But there are cameras in here. Mine, obviously. But every fuckin' second is recorded for Giovanni to observe later. Not a live feed, though I could do that if I wanted. He just didn't ask for it so I didn't offer.
He doesn't really want to know what happens here. He just wants the option.
I straighten, closin' the notebook with deliberate finality. "Twelve votives. Light them. Confess each sin as the flame catches."
Emmaleen rises with fluid grace and crosses to the bank of red candles linin' the chapel wall. I watch her select the first taper, hands steady despite the tremor I know is buildin' in her core.
One by one she lights the candles, confessin' each demerit in that quiet voice, illuminatin' the space with symbols of her failures. When the twelfth candle flickers to life, she turns back to me, eyes downcast, waitin'.
The rest of the ritual has been done and done again. All the stations but one. The last one.
Some, like Position Secunda, are for punishment.
Others, like Tertia through Sextus, are for edging. Making her beg. Driving her insane with her own arousal.
The later ones—Septima, Octavo, Nonus—are mostly check-ins. Hydration, hand feeding, petting. I edge her still, but only enough to make her writhe, never enough to make her fail.
We do all of them.
It takes hours.
Hours of eating her out, commanding her to hold her orgasms.
Hours of promising her my cock, but never giving it to her.
When I first introduced her to the chapel, her absolution was bestowed quickly in Secunda.
That's not how we do it now.
She gets nothing but edging until Decimatio.
By the time we finish Nonus, the sun is just startin' to rise and she's barely able to keep her eyes open. But she's still wet as fuck. And she hasn't orgasmed in almost eight hours.
She's desperate for it.
But Decimatio is demandin'. It's the final release for both of us.
The one time in this whole ritual where I take more than I give.
So she gets a choice.
She's lying on my stone altar, face up, legs spread, pussy dripping with her own arousal, when I lean down into her earand whisper, "Would ya like to bathe now, lass? Call it a night? Get some sleep?"
"Noooo," she moans softly. "No, my Saint. I want to finish." She opens her eyes, her pupils are wide as fuck, and looks at me. "Please.Pleaselet me finish. Please give me more."
"Mmmm," I hum. "Then let's go."
I grab her body, pull it off the slab of stone, and set her feet on the floor with such quick precision, she doesn't even have time to command her legs to stand.
Emmaleen's knees buckle, nearly collapsin' before I catch her, and she wobbles for a moment, desperately tryna get herself together.
I'm watchin' carefully. Waitin' for the moment when her brain comes back online, then I give her a push. Hard enough to get her goin', light enough not to knock her down.
Then I'm pullin' her through the curtain and into the great room.
I give her one final shove, makin' her stumble straight to the windows.
Then I come up behind her and lean back into her ear. "This is Decimatio, a stór. This is what you've been begging for all these months. Are ya ready?"
