#springtrap smut

Too sweet, too pretty. That was you, a ray of light in that pizzeria, helping the staff take care of the kids with an enchanting smile on your face, so beautiful and innocent that anyone would want to destroy you—including Steve… But who would’ve guessed? He’s so kind and sweet!

“Hehe! Hey! Calm down.” You teased the excited kids running around like little kittens. They held your soft hand and begged you to tell stories or join their games. You were their favorite, their little angel.

“You’re our mermaid!” one girl shouted while spinning around you, singing and giggling. You laughed and played along with the children, always drawing attention with your bright, adorable smile.

Always well-dressed and smelling amazing, you’re just too perfect—way too perfect for Steve, who watched you from the hallway. He could wrap his hand around your neck and snap it so easily. You looked like a doll, so beautiful and fragile. Too sweet for his poison.

You didn’t notice his stare. You were too distracted playing with the hyper kids. How could you not sense the danger right beside you?..

The hours flew by and you barely noticed. Only when some staff members were missing did it hit you. Where were the cleaners? You said goodbye to the kids and teens. The other employees were leaving, but a few were still unaccounted for. You had to close the pizzeria, so you decided to go look for them.

You didn’t scream—it wouldn’t help. The place is huge; by the time anyone heard you, it would be too late. You’d just waste your breath and end up hoarse. You were already lost. Had they already left? You hadn’t seen them since snack time… After wandering for hours, you went into the kitchen to get water. You were thirsty. You filled a glass and drank, lost in thought, not hearing the footsteps.

When you turned around, your boss was standing right in front of you. You almost screamed in fright. He looked startled by your presence. A tiny smile curved your lips, and just as you were about to speak, your eyes dropped to the knife in Steve’s hand.

The blade was dripping thick, sticky red drops—like blood—and his hand was stained too. Your body froze. Your hand shook so hard the glass slipped and shattered on the floor.

“W-what—” you stammered, stepping backward, heart pounding wildly. He stared at you seriously. The gentle look and sweet smile were gone. It was like looking at a completely different man.

“You shouldn’t be here… little bunny.” His words came out rough and raspy, almost like an insult. He was angry. Your breath caught, goosebumps rising all over. The man you admired so much was a killer.

Your instincts screamed at you to run, hide, escape! But your feet were glued to the floor in shock, hand trembling nonstop, anxiety kicking in hard. When he took a step closer, you backed up and hit your ass against the counter. His huge body intimidated you. His cold stare felt like the night outside. You had to get away.

The moment he lunged, you darted under his arms, almost falling. Your heels clacked loudly as you ran. Your heart stopped every time you heard his footsteps right behind you. In desperation, you grabbed a vase with a rose in it and hurled it at his head with all your strength. His forehead bled; he roared in pain and dropped the knife. That was your chance.

You reached the door, small hands grabbing the handle—but it was locked. Only you and Steve had keys, and the one you’d left in the door was gone. He’d locked you in with him. Your whole body shivered. The only option left was to hide and grab your bag from the game room—you’d left it there earlier while playing with the kids. It was your only shot, and hope was fading fast.

To move quietly, you kicked off your heels and tossed them down the hallway, then ran silently through the corridors. You were lost—you barely knew the place, and it was massive. You’d need a map to find the rooms you wanted, but now all you had was luck.

While running, you started feeling sick. You needed to catch your breath, so you hid in a room full of tables, crouched down, and peeked into the hallway. It was too quiet—unnervingly quiet. All you could hear was your racing heart. Fear of death pumped through your veins, making you cry. You covered your mouth to muffle the sobs, eyes blurry with tears falling like rain. You crept through the hallway, terrified by the eerie silence. You needed your bag. You needed your phone!

You crawled along the cold floor, tears dripping onto the hand pressed over your reddened lips. You tried to stay calm, but panic was eating you alive.

Even alone, you felt watched—and it was driving you insane. You kept glancing side to side in fear, body prickling as if you were exposed.

