His fingers press into my hip bones, guiding me forward slightly until my pelvis tilts.
"Bend," he says. "From the hips. Keep yer spine straight."
I fold forward, my torso lowering over the prayer desk, and?—
Jesus Christ.
My ass is in the air.
Like,wayin the air.
And my pussy is just... on display. Completely exposed. Anatomically featured in this little Catholic sex show like I'm the main attraction at the Museum of Terrible Decisions.
"Wider," Saint Lorcan instructs, and his hands move to the inside of my thighs, pressing outward. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Or wider, if ya can manage."
I shift my stance, legs spreading, and the cool air of the chapel hits my wet pussy in a way that makes me want to die of embarrassment and also maybe come immediately.
"Forehead down," Saint Lorcan says, and I press my face against the slanted wood, just like Position Prima. "Arms extended. Palms together."
I stretch my arms forward along the desk, pressing my hands together in prayer position, thumbs finding my forehead.
And just like that, I'm back in a posture I know—the safe, familiar prayer position—except now I'm standing instead of kneeling, and my entire lower half is completely vulnerable.
Welcome to Catholicism: Kink Edition. Now with 100% more ass exposure.
"Eyes closed," Saint Lorcan murmurs.
I let them fall shut.
For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of my own breathing and the faint crackle of seventeen candles burning my sins into existence.
Then Saint Lorcan edges up behind me.
And my entire nervous systemdetonates.
I don't know what I was expecting—maybe gradual arousal, maybe a slow build—but what happens instead is that my body goes from zero tooh my god I'm going to die if someone doesn't fuck me right nowin approximately half a second.
It's so sudden, so overwhelming, that my knees actually buckle.
I start to collapse?—
But Saint Lorcan's hands are there, catching my hips, steadying me with firm pressure.
"Easy, beloved," he says, and his voice has gone soft. Soothing. "I've got ya. You're safe."
Safe. Sure. That's definitely the word for being bent over naked in a sex chapel while experiencing a full-body meltdown.
But his hands... they don't grab or demand or punish.
They justhold.
One palm flat against my lower belly, the other braced on my hip, keeping me upright while my legs remember how to function.
"Breathe," he tells me. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
I drag in air—shaky, uneven—and let it out.
"Good girl," Saint Lorcan murmurs. "Again."
