Sister Emilie cupped the devil’s balls in her hands, like two perfect spheres beneath the soft and beckoning skin. She knew sweat and she knew pungence, but only from her own body. Lying under the scratching blankets in the common room of the chapel above the clouds in the Montana valley, her legs apart, naturally exciting for reasons that she could not explain. There was knowledge that was hidden, unspoken of in the darkness unlike the bible. So many of the words she was taught as a child and as a young woman relied on the pre-existence of text, of holy word scrawled in perfect print on the heavy greasy pages of biblical tomes. The words of the prophets, the words of christ, permanently inscribed into the human and mortal world to instruct and to be cherished and to be idolised…but then that was the dark and wordless knowledge. The ineffable draw from the deepest levels of the heart and of the gut. She knew that love itself was tangled and not like the one that was spoken of in the texts. the love of instruction. The love that is asked of her for the lord and for the lights and for the angels who lean their weight against the cosmic bannister to look upon her, her fingers barely centimetres from her pulsing, love-filled clitoris in the night, judging her. There is knowledge that is unspoken, there is a magnetic draw, the same way the hair-pins of sister Bullock clung to the mountain rocks un-aided. The natural world, brushed against easily, effortlessly. Thinking without words.
His testicles, resting heavily in the palms of her hands, swollen and potent spoke to her without speaking. He rested back, his head pressed against the oak of the head-board in the infirmary, his red curls gushing down over the bed and across his chest.
“Please do not suffer yourself the indignity, I am sorry I ever called out sister, please. For my sakes let me alone with this pain, the doctor will know what to do in the morning, your pity and your care is felt by myself intensely, but please…I let you know that this is charity and not your duty.”
Sister Emilie leaned forwards. She felt his manhood swell…like her face was the approach of a conductor’s baton. His smell, his sweat, like the beckoning jungle of the pulp novels she kept tucked behind the flaking lime-stone by sister Dunstan’s bed.
She ran her thumb over the skin of his sack, dancing her fingers across its surface, knowing that he felt every inch of it, truly like an organ, responding.
A fat, wet, kiss. She pressed her lips against them and sucked in his sweet flesh and then again and again and felt his muscles ripple up towards his chest.
She knew that though he yammered the lords prayer to the dark ceiling, his body harmonised with the secret language she knew existed, now. Another suck, his soft skin and coiling hairs at the mercy of her lips like the farmland is to the sun, wherever her lips went, there grew wanting, there grew the pulsing pink and phantom flowers of sex.
Hot lips against his testicles, his cock hardened to a spire above her head, resting his heavy weight against her forehead, the pre-ejaculate glinting in the moonlight from the open window, the forest rustling and gliding against the hot summer mountain wind.
Sister Emilie had never though to take the soft head of a cock into her mouth, before. She never knew of it or what it was called but her throat ached for it. Kissing the part between his balls, she kissed and licked her way up his shaft, tasting the salt and sweat and grazing against the nooks and crannies of his true self.
It felt like the soul. It had always felt like the soul to her. The mind thought and mused and spoiled a good thing with over-thought but the ache, the pink light that dripped like honey and filled the void in her gut, dancing with pointed heels on her clitoris felt more like love, more like truth than anything in the world.
Her arms raked through the dark fabric of her sisterhood robes and she hooked her thumb under her cotton panties and slid them down, like a command, gracing her vagina with a gentle generous exposure to the hot and sultry summer wind and gripped it with her whole hand as she bit down over the soft slick head of the devil’s cock. Tears welled in her eyes and within the slips of her vagina as she felt him tense and grow rigid in his entire self, from his blunging arms to the valley of his abdominals, he became shaded and jagged and powerful looking, like a sword or a gun and she had her fingers on the hilt and trigger and she joined him in sexual agony by simply gripping herself, grasping her sex in her hand, her hot and pulsing lips and clits pressing hot into her hand sending a shock wave up through her thighs, hips, shoulder and arms, spluttering and gasping against the hot and swollen head of his cock.
She chokes it down and tames herself with her fingers against her clit, letting the cool air flirt with her as she pinches the pink and glowing ember of her crotch and stokes it like she stokes Satan’s.
She sucks and slides her tongue down over him, barley able to fit much more in her mouth, he tastes right, he feels right, wordlessly. Sucking and licking, she feeds herself as well with her possession, sliding her fingers over her clitoris, round and round, grinding off pieces of exquisite crystal, of incredible softness and taste and power, her thighs clenching, her stomach muscles burning with truth and passion.
Power overcomes her, blasting from her hot anus all the way to her mouth she is lit up like a sword and she is conquering Satan and pouring the hot oils of pandeamonium back upon the dark lord.
Her eyes meet his. His dark eyes, brown eyes the slink softly like the knocked oak of a boat or the sloping mahogany of a piano, cooling to her steel grey bullet eyes. The jolt of his gaze is almost too powerful as she slides her tongue around and around his slick head, feeding every bitter salty sweet inch down further into her throat, her thumb grinding down upon his twitching testicles as she clutches them in her grasp and filling herself with her fingers that know the way without having ever been told it.
He’s gasping, sweating, gulping down air like a horse and completely at her mercy.
