Bless Me, Captain
Chapter 3:
Born Again
Ok, this where it gets good. This little writing experiment took me to some pretty extreme places so be warned: this is some seriously kinky stuff! Like, I am not messin' around. Read at your own risk.
It was Wednesday morning when Emma found herself sitting in her car, watching Gold's shop in hopes the vandals would return to the scene of the crime. She heard her door open.
"Hey!" she exclaimed in confusion as Henry Mills crawled into her passenger seat.
"Don't worry, I won't stay long. I just want to make sure you're going to mass this Sunday."
Emma answered through her bewilderment, "Don't you have school or something."
"Oh I am way too old to be making macaroni murals. And Violet is my art partner which is really creepy because a couple weeks before the curse she let me touch her boob in the alley behind the diner and now she looks like a guest on Sesame Street. This is extremely confusing for me. I mean, prepubescent hormones are bad enough but this bullshit is going to be seriously damaging to my psyche. I mean, how am I supposed to make out with her now that I've seen her pee her pants because she drank three juice boxes in two-and-a-half minutes?"
"Ok," Emma said, trying to keep up, "if I really were your mother you would not be telling me this."
"I know. It's a ten-year-old thing. Apparently my brain matches my fake age so I'm having difficulty filtering. You used to find it endearing, but now it's just really hard to keep secrets."
"Well, feel free to work on that." she commented grumpily. This kid was definitely going to get her in trouble.
"So... mass... Sunday... You're going?"
Emma looked at him then. His eyes were big and hopeful and she saw something vaguely familiar in the shape of his face, but she shook off the thought and asked, "Why do you want me to go so badly?"
"I told you, you have to meet someone."
"Oh, right. Who is it?"
Henry shook his head vigorously, "I shouldn't tell you."
Emma slammed both hands on the steering wheel making why jump, "Why not?!"
"Because when you see him you're gonna feel something, I just know it, and that's what's going to get you to believe. But if I tell you who to look for you'll just think you're feeling it because I told you too."
"Feel something? What does that mean?"
"Just trust me, you'll know it when you see him. I gotta go, the queen can't know I've been sneaking off. She'll get suspicious." he reached for the door handle but she grabbed his arm.
"Henry," she said, searching for some meaning in this conversation, "you should really talk about this stuff with your therapist."
He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, "That's how we got caught last time. This time we're gonna do it right. She won't know we're working to break the curse until it's too late. If we play our cards right maybe this time we'll avoid her trying to kill you altogether."
Emma just stared at him openmouthed. There was simply no response to his words. Finally, she said, "I'm not going to church, kid."
He smirked, "Yes, you are."
"No, I'm-"
"Yes, you are because your superpower is telling you that I am not lying."
Emma furrowed her brow in confusion, "Superpower?" She had only called it that in secret. Why would she ever admit out loud that she believed she could always tell when someone was lying.
"Mass starts at eleven. Don't be late, You're gonna wanna get a seat up front."
She sighed heavily, "Will it get you to leave me alone?"
Henry got out and slammed the door closed, yelling through the window, "No, but you'll do it anyway."
KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE
On Saturday, Emma found herself lying in bed next to Jefferson as he drifted off to sleep. The sex had been better than usual, but it wasn't quite as Earth shattering as their previous performance had been. The dreams had continued, and by the time she finally had her boyfriend in bed she was disappointed to find that even his new ferocity between the sheets just wasn't enough to satisfy her. She longed to be touched by calloused hands, his were soft and well-moisturized. She wanted to feel beard burn on the soft skin of her inner thighs, his face was always clean and perfectly manicured.
"I want to go to mass with you on Sunday." she said suddenly, surprising even herself.
He looked up blearily from his pillow, "I would love that, babe. I hate going alone."
She smirked down at him, "You know, it wouldn't kill you to make some friends in this town."
He responded by pulling her close and planting a wet kiss on her temple, "I have you."
KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE
Emma paced in front of her closet on Sunday morning. The contents of her wardrobe were strewn across her room. There wasn't a single dress appropriate for church and Jefferson would be there to pick her up any minute. She sat down on the bed and let her head fall in her hands with a heavy sigh. Why was she even doing this? Because some schizo kid who was clearly in the midst of a nervous breakdown told her to? That would be crazy! She tried to remind herself that she was going to make Jefferson happy, but she knew it wasn't true.
Emma got up and walked over to the closet one more time. She stepped inside the empty space and pounded against the wall in frustration, but instead of hitting solid drywall, she felt the it give in a strange way. Curious, she carefully pried the loose board away and moved it to the side revealing a dark space. Ignoring everything she had learned from scary movies, Emma reached into the hidden compartment as far as she could, until her finger brushed something soft.
To her great shock, she pulled a sensible A-line dress into the closet. It was a ridiculous shade of cotton candy pink, definitely not something she would ever pick out on her own, and yet it looked familiar somehow, as if she'd seen it before. She had the sudden and irresistible urge to put it on.
As she stood in front of the mirror, admiring the dress which made her look more feminine than she had ever seen herself, she couldn't help but laugh. She looked so innocent and chaste, unlike the thoughts and urges that had been tormenting her all week. She tried not to enjoy the contrast, but the idea of hiding her dirty thoughts about being fucked by a faceless man that was surely the devil sent to tempt her was exhilarating. When the doorbell rang she was ready to go, and practically skipped to Jefferson's Mercedes.
KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE
The bells tolled as everyone settled into their pews under the arched ceiling of the great cathedral. Emma held Jefferson's hand, just like all the couples around them, and patiently waited for the priest to approach the pulpit. She knew his name, but they had never met. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn't even know what he looked like.
She noticed something stuck to the bottom of her cream colored heals and bent down to pick it off. Before her head could rise again she heard a silky, lilting accent resound throughout the cavernous space, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."
Emma froze. Her whole body went rigid. She knew that voice. She had been hearing it in her head day in night for days. But it couldn't be, she reasoned, it simply wasn't possible. That voice wasn't real. It was just a figment of her imagination. A silly fantasy born out of a monotonous sex life and boredom in general.
She stayed where she was, terrified to look, but she answered the greeting along with the congregation, "Amen."
"The Lord be with you." said the priest, and Emma felt the blood drain from her face. It couldn't be. It was fucking impossible.
She closed her eyes as she answered, "And also with you." A hand slid up her back and gently rubbed her shoulders. It was Jefferson, most likely wondering if she was planning on staying there for the duration of the service. She sat up, keeping her eyes closed, and felt his arm snake around her waist, pulling her close. She could hear the distinct British voice perform the sprinkling of holy water and as he recited the words Emma took a deep breath finally opening her eyes as she replied, "Amen."
At the pulpit stood a man, hair black as night with blue eyes so striking they could cut diamonds. His face was covered in black stubble. Instantly she felt it on her skin. The rough scratch of his beard dragging against her neck as he nibbled at her tender skin.
He spoke with confidence and conviction, his sermon thundering throughout the room to an enraptured crowd. He spoke of temptation. He counseled love and understanding to those who transgressed, for none are innocent, and all are forgiven.
When his eyes locked with her she saw it all. His body, sculpted and scarred, covering her's with no barrier between them, his blue eyes looking into her soul as he drove into her, hitting a place inside no man had ever reached.
Mortified, Emma looked around, knowing that her face must be flushed. Suddenly, her faith kicked it. That classic Catholic guilt burst out of it's heavily repressed caged and licked up her spine like hellfire. She was lusting after a priest. A priest! Could there be anything more blasphemous? She made the mistake of looking at him again and saw herself laid out on a bed, while his mouth devoured her core. She couldn't stop the thoughts that followed, as if a dam had been broken they all came flooding in. She could feel his tongue as it swirled around her clit and nearly whimpered when she felt him carefully take it between his teeth and and flick it rapidly with the tip.