When you finally found the game room, hope flickered. You ran to the corner—there was a little table where lots of moms left their things. But you cried harder. Your bag wasn’t there. He’d taken it before you could. Of course—he knew this place like the back of his hand.

Then you heard footsteps—close. So close your stomach flipped. You ran for your life. Hands shaking, soft sobs escaping your lips, you slipped into a room, opened the door, crouched behind it, hugged your knees, and tried to control your breathing. You closed your eyes and prayed your mom would call the police to find you.

“Little bunny…” You heard Steve’s deep voice echoing down the hall. “I know you’re here… When I find you, I’m gonna split you open.”

That made you cry even harder, tears streaming like rivers, panic making your small body shake, hand soaked from so many tears.

“If you think your mom’s gonna call the cops, you’re wrong, my sweet girl. I told them you wanted to help your boss with the kids… and that you might be leaving really late. Too bad you’re never going home…” He laughed—a sick, diabolical laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to ruin you, little bunny.” He stepped into the room where you were hiding. You did everything to keep your sobs silent. The quiet hurt your body with agony. Your eyes stayed glued to the door, praying he wouldn’t find you.

“I love seeing you like this… fragile, scared…” His voice was closer now. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block him out, but your gut screamed to open them.

“You look so adorable like this.” His voice was right there. Slowly you opened your eyes, feeling watched. The door was still in place—but you still felt eyes on you. Your skin crawled. Something told you to look up.

There they were—his eyes and that crooked smile. It was over.

No escape left. You just stared at him, hoping for mercy. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut. Now you were completely trapped. No way out. No chance. Just you and your sweet boss. How could he be a murderer? How could the man who helped and welcomed you be a killer?

He grabbed you by the hair, making you whimper in pain. You tried to fight, to struggle, but it was useless. He was merciless—unlike you. He threw you to the floor; your body curled up, fear written all over your face. He smiled. He was turned on by all of this. His forehead was crusted with dried blood, and the metallic smell made you nauseous.

He knelt over you. You sobbed, too weak to fight anymore. It was over—you’d been caught. He lifted your legs, hooking them around his hips, expression cold and serious. Your vision blurred from crying so much.

“Let’s play a little game,” he said, pressing the knife to your throat. You froze, legs trembling. He leaned in, grinding his hips against you, his hard cock rubbing your panties.

“Please… d-don’t kill me,” you whimpered, fresh tears falling, the cold, bloody blade pressing into your skin. “I’ll do anything.”

“I’m not gonna kill you… yet. Cooperate with me, and I won’t.” He slid the knife down your chest, forcing it through the fabric of your dress, nearly slicing your skin. The center of your breasts was exposed.

“I’m gonna fuck you. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll cut your head off. Got it?” You nodded frantically—not caring about sleeping with your boss anymore. Anything was better than dying. But let’s be honest—who were you kidding? From the first day you saw him, something ignited inside you. You just always thought he was way too old for you, and you were just an inexperienced girl.

Steve started tearing your pretty dress apart, revealing your pink panties with the little bow. Lucky for him—you weren’t wearing a bra. He set the knife aside, leaned down, and licked your adorable breasts. You gasped. You shouldn’t be enjoying this—he was going to kill you! Why were you getting turned on? His beard tickled your soft skin; you trembled beneath him.

He licked and sucked, trailing kisses along your collarbone, up to your neck—sniffing, marking you with hickeys. Your hand gripped his strong arm; even trying to hold back, you let out approving moans. His other hand slid down, squeezing your hip, pressing your body against his. You felt the thick fabric of his pants grinding against your damp panties.

You shivered. He was rubbing himself on you in the most painfully good way. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to contain the arousal. It was wrong—but it felt so good.

He noticed you were into it and risked kissing you. His thin lips crashed against yours roughly, possessively. You moaned into the kiss, feeling forced. He slapped your face lightly to make you kiss back—and you did. He devoured your mouth like a starving animal, hands roaming every inch of your body as if claiming territory—squeezing, scratching. When he pulled away, your lips were slightly swollen, cheeks flushed.

