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Lucrezia Navarre, Saint of Sodomy

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Dec 27th, 2013
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  1. Lucrezia Navarre quickly closes the heavy wooden door to her bedroom, the woman breathing heavy, her face flushed. Dealing with nobles all morning, helping with the noon mass and further prayers, then overseeing the transport of arms and weapons for much of the rest of the day had left her incredibly stressed and frustrated. The templar is a patient woman, not one to lash out in anger, but it seemed everywhere she'd been today, someone had conspired to get on her every last nerve. That Count von Strubach was lucky she hadn't brought him to his knees - the sheer audacity to insult her and the church so casually! But as a defender of the faith, she must act as a representative and a role model; everything she does falls back on the church, the good and the bad. It is a grievous burden at times, particularly as she's unable to do much at all to let out her anger and frustrations; as a member of the church, she must remain chaste. There's no rule, however, against...
  3. Turning to face her room, she looks around the sparse quarters for a moment, eyes tracing her armoire, her footlocker, simple wooden table and chairs, the wooden nightstand and candles...and ending at the bed. Not anything terrifically fancy, but nicer than boxed straw, with a handful of goose-down pillows, a warm, wool blanket, and cotton sheets beneath. She ponders for a moment; yes, yes she should have enough time. She'd just sent that lump of a servant off to fetch her supper, and he is wont to take his time, no doubt getting up to no good. Going to her footlocker, she quickly presses the key into the lock and lifts the lid, the rummages around for a moment in the bottom, uncovering her secret under some thick cloth. Clutching the golden buttplug and small flask of oil tightly, she glances one last time at the door, then steps around to the side of her bed.
  5. Uncorking the flask, she spills a copious amount of the lubricating fluid onto the thick, tapered toy, careful not to spill or waste any. Shivering with anticipation, she sets the flask on the nightstand, and lifts a knee up onto her bed; reaching back, she clutches her slitted skirt, and pulls it to the side, baring her thick, pale ass to the torchlight. Careful not to drop the plug, she hurriedly brings it around to her rump, pulling one cheek to the side with her free hand to give her better access, and presses the tip to her tight pucker. That alone is enough to make her moan lewdly, the templar in intense need, panting as she focuses. Pressing her gloved thumb to the ruby jewel on the handle, she pushes hard, forcing an inch or so into her, smearing the oil messily around her asshole as it stretches out. She winces at the slight pain, but doesn't stop; drawing it back out, spreading the lubricant around every bit of the plug and her hole, she presses it in again, clenching the blanket in her fingers and gasping. Desperate to get her relief, she pulls back once more, then, aiming carefully, shoves the golden toy in entirely, her pucker closing around the handle, nothing shown but that ruby gem.
  7. She can't stop from crying out, groaning lustily as her insides are pushed open so perfectly. Running her fingers over her soft cheeks, she gives her ass little squeezes here and there as she gets used to the delightful fullness. Now and then she taps on the jeweled end, sending little vibrations up through the plug, making her whimper cutely; after a minute, she takes hold of the handle and pulls partway out, then pushes back in, fucking herself in short, quick thrusts. It only takes a few moments before she has a breathtaking orgasm, the knight trembling on her bed with her ass up in the air.
  9. Llywelyn Fireborn sighs, his head filled with waves of pain, beating rhythmically. Surely his suffering was caused by the obstructing bureaucracy and legalism of the church he was visiting. He felt spoiled; his own faith was much more relaxed and decentralized, which suited Llywelyn greatly. The sudden change of political climate had him confused and weary, as he made great pains to observe the rites and practices of his surrounding clergymen. He had been visiting for almost a week now, but had spent very little time within the church itself. He was constantly being sent out to heal or feed the poor. He was of course happy to do this work, but it nevertheless tired him after several days of uninterrupted toil.
  11. Luckily, the interior of the church was relaxing in and of itself. The soft, dark woods and brilliant scarlet tapestries provided a lovely scene, which Llywelyn spent a few moments studying between his casual prayer. He cycled through all of the official, typical prayers, before moving on to his personal thanks for the blessing bestowed upon him, finally asking for the strength to continue serving the impoverished. After finishing, Llywelyn stood up and headed towards the bedrooms. He had eaten very little, and as such, was eager to find a place of meditation until he could eat. Anything to put his mind off of the headache, and his work, and all of the other minute stresses that he longed to ignore or best.