His own dark magic turned against him, Sister Emilie feels power like she has never felt before. What creed need sacrifice? Wouldn’t be the crowning act of the world be one of mutual benefit? With ever surging fuck of her fingers within herself, with the fire filling her ass muscles and her throat gracing another further burning inch of his cock, she knew a perfect deal when she saw it. Her hand left her pussy and clambered up onto the bed and onto his stomach muscles which stood out and left themselves be at the mercy of her touch, shrinking and rising, she wanted them under her hands for reasons she had yet to understand.
His eyes were still there, staring into hers as she ground her tongue against the shaft of his cock and she could feel him lose himself.
Something was giving way inside of him. The moonlight changed.
“Emilie. Emilie…” he said, quietly. He said, sincerely. “…stop.” he added. In the way he said it, she knew he said it in a way that his self-imposed sanctity demanded, but his true divinity didn’t pretend of a second was legitimate.
Hot ejaculate, drawing itself from the deepest of his being, his soul, liquified, filled her mouth like a death-throe, like life, death and rebirth in one pulsing, sweet and salty act. It was like the pearlescent source of everything. Like Christs’s blood more than christ’s blood. His shaft squirmed inside her throat, pumping in hot passionate spasms.
Emilie felt her hand fly back down between her legs and grip and spread herself around her fingers and another blast of perfect itch and light filled the space behind her eyes as she fucked herself as Satan emptied his swollen sack into her mouth and down her throat in thick creamy spurts.
Drinking it, savouring it she fed from his being and from his soul.
He cried as she drank, whimpering.
The dark magic was there for all. For all. Not just the chosen few, like she had been for the sanctity of light. Satan would have to learn that his magic and charm was accessible to any and all.
Suddenly an explosion from her crotch, but only preliminary, like a detonator buried deep inside of her cunt, the first note.
The hidden language filled her ears again and with aching thighs, she clambered up to her feet, the hot slopping mess, swinging in silver lashes from her bottom lip.
She needed to meet him where he was, to get as close to him as she possibly could. She felt her fingers grasp the laces of her boots and wind themselves between the knots to undo the mess bellow and soon, he was between her thighs. Her dark robes covered his body up to his neck and his heat below her, filled her. His twitching cock and balls played feebly by her aching crotch.
Splayed beneath her, rendered more perfectly than any painting that was shown in the town below, Satan had something that all his idols were missing. A pleading fear. His jaw and nose, his perfect lips, an obvious trap for sister Emilie. If he was to tempt her with a lure, he should know that she was willing to be tempted, but would he be enough to tame her, to possess her? If he wanted the baked cookies that rested at the bottom of the jar, could he stand the heat?
He was more than handsome…he was beautiful in his delicate ways and she was like the night upon him, the strands of semen sticking and sliding across his bare chest, neck and face as Sister Emilie connected the both of them first at the lips, feeling his gaze against her closed eyes and his lips against hers, hungrily grasping and sliding against each other like mercury, like harmony. And then his tense gasp blowing his perfect breath into her nose and mouth when she gasped his still swollen cock and fed it to her deepest desire.
Like the sword in the stone, a kingdom was re-united between them and a soundless implosion drown the two of them together.
Disbelief crossed Satan’s delicate face as she began to make love to him.
And it ‘was’ love. Booming and powerful and she slid herself over him, feeling every sweet inch of his cock, pressing against the walls of her cunt she gripped his angular hips and bit his bottom lips as she fucked the devil.
Riding him, she sought out his neck as she wanted to hear his laboured breath more than anything, a timber that no choir master could coax out of any throat. She smelled his neck and the sweat in the pillow as she fucked him and he fucked her.
His hands gripped her thighs like fight, like resistance, like claws, but she only complimented them by grinding herself back against them. A swift move, his arms like wings sliding under the black robes found her bare flesh and boomed like pipes in the sombre valley as they gripped and tore at her hips.
Faster, faster, his hands on her hips like a bridle in the mouth of a mare.
Wanting the same thing. Needing the same thing.
Fucking, loving, nameless torture and infinite pleasure at the same time.
His fingers find her asshole and press two indexes into it without knowing, without thinking, screamed at by the secret language.
As her anus begins to part in a hot red sunburst of pleasure, she feels like invader and guest at the same time. A perfect loop of invitation and exploration.
The warm night air, his face is the last thing she ponders on as the magic rage explodes inside of her crotch as the first screaming orgasm she has ever felt.
His eyes, his sharp cheeks and perfect brow. They both meet properly, for the first time as she feels his cock squirm against the pressure of her hot cunt and grow again to its zenith and blow another draught of cum into her and her clitoris pops like a grenade and an explosion that draws inwards crackles against their skin like lightings.
They were both truly acquainted with each other for the first time that night.
He had fucked. This was the first night he had ‘been’ fucked.
Sister Emilie smiled, truly smiled for the first time in a long time, her eyes closed, drifting on the rose mist of refraction, standing up on the bed, letting the cum flow out of her and back onto his aching, twitching cock.
“Vanquish, like Jason to the walls. A dark and twisted game can be figured out, Satan. Meet me again on any battlefield. At any time and I will show you my power and my glory again and again.” gasps Sister Emilie, drunk on the moment, she stepped awkwardly off the creaking bed-frame and disappeared off into the darkness.
Owls that had held their breaths before, felt permission to hoot once more as darkness settled on the mountain and clouds drew across the moon.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vg6wkj/the_devil_and_sister_emilie_fm