You stared into those dangerous eyes full of malice. He gave a crooked smile and buried his face in your neck again, sniffing, beard grazing your skin, making you tremble. Soft, whiny moans escaped you. He trailed wet kisses down to your stomach, then to your soaked panties. He pressed his nose against them, inhaling like a perverted teenager. You moaned in surprise. He licked over the fabric, savoring your innocent taste.

“I could get addicted to you…” He hooked a finger under your panties, pushing them aside. His lips kissed and sucked your swollen clit; his hand gripped your thigh hard, making it spasm with every lick. Finally, his long tongue pushed inside you. You moaned loudly, grabbing his hair, forcing his face deeper. You rolled your hips against his mouth, arching your back.

“Awn, s-sir… Hmn~…” you whined needily, squeezing your thighs to keep him there.

He was amazing at it—his tongue exploring your walls. You bit your lip; it didn’t take long before you came undone in his mouth, screaming in pleasure, body spasming. He drank every drop, not wasting any. You breathed heavily, dizzy, brain not processing right. Steve pulled back and started unbuckling his pants. You watched nervously. When his thick, erect cock sprang free, you drew your legs up—it was huge. Your tiny entrance could never take that monster.

He laughed and forced your legs open again, ignoring your limits. “I promise it’ll feel good, little bunny.” He positioned himself, gripping your hips hard. His other hand guided his cock, forcing his way in. You whimpered at the discomfort between your legs. Your walls clenched around his pulsing length—it hurt, but being filled felt so good.

When he finally bottomed out, he groaned low. His hand squeezed your waist with bruising force, like he wanted to break you. You shivered as he started moving slowly—pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in, making your bodies collide. You moaned loudly when he hit your cervix. His hands trembled; he thrust harder, hips slapping against your ass. You cried out, head thrown back.

He sped up, making you see stars. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure; your breasts bounced with each brutal thrust. Steve groaned low, watching you writhe. Tears fell from your eyes; sometimes you choked on your own moans. It was too much—you were probably going to come again.

You grabbed his forearm, nails digging in. “Ahw more! Please, Steve!” you screamed, climax so close, back arching in ecstasy, tiny muscle spasms everywhere. Steve watched hungrily—he loved seeing you like this, his little girl struggling with these overwhelming feelings.

He leaned down, burying his nose in your neck, sniffing and licking while letting out rough moans.

When you came again, your body went limp and exhausted. He kept pounding into you brutally; your walls squeezed him even tighter. You closed your eyes, crying. Your clit throbbed with every thrust. You wanted to rest so badly—but that would be selfish; only you had come so far.

He leaned in and licked your tears. You looked at his flushed, sweaty face—wasn’t he too old for this? You grabbed his shoulder as he pounded harder. He crashed his lips against yours, panting, tired, thrusts getting sloppy—he was close. You wrapped your arms around his neck, whimpering in pain during the kiss. His lips desperately searched for yours; the kiss felt good, made you want more—but you whined when he bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste mixed with saliva.

After a few clumsy thrusts, he finally came, filling you with his thick cum. He didn’t pull out right away—he stayed inside, catching his breath. For a man his age, he needed a few minutes to recover.

When he finally did, he looked at you with pure lust and satisfaction. He toyed with your nipple, then slowly pulled out, watching his cum leak thick from your reddened entrance.

His big body collapsed on top of yours, pinning you down. He grabbed your waist and buried his face in your neck, sniffing and biting.

So the generous mister Afton will lovingly help you! Just take off your pants and sit on his lap, all pretty. You don't even have to move your hips (although he might make you do it all by yourself, just to watch you cry from frustration) his big hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and he rubs you back and forth on his thigh.

Don't mind the occasional brush of a wire against your thigh, he can't help it.

Ahh it would probably be a no-brainer, what's the equivalent of cockdrunk but for a rabbit robot? Robodrunk? Whatever, I feel that way about him.

He'd absolutely make you go more than once, you'll indulge him, won't you? He's already moving his hands up your waist- bouncing his leg slightly to give you a small shock right between your thighs. Hold on to him all you want!! He would like that a lot, a desperate thing just clinging to him. Just his perfect type.