Her chest heaved. There was a fire inside her, like the morning she had gone to Jefferson, only this time only one man would satisfy her, and it wasn't him.
Emma considered leaving. She could simply get up and step out, something people did all the time. But she couldn't take her eyes off him, and the more she looked at him the angrier she got. It was cruel for God to make a priest look like that. He was sex incarnate and completely untouchable. Thoughts of his fingers pulling a mind shattering orgasm from deep within her assaulted her vision. The guilt flared up again. These were terrible thoughts. Sinful thoughts. Thoughts sent to test her faith. Little did she know, she wasn't the only one.
KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE
Father Jones was on fire. Every fiber of his being was lit up like the Fourth of July as he struggled through the steps that he had performed a thousand times. The woman in the pink dress, he had no idea who she was but the moment they had locked eyes his whole world had turned upside down. He was instantly thrust into a vision of her riding his cock in the confessional. Though she had never spoken to him, he could hear her wrecked voice loud and clear, moaning into his ear, "Fuck me, Father! Fuck me harder!"
If delivering mass weren't second nature to him he would have never made it through. The entire time he spoke of resisting the temptation to sin he was fantasizing about ramming into her wet cunt like an animal.
Something was terribly wrong. He'd never even been with a woman. He wasn't forceful or aggressive in any way, yet he could hear her cries as he roughly fucked her into his desk, enjoying the way she was struggling to take the whole thing. Every word he preached that Sunday morning was accompanied by her screams of pleasure echoing through the sanctuary as he ravished her on the sacred alter, the evidence of her arousal dripping onto the holy wood.
His erection was hidden by his robes but he felt it all the same. It ached to be inside her. To feel her walls clenched around him as she came apart on his command. "God help me," he said, and realizing he said it out loud he quickly added, "for we are all sinners here."
He had done it. He had made it through the entire mass without coming in his pants at the mere thought of the girl with the blonde ponytail writhing beneath him. A soft murmur rippled through the congregation in response to the strange and off-script ending, but Father Jones was long gone from the chapel before anyone could stop him.
When he reached his room in the small annex that served as his humble residence, he didn't make it another step. Slamming his back against the bolted door he reached under his robed and took himself in hand.
He couldn't remember the last time he had done it. The act was forbidden for all Catholics but especially priests. Never once had he been tempted by his vows but this siren was clearly a demon sent to destroy him, and he was weak.
He imagined her on her knees as he fucked her mouth like it belonged to him. Like he owned it. Like God made those beautiful lips just to service his cock whenever he wanted.
He came hard, wanting to shout her name, but he had no idea what it was. His head hit the door and he slid to the floor, weakened by his first orgasm in at least a decade. A curse left his lips, surprising him. Two words, vile and blasphemous, both foreign and familiar. "Bloody hell." he said, breathless and spent. The life he knew was over. He would never be the same. When he closed his eyes he saw her face and cursed her by His name.
KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE
It was late that night when Emma returned to the church. She was still wearing her dress but had removed her panties after going through a few pairs throughout the day. Every agonizing second was spent trying not to see the scenes that were forced upon her. The tangle of sweaty limbs, the breathy moans and filthy words. As she walked up the Cathedral steps she felt her essence dripping down her leg, the shame of what she'd done tearing her apart.
She had to confess. She didn't have a choice. Every Catholic lived with the fear that they would die without absolution. Things happened every day. Car accidents, choking hazards, falling in the shower. She couldn't leave this world with the events of the day un-atoned for, so she slipped into the confession booth and hoped that the barrier between them would be enough for her to tell him everything. It was the only way. Only a priest could commune her confession to God, and he was the only one in town.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." she waited for his response but heard only silence. "Father?"
"Ahem, yes, my child."