  13. He walked through the hallway, certain he had found the right door. The architecture seemed labyrinthine, but he had been staying here an entire week, after all. He turned the handle slowly, yawning.
  15. He paused.
  17. He wasn't exactly sure how to react as his mind had trouble even comprehending what he saw. He recognized the woman, but only barely, as a very important member of the local church. Lucrezia Navarre. He had not met her personally before, but here she was, bent over, his ass in the air. He glanced around, taking in her beauty and shapely physique before truly understanding what was happening here. Logic would dictate that he should apologize and quickly step up, but Llywelyn was past the point of rational thinking. He stood still, admiring this lovely woman with a mixture of awe and bestial desire.
  19. Lucrezia Navarre doesn't even hear the door open, so lost in bliss as she is, awash in a sea of pleasure and emotions, much of that tremendous stress slipping away. One hand pressed to the bed, her fingers clenched in the blankets, the other remains on her plush behind, softly squeezing her left cheek, more to simply hold on than anything else. Her untouched womanhood drips feminine juices, the fluid beading and falling as she shivers, splashing quietly against the stone floor, a clear indicator if all her little noises and shaking body weren't. She pants, her chest heaving as she sucks in air, her rear swaying just a bit as she lays there on her chest, collecting herself, the woman reflecting on her situation. She turns her head to get more comfortable as she ponders whether or not she should pray for forgiveness, when she suddenly catches sight of Llywelyn and the open door. Blinking, she stares for several long moments, her hand slowly reaching for her skirt and pulling it back into place, obscuring her backside; her eyes locked on him and his libidinous gaze, she turns, seating herself firmly on the bed and pointing. "G...get out! Why...GET OUT!"
  21. Llywelyn Fireborn steps inside the room, kicking the door shut behind him with a soft thunk. His puzzled expression slowly develops into a bemused smirk, his eyes locking with her's as he crosses his arms over his chest. "It's not like I'll forget what I saw if I just... walk out."
  23. Llywelyn stands there, motionless for a few moments, before adding some more words. "You don't have to stop, you know. I don't mind." He finds himself wishing he had hid, so he could continue watching her. She was still gorgeous in her clothing, of course, and he was still taking her in with his eyes, but he wasn't exactly in the mood for the chaste appreciation of a pretty girl.
  25. Lucrezia Navarre goes digs her fingertips into the bed, growing increasingly alarmed and panicked by the second; there goes all that wonderful release, the stress and pressure returning tenfold. She berates herself for a moment, always knowing this was a foolish thing to do, loathing herself for her lust and stupidity. She'd be stripped of her rank for this, reduced to a common servant, if not outright excommunicated...and at that point, they might announce why, as well. The entire city could know of this within a day! The thought made her frantic, her mind searching for some way out, even as she watches the man like a hawk, shocked at his audacity. His comments make her eyes widen a little further, the young woman appalled that this apparent holy man would say such a thing. Does he mean to take advantage of her? Hold this over her head as a means to get anything he wants? She scowls at him, curling her hands into fists. "D-don't talk such rot! I, I won't do anything for you, y-you scoundrel!" Her tone carries well how uncertain and scared she is.
  27. Llywelyn Fireborn blinks, a bit taken aback at her assumptions. Llywelyn laughs, noticing her fear. He moves forward a bit, his arms unfolding. "What are you scared of, Lucrezia? That I'm going to tell your superiors? Ha! If even one of my Brothers knew about the things I did, I wouldn't be wearing this cloth right now." Llywelyn kneels down in front of her, looking at her eyes. He rests his hands on either side of her, on the bed. She's beautiful, he thinks, and scared. She's lonely, and she's stressed, and I've ruined her attempt at alleviating her tension. His expression warms, though it holds a distinctly predatory aspect in the way that his eyes are slit. "I feel guilt, Lucrezia. Guilt at ruining your... ministrations. I... seek... penance." His arms move to her hips, holding her tightly with his large, powerful hands, before both moving in and pulling her towards him, kissing her deeply.
