open, but his fingers kept me distracted, kept me clenching tight as I slowly took more and more of him inside me. I’d always assumed it would feel smooth, that human anatomy was meant to fit easily together, but instead I felt all the odd bumps and ridges, and the strange bulging parts that seemed designed to tease.

“Y-you…” I whimpered softly and tried to collect my thoughts, “you’re…this isn’t- it’s not...normal...is it?”

His breath was hot against my neck, “Normal to me, sweetness.”

“But this-”

He flexed inside me, drawing out a cry of pleasure and interrupting me. “It’s better than anything you’ll get from a human,” he breathed, “You’ll compare every cock to mine for the rest of your life.”

He firmly pushed me down to take all of him, filling me completely and ignoring my pained gasp. "Go on," he said, nudging my hips encouragingly. I started sliding up and down the thick, pulsating shaft on my own, trembling with a mix of pleasure and torment. When he pushed another finger into my ass I moaned loudly, almost rutting against him like an animal, and he smiled and said, "Good girl," before twisting his tongue into my mouth again. 

His arm went around me as he moved me onto my back, then my legs were pinned against my chest before he snapped his hips forward. He seemed further away, as though his arms had lengthened, the physical form he inhabited not quite bound to the rules of reality. The way his cock moved inside me had to be proof of that. It felt like...like a giant tongue undulating and pressing every foreign bulge into the spot it was needed most, like the coaxing, come-hither motion of his hands when he’d wrung those orgasms from me. It felt...alive.

I looked away, casting my head to the side, still trying to pretend this was merely something I was enduring and not the greatest pleasure I'd ever known, greater than the sum of the entire rest of my life. The room brightened as the moon emerged from the clouds, and something caught my eye. Something red on the nightstand, something like-

My eyes widened. A jewel.

Perpetua slowed, his voice honey-sweet as he asked, “Something wrong? You looking at this?” He reached over and grabbed it, letting the chain dangle in the dim light. Two large red jewels hung next to the heavy black cross.

Frater’s-

The heat behind my eyes was almost unbearable, and tears spilled over my cheeks as he brought it near. I choked back his name, desperately cursing the warmth of my memories and the feel of the thing that he called a brother inside me.

“Since you didn’t get to save your body for him, I figured his bed was the next best thing,” he purred in my ear, thrusting deep into me and wrenching another tortured moan from me. “Next time he sleeps here it’ll be under blankets covered in us,” he pressed the cold chain to my cheek, then gripped it with both hands, pushing it across my neck.

“Maybe I’ll keep you here until he gets back from his little trip, hmm?” his voice dropped to almost a growl, taunting me. “Just long enough for him to see you drunk on my cum and begging for me to fuck you to death.”

The world blurred around me as I sucked in a thin, struggling breath. He laughed at me and started pressing it down across my throat with every thrust.

“Feel good, hmm? You get nice and tight every time.” His tongue slithered across my face and down to my neck, leaving a hot, tingling trail in its wake. His teeth raked across my neck, feeling different, somehow, from before. “And when I mentioned old Cardi seeing you like this, your cunt tightened like a vise,” he said, “That turn you on, dolce? Imagining your precious Papa watching you enjoy my cock so much?”

It came to me like a vision: me, sitting on Papa Perpetua’s lap, filled with cock and fingers and tongue, wantonly moaning for more, and then Frater’s eyes wide with shock. Crying out in dismay, completely distraught that one of his flock could betray him like this. That someone he’d cared about could enjoy watching his warm, beautiful eyes fill with tears. My cunt clamped down hard, instantly jolting me closer to another orgasm.

“F-fuck,” I choked out. He stopped moving, his lower body flush with mine, and just looked down at me as a wicked smile crept across his face.

“Shocking language, sweetheart,” he grinned, and even as he looked perfectly still, I could feel it inside me. Throbbing, swelling, probing, in search of every nerve capable of pleasure. “Not even fucking you and your sweet little cunt is going nuts,” he laughed. “You want your Papa to make you feel even better?” he finally let go his grip on the chain, allowing me to breathe in shuddering, disoriented breaths. He stroked my cheek almost tenderly as he locked his eyes on mine, a mocking smile splitting his face and showing his teeth. I hadn’t imagined that at least —his teeth were different. Sharper and longer. Made for tearing.