Did I mention he's big? Yeah he's big, his thigh is as thick as both of yours and his hand is big enough to grab your hand and squash it like a potato, the thought makes me drool..

Humiliated.

You’re horrified by what you’ve done. 

Revolted, disgraced, ashamed.

An endless amount of words can’t even begin to capture how disgusted you feel with yourself right now. Your heels click against the sidewalk pavement as you hurry down the street, the sound of your rapid heartbeat filling your ears as your mind races.

You haven’t felt like this since high school, since your senior year calculus teacher. He was always so nice to you, so patient and polite, rubbing a strong hand on your shoulder after every late-night study session, the promising glint in his eye and his encouraging words, voice low and gravelly like the sound of crashing waves…

You were stronger then, your prayers always soothed your urges, no matter how many times you had to leave the classroom to recite them to yourself.

But this time, the thought was nagging you. It followed you all day, and you couldn’t brush it off, no matter how hard you tried. You tried, and the lord knows you tried… but it wasn’t enough. You gave in, you sinned.

Sin. That word alone seems heavy, too large for your fragile mouth. The guilt coiled inside you like smoke. Only Father Afton could set you free, he would always tell you. So, as you rush to the church at this unruly hour, you pray that you will find sanctuary with him. You wonder if Father Afton could sense that you’re on your way, you wonder if he already knows what you did;

The chilled air breezes against your exposed legs when you turn towards the church steps, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its path. You reach for the door handle, mouth drying anxiously as you try to figure out what to say to your priest.

The church is silent, save for the faint crackle of candles and the soft rustle of voices that pray at the altar, rosary in hand. The heavy wood slams shut behind you, courtesy of the blowing wind, and loudly announces your presence to the churchgoers. They turn towards you, and you swear that they can see the guilt all over your face. Your palms begin to sweat while looking around; you can’t find Father Afton anywhere. You gulp.

Leaving the nave, you briefly search through the narrow halls of the church before you find a nun. You play with your hands nervously as you approach her.

“Sister, do you know where I could find Father Afton?”

“I-I believe he said he was going up to the clocktower,” she thinks for a moment, catching the fear in your eyes. “Is everything alright, dear?”

Your heart skips a beat, breath catching in your throat. They know.

You crack a broken smile, trying to hide the flush painting your face as you nod.

“Everything’s fine, Sister,” you assure, “I just need to see him.”

She returns the gesture, smiling and nodding before she raises a wrinkly finger, directing you. “Very well, the stairwell to the bell tower is through that door, there, at the end of the hall.”

You thank her sincerely before scampering off down the hall. Your stride is swift and determined. Stress bellows through your heels, muffled by the velvet carpet beneath you.

It’s dark behind the old door; too old to have lights, you can tell by the strong smell of dust that floods your senses as you let the door swing shut behind you. You start the staircase with little hesitation, eager for forgiveness from your Father, but these stairs seem endless. Wooden steps creak beneath your feet as you climb up them in circles, impatiently awaiting the ending as the guilt eats you alive from the inside. You don’t even notice when the dusty aroma is replaced with that of iron, sharp and heavy.

Once you reach the top, you push the door open slowly, carefully, trying your best not to startle him with the loud whines of the aged tower as you scan the room for him.

There he is. Standing over a table in the center of the room, cloaked in the holiness of his black suit with moonlight cascading down over his silhouette: Father Afton. A symbol of hope, faith, and promise. He seems at peace in the darkness of the bell tower’s chamber, and you feel calmer in his presence already. You step inside.

“Father?” Your voice echoes in the emptiness. “I-I need confession, please.”

He turns around at the sound of your soft voice, slowly, as if he would frighten you if he moved too fast, but despite his best efforts, you still flinch when his eyes meet yours. Instead of the usual warm, gentle gaze you find when you look into his silver eyes, there’s something… different. Something dark, sinister, and it’s telling you to run.

“F-Father..?”