  29. Lucrezia Navarre widens her eyes further still, bewildered and taken aback and utterly at a loss as the man kneel before her. She'd known of lustful, corrupted clergymen, had seen one excommunicated herself; was this man putting on a ruse, trying to trick her? Then his hands are close, so close, his arms on either side of her, she feels trapped as her mind races, the lady templar inching back slowly as she stares intently at him. What can she do? If he's intent on assaulting her, she's in little condition to stop him, already at her wit's end, her strength fleeing her in her utter fear. The shame of being raped, as a warrior, would be nearly as unbearable as having her reputation turned; she would lose her rank, still, be made into... She starts to sneak her hand towards her waist, towards her dagger, in the hopes she might be able to drive him off, when babbles at her again. Is he...mad? Or is he making fun of her? Then his hands are on her, blocking the dagger, she raises a fist, and...he's kissing her. Heaven alight, he's kissing her, his lips are pressed to hers, moving and...she has no strength, no idea what to do, and it, Lord, she feels lightheaded. Her fist drops like a stone as the sensation overtakes her, the woman trembling like a leaf in his grip, barely even daring to breathe but for a quiet whimper.
  31. Llywelyn Fireborn feels the dagger on her belt, taking it between his fingers and carelessly tossing it behind him, to the floor, some place far away from Lucrezia. Her body weakens beneath him, offering little resistance, and his arms tighten in response, keeping her close to him. He tears away from her, breathing erratically both out of arousal and from his passionate kissing, before he begins licking and sucking at her elegant neck. Softly at first, but increasing like a crescendo until he is biting and leaving small, bruised areas on her. "You didn't fight very hard at all. Aren't you supposed to be a warrior?" His tone is playful, but his body language does not let up, and he soon finds himself kissing near her collarbone, just a few inches above Lucrezia's breasts.
  33. Lucrezia Navarre flinches as he snatches away her means of defense, her longsword across the room, resting on the table. She can't think, though, she can't even begin to, her mind made blank by the passion of his lips against her, both her mind and her body failing her. The woman begins to drift off in her own head, hey eyelids fluttering as she struggles for the barest grip on herself, so utterly lost of control she can't even understand how to wrest it back. When he pulls away, she lets out a little surprised sound as she exhales, gasping for breath and simply staring down at him, her lips quivering as they long to meet his again. The lady inhales sharply as he goes after her neck so hungrily, afraid again that he might be insane and out to tear her throat out, but in her state she's so vulnerable that all she can do is groan at how fantastic his attentions feel. She barely supports herself with her arms, elbows bowing now and then as she practically mewls against him, leaning back further and further with his body pressed to hers. Even when it starts to hurt, it's a sweet little pain, only adding to the tremendous sensations overtopping her sensibility. Blinking at his mocking words, her brow furrows, the holy woman regaining some of her spirit as she shoves feebly at his shoulder. "Nnngh...g-get off..." Squirming now, she turns her body between him and the blankets, reaching for the other side of the bed in an effort to pull herself away. Her delicate neck is very much still his easy prey, but she twists and wriggles, her chest turning away from him to press against the bedding.
  35. Llywelyn Fireborn frowns at her resistance initially, angry to have her body out of his reach, away from his access. He lets her fight at first, putting up only a token resistance, before sitting up and letting her flip around. After she turns, he pushes back down on her, pinning her to the bed, her body facing down. "Really? It's like you want to expose your ass to me." He lifts her skirt up, presenting her round, full cheeks, with the golden plug still resting inside of her tight little asshole. The sight sends shivers down Llywelyn's spine, and soon, his erection begins to grow, until it protrudes against outward, creating a very noticeable bulge. His fingers find themselves tracing along the curve of her ass cheeks, scratching lightly across her smooth skin. "With a toy like this, I suppose that makes sense after all." He smirks, having fun belittling the proud woman in front of her, all the while playing with her butt and holding her down. Finally, his fingers run over the buttplug itself, before slowly applying pressure to it, fucking her ass with the little gold tool.