“Tell me you want it,” he said. His eyes bored into mine, and in the dim light I saw his pupil —the left one— warp and change shape. I whimpered in fear and he blinked that eye closed as though it was irritated, and when it opened again it had changed completely. A horizontal slit like a goat’s, but not holding its shape steadily, shifting in mesmerizing patterns and taking on colors humans aren’t meant to see.

“You want it,” his voice rumbled low as a thunderstorm, morphing into something deeper and truly foreign. His cock pulsed inside me, flexing hard, and he let out a shivering, impatient breath, biting at his lip with the fangs he apparently hid from his Congregation.

“I-I want it,” I whispered, stricken, devastated, and terrified, but no longer able to deny that he felt good, that him just waiting inside me, filling me and stretching me, had my cunt clenching and aching. He grinned, and for a brief moment I thought I saw something like smoke come from that unsettling eye, something that traced through the light and vanished before it could be properly seen.

“I want it,” I repeated, starting to whine as I lost myself in his eyes and the sensation of his unnatural body around me. The grucifix —Frater’s grucifix— slipped across the bedding, the heavy chain clinking dully as it sank into a crevice between my body and the bed. He flashed me a toothy grin.

“As you wish, dolcezza.”

It was almost torturous, the first time he pulled nearly all the way out, like all the ridges on his cock were only intended for causing pleasure on their way in. It felt like it should hurt, but each time he thrust back inside it felt better, especially since he started doing it harder and harder.

“Satanas, but you are sweet,” he breathed. “You sound so innocent now, but you’re gonna be nice and broken in by the time I’m done with you. Gonna have you begging for it, dolcezza.” His rhythm changed from slow withdrawal followed by a hard, swift insertion, to pure aggression.

My cries became just as frenzied and primal as his; he was raggedly breathing into my neck and biting down hard enough that I felt skin break, but fucked hard enough that I didn’t care. I felt his tongue slithering across my skin, unnaturally long and dexterous, slipping through my blood and making him sizzle with pleasure at the taste of my life. He buried his face at the joining of my neck and shoulder, long arms holding me in a crushing embrace as he snarled into my neck like a hellbeast and slammed his cock into me so hard that I screamed.

He grunted, hissed something in a language no human tongue could form, and then I felt him spilling inside me, blazing hot and thick. He kept fucking it into me, filling me until I could feel it oozing out around him with every thrust. It felt like fire inside me —not burning or painful, but warm and vital, just as bright as it had tasted on my tongue.

My cunt was coated in his seed, and already I was aching for more. My hips started moving on their own, trying to move him in and out.

“Aren’t you lucky, getting fucked full of your Papa’s cum,” he said, his voice distant enough that I didn’t mind the mocking tone, “Your siblings can only dream of being so favored by the Dark Lord, sweetness.” His tongue slid across my neck again, and he started to say something when I interrupted.

“M-more,” I said, desperately. He grinned at me.

“More, please, more…”

“More what?” he smirked.

“More...more cock,” I whimpered, “more- fuck me more, please, Papa, more cock, I want more of your cock, I need more of your cum, Papa, f-fill me again.” I moaned from the bottom of my very soul when he started moving his cock in and out again. Something was being pulled out from under me; the forgotten grucifix.

He didn’t even have to ask. I opened my mouth and offered my tongue as soon as he brought it close. The metal had been warmed by my body already, and I didn’t even mind the chains rasping across my swollen lips —not when Papa stuffed every inch of his cock into me. He slid the long end of the grucifix into my mouth, in and out a few times, then left me sucking on it.

“Serving your Papa feels good, hm?” he purred, laughing when I could only nod and moan for all the sin on my tongue. “I might keep you, dolcezza. Keep you in my room and pump your holes full of cum every day, would you like that?” I moaned something like a yes; words, thoughts, and anything that wasn’t his thick, hard cock pounding my cunt were swiftly fading from importance.

“You want to be my whore?” he breathed, “I think you’d serve me well.” When I tried to talk around the grucifix he pulled it from my mouth with a smile.

“M-make me your whore,” I moaned, “make me- anything, Papa, just fuck me more, fuck, I-” He grunted again, and my eyes snapped open feeling him empty into me again. I cried out at the nearly orgasmic sensation that washed over me.

