#roy stampler

Aaron stands before the altar, the tip of his tongue poked out past his lips in concentration as he lights the candles. Once they're lit, he steps back, humming a hymn to himself under his breath, shaking out the match. He turns around, then he yelps in surprise, the burnt match falling from his hand onto the floor with a tiny clatter. There you stand, offering a warm smile. "Hi Aaron," you greet, your grandfather's bible clutched to your chest. "H-Hi Miss," he greets back, his big blue eyes following you as you step around him to set the bible down on the altar.

"I-I was just lightin' the candles. Th-They was snuffed out last night, Alex didn't light 'em back up," he explains, clasping his hands together. You nod, turning to look back at him, your hand resting over your womb, your brow knitted slightly in discomfort.

He perks up, taking a step closer, already crowing your personal space as it is. "Miss, w-what's wrong?" He stammers, reaching out, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. The toe of his shoe nudges the match, sending it skittering across the linoleum. You put your hand up, a silent don't worry about it, offered with an apologetic smile. "Nothing, just my monthly."

Standing there for a moment, Aaron processes this. "Well, that ain't nothin'! H-Have you—" he pauses, gathering himself, his hands finally falling back down to his sides. "—you p-prayed 'bout it? Prayer, it helps." He insists. You shake your head in amusement. "No, Aaron. I can't pray my monthly away." He lets out a soft huff of air through his nose, gently smacking himself on the forehead with his palm. "Duh," he murmurs more to himself than you. "Mm, well... is— is there a-anything I can do, Miss? Some m-medicine? I know B-Bishop Rushman keeps some painkillers in his— in his bedroom. I can go ask 'im for you." He offers.

You lean back against the altar, tilting your head in thought. "Hm... no, don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure he's napping, anyway. We shouldn't wake him. But... you something what would help, Aaron?" You ask. He glances at the altar behind you, a look of worry crossing his face. You shouldn't lean on that, he thinks to himself. "What's that, miss?"

"Orgasm, Aaron. Makes you feel good."

Aaron's eyes go as wide as saucers, and he takes a small step back. He knows what an orgasm is, of course — he isn't a child. Plus, he and his girlfriend Linda . . . they would do stuff before Archbishop Rushman started taking up all her time.

"O-Orgasm?" He stammers, twiddling his thumbs. "You mean like... like..." He glances around, making sure you two are alone, before leaning in, his voice lowering. "Like sex?" You nod. "Yes, Aaron. Like sex. You're a big boy. And you and Linda, you both aren't exactly quiet." You smile knowingly. His cheeks go pink, and he looks down at his shoes. "Well— well that's private," he murmurs, trying and failing to fight a smile.

"Well, um, I— I can't help you, not— n-not with that, miss." He shakes his head. "Me 'n Linda, we're real close. Real— real tight." He nods, a silent reiteration of his point. "I bet she is tight." You smirk slightly. Aaron lets out a soft whimper. "You can't just say stuff like that! L-Linda, she's my g-girlfriend. Yeah. My... my girl." He doesn't sound too sure of himself. You hum in response. "You don't have to try and convince me. I don't doubt you two are close."

He takes a breath, relieved, until you speak again. "But... she'd understand, wouldn't she? She's always in Alex's room, in my grandpa's room... what d'you think she's doing in there, Aaron?" You ask. Your words seem to hit a nerve, because he turns away, hugging himself, his hands fisting in his shirt. "Sh-She ain't doin' nothin' wrong." He murmurs to the floor. You just scoff, pushing off the altar and stepping up to him, folding your arms over your chest. "No? She's not doing anything wrong? Then why does she come out of Alex's room licking her lips and brushing off her knees, Aaron? Hm? Why does she go into Rushman's room in the dead of night, hm?" You press.

He shakes his head, his hands coming up to tangle in his hair. "No— no," he breathes. "Face it Aaron. She's playing in your face and you know it. You're letting her. All she's getting out of you is good dick and that's it. But you like it, don't you? Being used. You're pathetic." You hiss.

Suddenly, Aaron whips around, his brows furrowed, the innocent look in his eyes completely gone. A scowl plants itself on his face, and he stalks towards you, forcing you to back up into the altar. "Well look here," he leans forward, slamming his hands down on either side of you, the sound slightly muffled by the white cloth, caging you in. "That all you know how to do, huh? Run your fuckin' mouth? You better watch it 'fore I shut you up myself."