  37. Lucrezia Navarre grows frantic once again as he restrains her, the fearful woman flailing an arm back at him in a vain attempt to free herself. She stops, though, when he reveals her soft, thick behind, turning a deep red with paralyzing embarrassment, too ashamed and afraid to try anything. Her burning humiliation and guilt only deepen at his derisive words, causing her to bury her face against the woolen blanket beneath her as tears start to form in her eyes. He can see everything, he can, she knows it, every part of her and the treasure she kept to relieve herself, the damnable thing that had now become her doom. She tries to think of something else, distract herself from the teasing, alluring sensation of his fingers on her flesh, but she's so tense and sensitive, she can't help but shift and worm as it causes her to grow oddly excited. When he finally, cruelly busies himself with the jeweled plug, she stiffens up hard, moaning lewdly as the toy presses against one of her favorite spots, and she immediately claps a gloved hand over her mouth, too humiliated for words.
  39. Llywelyn Fireborn continues for a few moments, pushing the golden buttplug in and out of her, watching the muscles and flesh surrounding it move in response. He could tell she was loving it, and so he increased the pressure with which he worked, occasionally stopping the caress one of her ass cheeks with the palm of his hand, relishing the softness of her skin and the fullness of her buttocks. His thoughts are numb and foggy, and he operates almost entirely on intuition and instinct, caring little for any of the stresses that had raced through his mind just minutes before. His thumb then rests on the toy, pushing downward, while his middle and index finger travel down to her glistening folds, stroking softly. The moisture tantalizes Llywelyn's mind, and he soon sinks the fingers inside of her, feeling around in her sex before pumping slowly, in rhythm with the plug inside of her ass. His hand that was previously holding her down lets up a bit, stroking along her back and idly working up and down, rewarding her with a massaging motion on her shoulder of a light smack on her ass when his hand reaches them.
  41. Lucrezia Navarre clutches at the grey woolen blanket so tightly she may well tear it, so overwrought she is that the feeling of the golden toy pressing gliding against her inner flesh seems more powerful by tenfold than usual. She can barely muster the will to breathe evenly, practically choking on the sensation of her ass being so intimately manipulated. The woman mumbles incoherently against the bed, letting out little shrieks now and then, her body taut and quaking beneath his hands. Trying to think, trying and yet failing, all she can do is suffer joyfully as the priest inflicts insurmountable pleasure on her, writhing and screeching as he starts in on her pure womanhood, her thighs clenching shut. The lady templar had only dared touch herself there on the remotest occasion, too afraid of violating her vow of chastity, too afraid of becoming addicted to the wonders it might bring. Her fears were well founded, then, as she is seemingly tortured by the man, even with those sweet caresses along her form. It doesn't take more than a couple minutes of this before she reaches climax once again, her form tensing and shuddering violently as her pussy begins leaking copious amounts of feminine liquids.
  43. Llywelyn Fireborn cannot remain stoic in the face of such a glorious sight. Her juices flowing all over his hand. Her body quivering in pleasure. Her ass clenching around the toy within her. Llywelyn rides out her orgasm, his fingers keeping pace with her writhing, but already he begins formulating his next move. His cock was fully erect, pressing against his pants, leaking precum in expectation. When she finishes, Llywelyn stands up, turning her towards him, before licking the moisture off of his fingers. The taste is so deliciously feminine, and the action so crude and basal. He throws his shirt off, revealing his muscular, scarred body to the woman, before taking her in his arms and kissing her again. His hands wrap around her back while his lips and tongue caress hers, before his hands grab the clothing on her back. He tears, his muscles working powerfully to disrobe her until her body is exposed and the scraps of her vestments are discarded on the floor.