“Papa, Papa,” I whimpered, “Please-”

“More, sweetness?”

“More,” I pleaded.

“Are you sure? You wouldn’t rather wait for my brother?” he sounded utterly delighted when I practically wailed with need. “If I told Cardi what a good, devoted whore you were for your Papa, he-”

“More, please,” I was almost sobbing as waves of pleasure radiated from my cunt, racing through my whole body, “Your cock feels so good, Papa, please, fuck me, fuck me again, please, give me more of your cum, please-” He finally cut off my babbling with his lips, moving his hips a little more slowly and letting me feel every inch of him rippling through me. With every slow, deep thrust I felt more of his cum oozing out of me as I was fucked to overflowing, but that was okay.

He would give me as much as I wanted.

The time spent in the clinic was all foggy, but there was plenty of pain over the following days for me to remember. More just overwhelming soreness and aches than actual pain, though the bite in my shoulder had ended up needing stitches.

The same elder sibling who’d been in the basilica that night had tended to me. They had a bandage covering most of their forearm, and neither of us asked the other any questions. We barely spoke at all. They saw the bites scattered across the rest of my skin, the sides of my body almost uniformly purple from waist to thigh, the bruises covering most of the rest of me, and that spoke for us.

I was taken off the chore roster for two weeks to recover. Just as well; I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see Papa Primo ever again.

I did see Papa Perpetua, just once. Ten days after I was released from the clinic, we passed one another in the hallways —him flanked by an intimidating pair of Ghouls, me by myself— and he winked at me. His eye had changed again for a moment; just the briefest flash of his hellish nature, more than enough to send fire racing across my skin and into my blood.

I ducked into an empty lecture hall, clutching my pounding heart with a clammy, shaking hand. My back practically slammed against the door in my haste to close myself in, my hands flying to pull up my habit, wincing when I slid my hand into my underwear. I was soaking wet, clit swollen and pulsing, and I vaguely felt my nails digging into my cheek as I tried to stifle my moans. I ignored the pain. Even as my body ached because of him, it still ached for him even more.

Even in my sleep he was there: haunting me, taunting me, giving me no rest and no dreams of anything but him. Even when I didn't remember the dreams I still woke up to soaked underwear and a throbbing cunt every morning. 

I hunched over, whimpering as I drove my fingers inside myself, frustrated at the lack of size and dexterity, yearning for more. The feeling of fullness hadn’t left my mind any more than he had, and even when I focused solely on my clit it wasn’t enough to make me unaware of how empty I felt.

I had gone back through the materials from the Ministry's sex ed course, finally daring to look at all the illustrations and pictures I'd shamefully averted my gaze from the first time. I didn't have to study the diagrams of the human penis to know that wasn't what I had experienced —though I still did stare, if only for comparison. The thing on the page and the thing that had been inside me had no commonality beyond being intended for penetration. 

Even cowering shamefully with my back against the door, I made myself cum quickly. I wasn't any better at it —not much, anyway, but the taut arousal that gripped me made it easier. My legs shook so badly that I almost swayed off my feet, but I managed to stay upright, only dropping my habit toward the floor. I straightened my veil and stepped back into the hallway, half-expecting him to be waiting for me with his wicked smile. 

If he held out his hand to me again, was I so wretched that I'd take it? 

For the sake of my savior I'd given myself to a devil, and I'd liked it. 

The chair was hard, digging into the back of my legs. I'd been waiting for at least twenty minutes and still heard nothing behind the door. I looked again at the envelope I'd been given, vainly hoping that this time I'd be able to see through it and divine what my future held.

"Sorella? You can go in."

I mumbled my thanks and tried to stand tall, stand up straight as I stopped in front of his desk and handed the envelope over. 

The bruises were almost gone, but the memories remained fresh. I still woke up needing release every morning, and every little thing seemed to make me remember anew. 

This time it was the breeze.

Papa Perpetua had had me on my stomach again, using my ass again. The skin on my front was sticky from one of the times he’d fucked my tits and cum over my chest and face, sticky enough that the blanket would occasionally catch. Even with how good he felt, exhaustion had set in. I'd lost count of how many times he'd made me cum, but I was starting to hurt all over.