You stare up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs. "A-Aaron?" You whimper. He scoffs. "Do I look like Aaron t'you, you mouthy little bitch? Aaron's off cryin' somewhere 'cause you scared him off. You've gotta deal with me now, sweetheart." You can't even get your next words out before Aaron — or whoever this guy is — is hoisting you up onto the altar.

He drops to his knees before you and pushes your thighs apart, looking up at you, his eyes boring into yours. You try to push him back, but he smacks your hands away. "Aht-aht, don't you even think about it. Move your fuckin' hands."

"Where is Aaron?" You ask, still trying in vain to swat his hands away. He shakes his head, offering you a lopsided grin. "I done told you, Aaron ain't here, sweetheart. Your dealin' with Roy." You furrow your brow in confusion. "Roy?" You ask.

Roy rucks your skirt up. "Hold that for me, sunshine." He grabs your panties and snatches them down past your hips and thighs, and your eyes go wide as he reveals a bright red mess. "Well my my," he murmurs, his movements gentling by a mile as he pulls your panties off your ankles and tosses them to the side in a heap. "Mouthy and messy. Ain't even bother to put a tampon in?"

You feel your face warm, and you tighten around nothing, turned on by the degradation. Which he notices, of course. "Fuckin' whore. I knew you weren't innocent like you let everyone think. The preacher bein' your granddaddy really don't make a difference t'you, huh?" He chuckles, admiring your glistening folds. "Wait a minute, what are you— haah~!" You cut yourself off with a breathy moan as he leans forward, licking a stripe up from your bloody entrance to your clit. You gaze down at him with wide, reverent eyes. "Holy fuck," you breathe, looking down at the blood on his tongue. He leans up and kisses you firmly, forcing you to taste yourself.

He pulls back, a stupid smile on his face. "Look at you. You shut the fuck up real fast, ain't you? Atta girl." Roy's mouth settles on you again with focus, his tongue flicking, his lips wrapping around your clit. "Ah, God, fuck!" Suddenly, he smacks your inner thigh, hard, a mark immediately blooming on the sensitive flesh. He pulls back with a wet smack and looks up at you. "Don't you go usin' the lord's name in vain now, sweet thing."

You roll your eyes, threading your fingers in his soft hair, giving it a hard tug. "Shut up," you hiss. He laughs and puts his mouth back on you, not stopping, not even flinching at the pull of your hand in his hair. If anything, it spurs him on. The metallic coppery tang of your blood mixed with the slick scent of your arousal is making you dizzy.

"That's it," he murmurs against you, his words muffled and hot, "pull all you want. Just tells me I'm hittin' the right spot." His hands — Aaron's hands — move up to grip your hips, holding you steady as his mouth works, his tongue licking and mapping before he sucks your clit into the silken warmth of his mouth. The sensation shoots through you, your thighs trembling and back arching. You look down at the top of his head, his hair mussed by your grip, and the set of his shoulders as he kneels between your legs, a supplicant at an altar, literally.

A choked sob leaves your lips. This is depraved. This is the kind of thing that would make your grandfather weep and pray for you . . . as if he hasn't done worse. Yet, you can't bring yourself to care, your cunt clenching around nothing, aching for a fullness it won't receive. Roy pulls back just enough to look up at you, his mouth and chin glistening with a mix of your fluids. "Gonna cum for me, sweet thing?" He asks. "Gonna cum all over my face while you're bleedin'? Show me just how fuckin' messy you are."

His harsh tone does it. You pull him close, your orgasm hitting you, making you let out a deep moan, your eyes rolling back and body trembling violently as he watches, that shit-eating grin never leaving his blood-smeared lips.

"There now," he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then wipes it on your skirt, the bastard. "See? You ain't need to say a goddamn thing."

Then, he sits back on his heels, shutting his eyes and letting out a whimper. He covers his eyes, then peeks up at you through his fingers. He takes in the way you're sitting — the spread of your legs, the smear of your juices. His face flushes a deep pink. "M-Miss?" He whimpers. You look down at him, still in the middle of catching your breath. "Aaron?"

He hugs himself, glancing off to the side. "S-Sorry, I— I lost time again," he murmurs.