  45. Lucrezia Navarre heaves and pants as she lays there, for several moments merely hanging on and trying to breathe, stricken nerveless by the unbelievable ecstasy that had surged through her for long moments. She compliantly turns over at the behest of his touch, the woman left without an ounce of resistance left to her, her will being grotesquely bowed though not quite broken. Peering up at the cleric through mussed strands of her blonde hair, she's the vision of ravaged beauty; flush of face, cheeks stained with tears, eyes half-lidded as labored breathes drift past her full lips. The lady can only watch as he so lustily cleans his fingers and begins to disrobe, thinking somewhere in the back of her mind that she should shout, or fight, do something to ward him off, but her body doesn't respond. Then his lips are on hers once more, and while she tries to deny it, the act is so warm and intimate and pleasant she can't stop herself from groaning against him. Vaguely does she grow alarmed as he rips her vestments from her, and in moments she lays bared to him on her own bed, in her own quarters, in the heart of her church. Lifting her arms to cover her breasts shamefully, her eyes twinkle, the woman gazing up at him for a moment before turning her head. "P...please..." Her voice is so soft and uneven, her unease and despair are almost tangible, the woman a living symbol of tender fragility.
  47. Llywelyn Fireborn did not reply; he simply stood, taking his belt off while looking at her with a look of gentle, yet domineering desire. He let his pants down, revealing his twitching cock, before moving forward again, taking the woman in his arms. With one hand, he began twisting the plug out of her ass, slowly, until it is removed with a vulgar, wet sound. He sets it down, treating it with an amusing amount of reverence, before resting his thumb against her asshole, massaging in circles. He guides her down to her back, making sure her lower body is hanging off the bed so he can easily access her pucker, before reaching for the oil. He takes it, before holding it out towards the wrecked beauty, gesturing towards his cock as he does so. "Why don't you do the honors?"
  49. Lucrezia Navarre watches the burly priest finish his undressing shivering with apprehension, still very much fearful he's going to do something awful, something to make her weep, something to finish the appalling humiliation and leave her broken entirely. The sight of his throbbing manhood does little to abate that feeling, the girthy prick intimidating to a young, chaste woman who has never beheld one like this. The feeling of her familiar, beloved plug being moved is a welcome distraction, then, the smooth metal relic twisting and turning terrifically, making her shiver with delight; that is, until it noisily pops free, making her flinch and moan. His thumb feels oddly sweet in those circular little motions, doing a bit to help her relax as her bare back rests against the blankets. Taking a deep breath, she finally seems to be regaining a bit of composure as her tormentor offers her the flask. What, she thinks, could be his purpose? To degrade her further by making her a party to her own violation? Flickering her gaze between the bottle and his eyes, she swallows and, after a moment, decides that he might well plunge himself in dry; she'd learned the terrors of that long ago on her own. Tilting the flask, she rests the tip of it against his bulging head, tipping it further until the silky oily begins running out down his length.
  51. Llywelyn Fireborn moans at the very first instant of the oil's presence. The sight of it running down his cock is alluring in and of itself; it provides his mind with various images. The initial penetration. The thrusting. The climax. He was overtaken with anticipation, and his cock was still rhythmically moving, his very pulse evident in his manhood. He clenches his teeth, resisting the urge to speed her up. Instead, he tried to enjoy the feeling of the lubrication spreading across him. He took his hand, aiding it in covering the entirety of his considerable length, until he felt that it was covered well enough. Taking her hip in his hand again, he guides her to flip over, her ass in the air, much like it was at the start of this perverse encounter. He leaned down, still feeling at her quivering pucker, satisfied that it was still well lubricated. With a flick of his tongue, he laps at the bottom of her pussy, but only briefly. His tongue then runs along the texture of her pucker, teasing her.
  53. Lucrezia Navarre: The sight of his hips thrusting, his manhood pushing back and forth so needfully, seems such a filthy, explicit sight, she can't help but look away, embarrassed once more by his lecherousness. Compliantly does Lucrezia turn, slipping her hands and knees under her once again, the nervous lady seizing upon one of her pillows and hugging it to her chest, laying atop it. Perhaps she can convince herself this is a mere dream, so carnal nighttime visions brought on by her woeful nature. Then again, as he continues rubbing at her nethers, and now obscenely licking at them, she knows she won't be able to slip away into her head, pretending it's all a nightmare. She's already too hot, too physically excited, a sheen of warm sweat on her body. Twitching once as he laps at her clenching hole, she tries to control her breathing that comes faster by the moment, crushing the pillow against her and knowing she won't be able to bear what's to come with dignity.