It’s at that moment when the metallic smell finally hits you, and the faint sound of dripping pulls your attention to the table he was standing over moments ago.

Blood.

It’s everywhere, pooling around the table, staining the floorboards beneath it, coating his tender hands…

Your breath catches in your throat as your body runs ice cold, frozen with fear. He tucks his wet hands behind his back, away from you.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He states, voice steady, certain. “You’re not meant to see this.”

You close your mouth, not entirely sure when it fell open.

“Th-There’s blood…” your throat tightens, “what did you—“

“I saved him,” Father Afton starts, “do you not see?”

Your breath falters, “saved..?”

His expression then twists into something sour, vengeful. He turns on his heels to face the soiled table once again.

“This man,” he inhales, “was filth. A liar. A monster. The Devil works through men like him, and I was chosen to cut the rot from this world.”

William pauses briefly before turning back to where you stand, still stuck in your place. He takes a step towards you, eyes glowing with something between love and madness.

“And you—” he beams, “you were chosen to witness.”

You instinctively take a cautious step back, shaking your head in horror as he approaches you. His words hook into you like talons. Liar. Rot. Chosen. Weren’t those the words he always preached?

Carefully, he lowers his bloodied hand, palm out, as if offering it in blessing. He’s surrendering to you, extending his hand in certitude to prove to you that, as dangerous as they may look, he’s not going to hurt you.

“Doubt is natural, little one, but trust… trust is holy.”

He twists his open palm and you watch cautiously as he ever so slowly raises it to your cheek. Cupping it gently, he smears warm crimson across your skin.

Then he asks, “do you trust me?”

You shiver in his hold, heart hammering in terror and longing all at once. His eyes, those calm, commanding eyes, hold you like iron chains. Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispers monster, but louder still is the memory of every sermon, every comforting word, every promise that he alone knew the path to salvation. The salvation that you yearned for so desperately. Your trust in him was the whole reason you came all the way up here in the first place, was it not?

Your lip trembles as you whisper, “yes,”

“Good girl,” he smiles, gentle and terrible as you swallow the lump in your throat. 

But suddenly, in the blink of an eye, his character shifts once more. The soulful, pleading look in his eye has gone again, turning cold and dominating as the pressure of his stained hand on your cheek deepens, pushing you down.

“Then kneel. Pray for me. Soon you will see what God reveals in blood.”

Obedient and willing, you drop to your knees. It brings a smile back to William’s face, he always appreciated how compliant you are, how loyal.

You clasp your hands together. “Heavenly Father, please forgive me, for I have sinned…”

Your voice shakes as you begin to pray, the familiar words spilling out through dry lips. Father Afton watches from above, admiring how the moonlight frames your bowed head, your small shoulders trembling with fear and devotion all tangled together. You’re a clear vision of purity itself: innocent, malleable, desperate for guidance.

As he watches, he feels a dark swell of satisfaction. Not the kind that comes from the kill, but from the control.You had seen the blood, the body, the truth… and still you kneel before him, whispering prayers at his command.

“Just as Your word says: Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved, for you are my praise,” you continue, “I place my hope and confidence in your promises.”

He soon realizes that you would prove to be very useful. He could already see it: your loyalty, your need for absolution, your trust. All it will take is some careful molding, and you would follow him, even help him if needed… which he did.

There’s one more final step left before he can complete the ritual, one last piece he needs to fill in the puzzle… and you, you are the missing piece.

He places a hand on your head, painting a faint streak of red across your hairline.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes narrowing with something both holy and monstrous. “Good girl. The Lord works through the faithful.”

“Amen,” you breathe, concluding your prayer and not knowing that the man you trust has already begun weaving you into his darkness.

You bring yourself back up to your feet, brushing dust off your knees as you look up at him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes. William gives you a satisfied smile. 

“Come now, little one,” he turns back towards the table, “there is work to be done.”

Work?

You follow closely behind him, head tilted with curiosity as you approach the table… the morbid sight of all the blood sends a shiver down your spine, and you chew on your lip nervously.

“Lie down on the table for me.” He instructs, but you hesitate.