Emma shifted in her seat, the moisture gathering once again at the sound of his intoxicating lilt. "I have committed a terrible transgression. I come to you for absolution."
"God forgives us all. Tell me your sin." he sounded slightly stiff, like he was holding something back.
Taking a deep breath she began, "I have had... impure thoughts. Blasphemous thoughts."
His response took just a moment too long, but it came eventually, "What kind of thoughts?"
She gulped, "Lustful thoughts, Father."
"I see." he said, sounding strange, "But I say to you, anyone who stares at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart." then he added, "We must atone for the sins of the mind just as we must the sins of the body."
She nodded, knowing he could see her from his side. "It's not just my mind. Today I... I touched myself." she said quietly, shame making her head hang, "I touched myself and thought of him even though..."
He urged her to her continue, "Go on, my child."
"I..." she hesitated, "I have lusted after a man of God."
The pause that followed lasted a very long time. Finally he croaked, "Tell me. You cannot be forgiven until you confess your crimes in full. You must tell me... everything."
She knew that he was right. She had to let it all out. It was the only way to make the crippling guilt go away. "I fantasized about him... doing things to me."
His voice low and rough, "What things?"
"He... he took me like I was his whore. And," she huffed, "fuck me, I liked it. I loved it. I begged for more like some filthy slut." she laughed, "I don't beg very often Father. It's... not in my nature. But in my fantasy I begged him to fuck me harder."
"And did he?" he asked, sounding out of breath."
Her center was on fire. She was so close to him and his voice was bringing the images back to life. "Yes. I... I came all over my hand thinking about it, but it wasn't enough. I was still aching to be filled by a cock. And I wanted it to be his cock. The thought of him forsaking his vows made me come again and it was so hard I screamed his name. I know that these thoughts were... very sinful, and I know that I must atone for them-"
"Yes," the priest said, "You have committed a terrible sin, my child, and you... must be punished."
She gulped, unable to stop the thoughts of him torturing her in all sorts of ways. "H-how many Hail Marys, Father?"
He cleared his throat and she could hear him shuffling about on the other side of the partition, "W-well, in traditional Catholic law... the sin of lust was taken very seriously. The punishment often involved... physical pain."
Emma's pulse began to race at the implication, "Pain?"
"No more than necessary, of course. You said that in your fantasy he took you like you were his whore... I-i believe... that for your penance... you should... be punished like a whore. You should be bent over and spanked until your flesh is red and you have learned your lesson."
She thought she was going to pass out. A week ago her favorite position was missionary, now she fought the moan that tried to escape her throat at the thought of her priest spanking her into submission. "Will you... will you administer my punishment?"
His answered was curt and quick, "Wait for five minutes and then come to my office."
"Yes, Father." she replied as he slipped out of the booth.
KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE
Killian lounged in his chair. He had downed five shots of rum in less that two minutes and his limbs already felt heavy. What in the bloody fuck was he doing? He was a priest. He had taken a vow. And yet here he was, trying to contain a straining erection, while a woman was on her way to... God, what the hell was he doing?
He had known it was her the moment she'd spoken in that beautiful voice. Killian knew every voice in town and her's was unfamiliar. He didn't know where she'd come from or how it'd happened but the urge to act out her fantasy was just too great. He tried to tell himself that spanking had been a legitimate punishment in the Church for centuries and that he was acting as her priest and nothing more, but his body knew the truth.
When the door opened he didn't move. He simply took her in from head to toe. The pink dress, the modest heels, pale skin like porcelain. She looked so innocent and yet she was debauchery on legs.
He stood, resisting the urge to adjust his clerical collar, and gestured for her to close the door. She walked over to him, saying nothing, but he saw the longing there. The desperate want. He wanted to give her what she wanted. He wanted to give it to her until it hurt. His fists clenched tightly at his sides as he bit out, "Bend over the desk."