  55. Llywelyn Fireborn rests on hand on the small of Lucrezia's back, as an attempt to comfort her as well as a way to balance himself. His other hand was meanwhile stroking his cock, loosely, distributing the oil as evenly as possible. He stands up, lining himself up with the girl's asshole, grunting softly at the thought of penetrating her. He felt a pang of guilt at her attempts to steady herself, overcome with adoration for her beauty, even in its current corrupted state. He nevertheless pressed his head against her, feeling it part ever so slightly, the warmth of her ass intoxicating. "My lady, may you enjoy this as much as I will." His hand tightened, scratching along down to her ass cheek, then parting it to allow him to see his actions with obscene clarity. He thrusts forward, slowly but forcefully, watching her asshole flex open as his cock moved forward. He moaned, overcome with pleasure at her pucker's tightness as well as the oil's slickness. He eased in until half of his cock was inside her, before thrusting out much faster, gliding with ease due to the oil. His hands traveled to the hips, as he knew he would have trouble standing if he didn't. The pleasure would simply be too great.
  57. Lucrezia Navarre finds much solace in his strong hand pressed against her, relaxing the arch of her back further, tilting her hips and more fully presenting her rear to him as a result. She finds herself eager for more of that touch, that reassuring contact, that...sweet gesture. Her fear begins to drip away at that realization, that this priest seems to be capable of gentleness, and ready to show it to her. Even as he begins to violate her, she finds this true, his warm, hard flesh prodding into her slowly, almost delicately; though, that's not to say it's easy for her. She gasps softly as it pushes in, thicker than the golden plug by a bit, but more because it's so different otherwise, more giving when she clenches around it, and so hot inside her. The stretching is immensely pleasurable, and the simple taboo of him being inside, and likes this, builds arousal in her to some degree as well. Oddest of all, when he speaks, she feels a strange affection welling up in her, this strong feeling for him, driven up by his consideration for her. Murmuring a quiet thanks, she nonetheless whimpers prettily as he begins pressing deep into her, quickly inhabiting unexplored flesh, stretching her wide where she'd never touched herself. Hearing his own pleasure ring out makes her shiver, makes her squeeze tight around him, the lady templar marveling at his manhood. When he yanks himself back out, she gags on her own cries, the sudden sensation of his bloated cockhead grinding back against her inner flesh completely overwhelming her. Her arms hugging tighter around the goose-down pillow, she focuses on breathing, huffing hard.
  59. Llywelyn Fireborn clears his throat, his breathing slightly labored. His thrusts are slow but deep, and he can feel his cock enveloped by her body, warm and soft and tight. His pace crescendos, remaining slower than it would be inside a vagina, but faster than it was, as Llywelyn struggles to maintain enough composure to control his pace. Watching her ass shake as he pounds against it makes him feel strong and powerful, and he equally enjoys the sensation of his balls slapping against her moist sex, until they become moistened by her feminine secretions. While her ass inevitably relaxes as he moves and time goes on, he is still overwhelmed by her tightness until he is almost panting like a wolf or some other beast. "Oh, Lucrezia. Oh yes, I needed this." He grunted, his hands tightening along her hips, bringing her to him as much as he is thrusting into her. He then decides to lean over, one hand on the bed, the other cupping one of Lucrezia's breasts, softly toying with her nipple. His face now near her neck, he whispers into her ear. "Oh, darling, this is perfect. It's so tight. You love it, don't you? Lucrezia - Saint of Sodomy!" He laughs in heavy breaths, his thrusts quickening and his arm moving from her breast to across her chest, his hand softly holding her neck.