It’s still wet, you’ll be covered in it, it’ll ruin your dress! But besides that, why does he need you on the table? Are you still dirty? Does he need to save you, too? Is he going to kill you?

Your body stiffens in fear, but William has had enough waiting.

“Let me help you, dear,” he hums, gently taking your hand in his before he lifts you almost effortlessly and places you down on the soaked table gently, as if you’ll shatter in his hold if he’s not too careful.

The blood is cold as it seeps into the fabric of your dress. You lie back, and his eyes watch yours track him as he paces around the table, circling in on you like a vulture, ready to land on its prey. You try your best to keep your breathing steady as you anticipate his next move, but Father Afton can already sense your rising panic, and truth be told, he’s exhilarated.

He smiles gently, the same calm, almost paternal expression that always puts you at ease. But tonight, it has your heart pounding anxiously against your ribcage. The silence is deafening in the chamber of the bell tower.

“Faith requires action,” he preaches. “Words alone cannot cleanse the soul.”

Your eyes widen when you see him reach for the knife, still coated in a sheer layer of red, tainted by his last sacrifice. You’re frozen, breath caught, strangled in your throat as you lie there before him, completely at his mercy. But you wouldn’t dare move anyway, you did say you trust him after all. What if he’s right?

You murmur half-remembered prayers as he speaks, “Your blood is not punishment, my dear. It’s a covenant, a sign that your heart is pure and willing, a prayer in a language older than words…”

Your breathing increases when William’s hands reach for the hem of your dress, legs quivering beneath him as he drags it up to rest just below your panties. He pretends not to see the growing wet spot covering your clothed cunt, already overstimulated from such soft touches, such little attention… this isn’t fear you’ve been feeling, it’s excitement.

He rubs a soothing thumb along your thigh, taking a moment to admire your soft, untouched skin before he ruins it. Tears welling in your eyes.

“And tonight,” he raises his knife, “we will show Him your devotion.”

“Please don’t kill me…” you beg in a whisper.

Your eyes stay glued to the weapon, wincing when it makes contact with your skin. You watch as he drags the blade across your thigh.

“Hmm, ngh—“ you whimper beneath him.

He carves you almost artistically. He’s calm, like he’s been doing this for lifetimes.

Next, the other side. His expression drips with desire as he watches the knife pierce your skin, a fire burning in his eyes as the red paints your skin.

William places the knife back down on the table after finishing the second incision. He stops for a second to admire the way your blood spills onto the table before raising a steady hand to one of the cuts and dips his fingers inside, collecting it on his skin. You flinch at the sensation, then watch as he brings the same hand up to his mouth and licks his fingers clean with a satisfied hum.

Finally, his eyes flicker up to you. Only then does he notice the tear tracks running down your face. You’re crying, how precious.

The mere sight of you sprawled out helplessly beneath him alone is enough to make his pants tighten. Your eyes stay glued to his despite your frightened figure, trying desperately to read the expression hidden inside his ice-blue orbs. You’re desperately looking for something, anything that even remotely resembles acceptance, forgiveness, even pride… but it’s not use, you’re lost, he’s completely unreadable as he makes his way around to the side of the table.

You pant, still shaking from the adrenaline as stinging radiates from your fresh wounds.

Next thing you know, he’s grabbing you by the throat and pulling you up to meet his lips.

You gasp in shock at his sudden movements, dainty hands holding onto his wrist. William does not hesitate to deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth with hungry fervor. You swing your legs over the side of the table, spreading them instinctively to let William in between them. His free hand drops to your aching thigh, and one of your hands slides up his arm to get a more stable grip on his bicep.

The hand on your leg makes its way around your waist, eventually urging you off the table. Once you do hop down, William’s movements become demanding. He pushes his hips onto yours, pinning you against the table as he presses his growing hard-on into your abdomen.

You gasp, “Father—“

He silences you with another kiss, grunting disapprovingly against your lips. His fingers tangle in your hair, holding your face tightly against his. Once again, he has you completely at his mercy.