The obscenity that lived on his tongue and in his cum —the aphrodisiac seemingly exuded from his very pores, trapping me in a clouded, lustful place— simply couldn't compete any longer with the ache that had settled head to toe over my body. Even though every touch and every taste lifted me a little further from my body, even though it briefly pulled me from reality every time, into a dream where everything was sheer ecstasy, I could never quite float completely away from the weariness.

My eyes had been dropping shut in spite of him continuing to pound into me, and when I jolted back to fully awake, my eyes had landed on the closet door. One of Frater's suit jackets was hanging there, and for some reason, even though I could barely remember his face at that moment, my eyes had filled with tears.

I didn't quite think this through, Papa, I'd dimly thought. I'm sorry.

Perpetua had yanked my head back by my hair. “I’m the one making you cum, you little cunt, and you’re still thinking about him?” 

He'd hissed and reached past me, grabbing one of the neatly tucked-in pillows and bringing it closer. “Here. Maybe that shit he puts in his hair rubbed off on this.”

He had shoved me down to the bed and pushed my face into the pillow. Even as I thrashed for air it had come through: the smell of his pomade had caught there. Tears flooded the space between my eyelids and the pillow, dampening the world around me, the aroma filling my nostrils every time he slammed his cock into me. The same scent that the open window wafted to my nose now. 

Every breath was him. 

A voice pulled me back to the present, low and almost monotone.

"You are to be my new assistant.”

As he read the letter I tried to keep myself here by looking at his eyes, both their colors beautifully standing out against the black paint. The same eyes as Papa Perpetua; so much lovelier for their lack of malice. The paint surrounding them and on his lip was more neatly done than I'd seen in months. 

He ran his gloved fingers through his hair and muttered something. He had been mostly blond that day when he first cradled my cheek, now gone over more to gray. His gaze had a tendency to slide over and past people nowadays, as though he were simply moving through a different world than everyone else, but he looked in my eyes now. 

"My brother-" he couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice —and I don’t know that he bothered to try, "says here that you are a very devoted follower."

"Yes, Frater," I managed to say. When I'd knelt in front of him a year ago I'd nearly forgotten how to breathe, and it seemed that would be a continuing struggle in his presence.

All my life had been spent in service of the whims of cruel men. Men with no doubt of their place in the world, whose confidence had swept my own needs to the side in service of God —A God whose will only they knew, of course. I didn't know how to live without being led; my entire existence one of servitude, the very idea of wanting something for myself utterly foreign. I'd come here, come to him because I didn't want that anymore. That didn't mean I knew how to move forward on my own, though. I knew I needed to forge a new path, but had no idea how to do so.

Papa Perpetua had shown me one path: a path shadowed and profane, yes, but befitting the Dark Lord. The heat blooming between my legs at the mere thought easily proved its allure. Temptation was sacred here, giving in more so; denying the self only worthwhile if delaying a pleasure was the best way to enjoy it. Maybe that path would stay open and maybe not, but right now I didn’t see time spent here as a delay, nor a denial of the self.

His gaze drifted out the window for a moment. My heart ached looking at him; so blank and carved out.

Someday in the future I could manage by myself. Someday I would be done with following, with service, with docile obedience in the face of authority. I could live a life free of servile submission. But right now, looking at the man who had changed the course of my soul...

When he met my eyes again, there was a flicker of recognition. He didn't smile, but there was a tiny twitch in his cheek, as though he wanted to but had forgotten how. 

"I converted you," he softly said, his voice a little hoarse, more than a little detached. "I welcomed you for catechesis."

"You did, Frater." 

After a moment, he looked back down to the letter and cleared his throat.

"I remember you."

There was nothing inherently wrong with being led, especially if the path took you out into the light. I would follow him. Happily.

Thank you for reading💚💜

Another big thank you to my proofreaders 💜

A thousand Shakespeares working at a thousand typwriters would fail to capture but a fraction of the beauty of your souls.

If you enjoyed my first attempt at monsterfucking and can spare some change for a broke bitch, I have a tip jar

As usual, I'd love to hear if you jorked it :]

Italian:

Dolce/dolcezza: Sweet/Sweetness.