  61. Lucrezia Navarre can only gasp as the commanding cleric takes her so powerfully, so fully, reaching into her farther than she had thought possible, pressing her wide open. The quickened tempo of his thrusts is more than she's known, as well; certainly, when using the plug as before, she's committed to fast little thrusts, but his are long, and deep, and still hard and fast, and his manhood seemingly endless in comparison. These new depths become accustomed to the priest's rutting soon enough, though she wonders if that's due to all her previous pleasuring, or if she's simply deep down a wanton woman; a shameful thing, causing her to well up inside with disgrace and submission. In this moment she becomes his, prostrate and subservient to his whims, her dignity and honor thrown by the wayside for his pleasure, his satisfaction, and the worst part is how she exults in it all. Her asshole pounded so fiercely, she feels properly used already, and each slam into her sends thrills up her spine besides. His groaned words spur her on, the girl crying out beautifully as she begins pushing herself back against him, his masterful cock probing so many of the perfect places inside. She is already coming so close again, when he leans in and whispers that depraved praise, gracing her with her new title. She thinks, "Oh God, it's true, I am! Heaven forgive me, commend my spirit..." Unfortunately her prayer falls short as the new Abbess of Assfucking is pushed over the edge, cumming like mad. She wails, such a sonorous sound, her entire body shaking and trembling in his grip as ecstasy begins to surge through her like a wildfire. Her pucker grips him so tightly it nearly seems like she's trying to tear it off, and the rest of her warm insides following suit, pressing down and clenching superbly around his manhood. All she can do is sob in bliss as he continues to ream her.
  63. Llywelyn Fireborn gasps loudly, his partner's sudden orgasm shaking him to the core. Her trembling body beneath him is such a wonderful sight, with such incredible sensations so close to him. Such pride he felt, that he was able to do all of this to such an angelic being, that he was able to make up for his intrusion and grant her the relief that she longed for. Of course, it was by no means a selfless act, as the waves of pleasure coursing through his body from his cock, balls, and prostate remind him. He whispers in her ear as she comes. "That's it. Ride it out. Good girl." He kisses the back of her neck, then raises himself, his back clinging to her for a second due to the sweat covering their bodies. His breathing is frantic, and his thrusting increasingly erratic, and even oxygen becomes a lesser priority. His voice rang out endless curses and grunts, his muscles tense and tightly clenched around her, the rhythmic gripping of her asshole only serving to aggravate the situation. Finally, he began feeling that familiar sensation at tip of his cock. He didn't want it to end, but he didn't have the control to continue. Surrendering, he leaned over for one last declaration of depravity. "Lucrezia, I'm going... I'm going to fill you up. I'm going to come... Oh yes, oh gods... take it! Take it, my saint!" His balls tightened, and sharp pangs of pleasure hit him, several week's worth of stress and abstinence vanished from his body and his cock violently spurted thick globs of his seed deep inside of her ass.
  65. Lucrezia Navarre plunges headlong into visions of utter ecstasy the likes of which she's never dreamed, her shuddering body dominated from head to toe with coursing pleasure. Her vision explodes into every color, spiraling and spinning and becoming a pool without depth, churning and swirling. In moments it becomes pure white, everything does, and she feels almost as thought she's soaring high, high up with the clouds, carefree and completely happy. Every further thrust from him shoves her higher, every bit of further pleasure he gives her another gust of wind lifting her to greater heights. His sweet words are like the breath of the wind, wrapping around her and tickling and making her feel warm and glad. She's flying over a mountain now, high up in the clouds, and his announcement of climax the rumbling of a volcano; suddenly the mountaintop bursts, and she's awash in his molten seed. Torn back to reality, moaning and whimpering, the sensation of being filled to the brim with his burning hot essence is another kind of satisfying, and as she floats back down, she feels a kind of pride at having been graced with his spunk.
  67. Llywelyn Fireborn moans in breathy tones as several more spurts erupt from him. The orgasm is painful as well as pleasurable, and his groans are from both the sudden burst of bliss and the lingering ache of sensitivity. Llywelyn pants, resting within her, his tight grip on her hips loosening and relaxing until they sway by his sides. His cock remains hard, albeit less so, and he begins the process of slowly sliding himself out. His grunts turn to low gasps, until his cock flops out, a thin strand of semen dripping from the tip. With his orgasm came clarity, and a deep realization of what has transpired. Before he gets too sober, Llywelyn takes the plug and presses it against Lucrezia's ass, sliding it in the hilt and trapping his come deep inside her. He collapses on the bed, still breathing hard, completely at a loss for words. Instead, he simply takes the girl and lays her against him, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead before laying his head down on the pillow, lost in thought.