He manages to sneak his other hand underneath your stained dress, and you feel a thick middle finger begin to prod at your clothed pussy, gently rubbing the wet spot on your underwear. A soft and slow pace that contrasts his aggressive mouth greatly. It makes your head spin. You whimper shyly into his mouth.

But you feel conflicted. Father Afton always preached about saving yourself for marriage and the detrimental consequences of affairs like this: bastard children, giving in to the Devil, straying from your faith…

Lust was the very sin that dragged you to his church this late in the first place, shouldn’t it feel wrong to engage in such ludicrous activities? If it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?

Is this a test of your self-restraint? Are you supposed to pull away? You can’t.

When his fingertips start to play with the hem of your panties, your heart feels like it’s about to jump out of your chest.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” He asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“Mm-mm,” you hum shyly, accompanied by a faint shake of your head.

William leans in for another ginger kiss, and you can feel a mischievous grin creep onto his lips.

“Don’t worry, my dear… I’ll make you feel so good.”

It’s a promise, you know that when his finger finally dips inside, taking a moment to introduce it to your pussy and gather up some of your slick before plunging it inside.

You claw at his shoulders, gasping against his mouth at the new sensation. Your cunt is already aching, begging him for more when it flutters around his knuckle. But when he curls it forwards, you keen.

He kisses down your neck after your head falls back, arm wrapping around your waist again to hold your twitching body in place. You can still feel the blood trickling down your legs, right below his wrist.

You bask in your daze as William sets a strong pace, twisting his finger with every withdrawal, before gingerly thrusting it back inside, petting your cervix with each entry.

He has your jaw slack, eyes blown mindlessly wide, and your whole body rocks forward with every curl.

He clicks his tongue, an expression of false pity on his face.

“Oh dear,” he pouts, tilting his head, “look at you, already so dumb on only one finger… how on earth are you going to take my cock?”

His filthy words bloom a hear in your stomach, and you can’t help but whine. He’s right, one is already so much, how much more will you be able to take?

“A-Ah—!” Your back arches when he adds a second finger without warning.

His smile only deepens at your pathetic noises, and he soothes you with a feather-soft peck.

When your knees buckle beneath you, William is quick to catch you, hoisting you back up onto the wet table and pausing his ministrations only for a second to pull your stained white dress up over your head before he greedily slams his fingers back into you, drawing such lewd noises from your throat. But he just can’t help it, you sound so pretty for him.

Your cunt squelches as wetness mixes with crimson when it drips down your thighs, fresh cuts still stinging.

“Mm, you’re so wet for me…” he hums against your skin, “filthy little thing,” 

Tears well in your eyes once again, a mix of pleasure and shame, and once he sees them stream down your face, cascading over the ruby-red flush of your cheeks, he can’t hold back anymore.

He pulls his fingers from you, making your hole throb greedily at the emptiness. You whine at the new and unfamiliar ache, frustration making even more tears drip from your eyes. His fingers work quickly as they unbutton his black button-up, white collar popping free when it falls to the floor. His cock strains in his trousers, slapping against his stomach when it’s finally set free. In seconds, William is standing bare naked, completely exposed between your thighs.

He spits into his hand and strokes his dick with the wetness, smearing precum along his length as he does.

Your vision is blurry from your teary eyes, you can’t see clearly when he pushes your panties further to the side and introduces his cock to your soaked cunt. His tip prods gently at your hole, warning you silently as he gets ready to thrust inside. Then, he breaks the seal.

The stretch makes you cringe, clenching your teeth together while you claw at his back for mercy. He shushes you with quiet whispers as you adjust to his size, breath choked in your throat.

“Relax, dear, you can take it… come on now, be good for me…” he coaxes you, and you slowly let go. “Good girl.”

He starts to move once he feels your walls relax. Still tight, but pliant, malleable, ready to be molded by his desires.

“Lord, your pussy is so tight for me,” he hisses, delivering shallow thrusts.

It’s not long before your gummy walls begin to suck him back in, begging for more, innocent facade just melting away in his grasp.