  69. Lucrezia Navarre continues luxuriating in the incredible sensation of hot, viscous seed splashing against, considering for a moment how lowly and degrading a thing it is, and embracing that. She feels...low, like some morally lax wench, and it's somehow wonderful, as though all the worries and duties and responsibilities of her station in the church have lifted away, leaving her unburdened. Her only duties now are to herself and to him, and all have been carried out obsequiously, the both of them thoroughly pleased and she as well-used as a common harlot. The thought makes her tingle, reminding her of being a child and getting up to mischief; yes, the mother superior isn't anywhere to be found, and she's stolen an entire jar of sweets all for herself.
  71. Such sweets as the terribly pleasant way his manhood is freed from her grasping hole, pulling away so wetly and making her moan in delight. She collapses on her chest and face once more, disliking the idea of spending energy to hold herself up, instead leaving her plush behind wavering up in the air. The sullied templar pays for that, and pays happily, too, as her beloved butt plug finds its way right back home, making her squeal once more; she has to squeeze down on it to feel it properly, but it's familiar and nice and dear Heaven does she enjoy this feeling of fullness. The fact that the priest has trapped his seed inside her is not lost on her, either, the idea giving her an impish grin, making her mind teem with curiosity; what will become of it? Will it simply stay there? It hardly matters as Llywelyn pulls her against him, the girl laughing happily, making a pleased sound as he kisses her and clutches her belly possessively. She bursts into giggles now and then, squirming contently next to him, his body so appealing now, she simply can't get enough. The plug inside her rubs in just the right ways still, sending jolts through her now and again, making her grin lewdly as she snuggles close to him.
  73. Llywelyn Fireborn broods on his actions, wondering if they made too much noise. If the ripped garments on the floor would be a blatant sign of their sinfulness. If he his absence from his own room would be noticed. He sat there, prepared to take the blame for everything, when suddenly, Lucrezia worms around in his arms, snuggling against him. He can't help but smile at her, seeing her so relaxed. So content. He knew the feeling, very well, and was glad to have shared it. He still can't think of anything to say, so he leans forward, kissing her passionately on the lips yet again, parting with a soft nibble on her lower lip and a smile. He could help but rest his hand on her ass, idly jiggling the full cheeks of prodding the plug every once and a while. He wondered if they would notice if he slept here, and he felt a yawn approach. He looked at her, pausing to look at her eyes before speaking. "Tomorrow we'll have to go back to everything, you know. We won't talk again for a while, and I'm probably going to have to leave soon, back to where I'm from. I'll try and visit again sometime, but it won't be for months, at least. But, Lucrezia, right now, let's just. Not be clergy. Let me be a lecher and let you be my harlot, and let's stay here, together, and not think about anything at all." He laid his head back down, sighing, holding her tighter before closing his eyes.
  75. Lucrezia Navarre ponders similar questions for a moment, before disgustedly tossing them from her mind; she's finally relaxed, really, truly free of the immense stress and pressure, at least for now. She feels truly, well, heavenly, as heretical as that might be to claim. A very deep, real happiness, a satisfaction, a freedom. Idly, she does not think her god will forsake her for that. Meeting the cleric's kiss with fervor, she raises a hand to his stubbly cheek, holding his face lovingly, giggling once more at the way he toys with her. The way he fondles her, too, brings a toothy grin to her face, the motions bringing on a few last tinges of erotic pleasure, her ass more sensitive that ever before by a wide margin; what a blessing he's given her.
  77. Listening to him intently, she knows it's all true, but she doesn't mind at all. To be a defender of her faith is her true calling, after all, one she fulfills with dedication. That she has allowed so much to build up and drive her to the brink, she thinks, is a testament to that truth. All must rest, though, and relieve the pressures of the day. Smiling warmly, she nods and wraps her arm across his chest, relishing his muscle and his warmth and his love.
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