William maintains a steady pace, not unlike the one he set with his fingers when they were still inside you. Not too slow, but not too fast, either. He wants to savor this moment with you, feel every inch of your purity getting stripped away by him. For him, only him.

Profanities threaten to spill out of your mouth, but you use the last of your willpower to hold them in. You are at church, after all.

The dark, empty room is filled with the sound of your squelching cunt as he slides in and out of your desperate hole, accompanied by your soft, dazed-out gasps with each inch that he moves.

Your mind is swimming with pleasure, sense of self completely lost. All you can think about is him, and how you never want this moment to end.

“Father— Father, please— ah-!”

Your helplessness awakens the fire inside of him, and he doesn’t hesitate to pick up the pace. The volume of your moans increases with his thrusts, and you begin to scratch your thin nails down his shoulders. He tried to hold back, he really did, but he just can’t help himself when he’s balls-deep inside your perfect pussy.

With each rough push of his hips into yours, either side of his pelvis rubs against the cuts he made on your thighs, making you twitch. The stark contrast of the pain and pleasure as he rams into your cervix has your head reeling, and while it’s true that you never want this moment to end, you don’t know how much more you can take.

But then, something changes. His rhythm falters. Once, twice, and William growls above you, dipping his own nails into the fat of your ass before he leans in close to you.

“I’m going to finish inside you, and you’re not gonna let even a drop of my seed spill out of you.” He growls against your skin. “If you do, I’ll kill you.”

Suddenly, he doubles down, fucking you hard and nasty, at a new, cruel pace that you most definitely cannot handle. But, right when you’re about to scream, the clock hits midnight, and the bell goes wild.

It instantly becomes deafeningly loud at the top of the tower, so loud that you can’t even hear yourself think, and just loud enough to completely conceal your screams as you let go.

Twelve slow, consecutive rings. It’s enough for William to ride out his mind-numbing high, vision going white with pleasure as he buries himself up to the hilt, holding you close with his cock spurting inside you and painting your womb white.

The rings finally dull and are then replaced with the sound of soft panting as the two of you catch your breath, simply basking in the afterglow.

But it quickly gets cold again once he pulls out, leaving you empty. You begin to shiver once he walks away, warm body heat completely abandoning you.

You wait patiently on the table as William picks up his clothes from the dirty floor and dresses himself. He returns to you with a kerchief that he always keeps in his pocket, gently wiping you down. It’s the least he can do after using you to fulfill his lewd desires.

“You’ve done well, my dear.” He says, breaking the silence. “The Lord will be pleased with what you have given me.”

“Th-Thank you, Father.” You shiver.

Looking around the room, you can’t help but frown when your eyes land on your dress, pooled on the floor, still stained deeply with red. William catches your eye.

“Don’t worry, I can get you a new dress,” he explains, walking away to an antique chest in the corner and pulling another white dress out of it. “We keep spares up here,”

Handing it to you, you’re quick to throw it on over your head after jumping down onto your feet, knees still weak. William wipes down the blood left on the table behind you, cleaning all of it into an old metal bucket before wiping his hands down and then discarding the rag itself. There’s seemingly no evidence of his crime or your affair at all.

A sudden knock on the door startles you, a nun pokes her head in, a concerned look across her face.

“Is everything alright up here, Father? We heard some screams from the kitchen.”

Father Afton maintains a calm composure as he comes up beside you, landing his hand on the small of your back.

“We’re fine, someone just got a little startled by the bell, is all,” he assures with a faux smile.

She takes a sigh of relief, “ah, okay, well, we should have more guests arriving soon.”

He hums, contemplating. “I suppose it must be time for the midnight mass… Sister, you wouldn’t mind taking her down to get settled in the pews, would you?”

“Of course, Father,” she steps forward, offering you a guiding hand.

As you walk away from William, you can’t help but glance back at him over your shoulder one last time, sealing your trade in secrecy.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he states, flashing you a subtle wink.

“Peace be with you, Father,” the nun bids.

“Peace be with you,” he nods, “Amen.”

“Amen.”