An adorable blush crept across her cheeks and she dutifully bent over bracing her hands on the large oak desk, but he surprised himself by pushing her down further until her upper body rested on top of the notebook he wrote his sermons in. Killian lifted her dress to find her bare and glistening. It was all he could do not to take her right there. "What's your name?" he asked, desperate to know.
"Emma," she answered, "Emma Swan."
"Emma," he said, reveling in the beauty of the word, "To atone for your sins is a gift, so you must..." he couldn't believe he was saying it, "you must thank me for your punishment. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father."
She was so compliant. A lustful, compliant little sinner, completely at his mercy. He touched the smooth skin of her arse. It felt incredible beneath his fingers. A part of him didn't want to destroy it, as he was most certainly about to do, but another part, a very dark part, wanted to mark her. He wanted to spank her so hard that every time she sat down she got wet at the memory. "Is this what you want?" he asked softly.
Emma looked back at him, green eyes blown wide with sinful urges, "Punish me, Father."
Killian pulled back his hand and brought it down on her creamy rump with a loud SLAP! The sound brought strange images. The sea. A ship. A dark cabin, and the hungry lips of a woman. He spanked her again and saw a desolate landscape. A beanstalk, like something out of a fairytale. He felt something rough and dry in his mouth, like cloth. Now you're gonna be a gentlemen?
His hand came down hard, making her yelp. He soothed the reddening skin trying to makes sense of the feelings within. He wanted to do such terrible things to her. He wanted to claim her body and use it beyond repair. He wanted her to gag on his cock and moan like she loved the taste, then he wanted her to swallow his seed and look at him with those green eyes while she did it.
These thoughts were completely foreign, and when he spoke his voice was not his own. It was as if someone else was speaking. Someone harsh and commanding. "You don't sound very grateful Miss Swan."
He spanked her again and this time she responded, "Thank you, Father."
"That's better." he barked. Something was wrong. His voice was deeper, his accent thicker. The filthy words continued to fall from his lips completely unbidden, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Yes, Father."
He smirked, "That's very sinful, to be aroused by a priest. You just can't control yourself, can you?" she cried out when he spank her tender flesh. His rings were leaving temporary indents in her skin that he wished he could permanently place them there. "Look at you. You're dripping wet."
She moaned, "Yes, Father."
"You must confess your lustful thoughts to me. Tell me what you want."
"Please touch me." she pleaded, without hesitation, "Please I need you-" she yelped at the spanking he dealt straight to her throbbing cunt.
"Is that what you want, Emma? You want me to fuck you like a dirty, sinful whore?"
"Yes!" she cried, and her desperation broke him, "Please fuck me, Father, I've never wanted anything more!"
He was unzipping his pants in an instant. "Spread your legs."
She did as he said, revealing her beautiful sex in all it's glory. Gobs of white essence dripped out of her folds which he could see pulsing slightly in anticipation. "My cock is very large, my child, and that will be your punishment. You will take it all, and you will submit to me in every way. Do you understand, Miss Swan?"
"Yes, Father." her legs were shaking. She was frightened, as she should be. He was going to take her hard. A decade of pent up frustration was about to be unleashed on her innocent body and he relished at the thought of claiming her with his hot seed.
Killian lined himself up, rubbing her back in slow circles to relax her. "Relax your body or this will hurt." he had meant for the words to be gentle and encouraging, but instead they were gruff and demanding, but she relaxed all the same and before she could tense up again he slid into her until he felt resistance. "Bloody hell." she was tight. Too tight. Her legs were shaking again as she tried to accommodate the stretch.
He was about to pull out when she whimper, "Don't stop." He looked at her in awe. She bit her lip, "Don't hold back. I can take my punishment."
The good Father didn't waste anymore time. He pushed inside her until he was fulling seated, hitting bottom as his balls coated themselves in her arousal. "Bloody buggering fucking hell." The woman fit him like a glove.
"Your cock is..." she moaned, "Ugh, your cock in incredible."
"Your cunt is something else." he pulled out and thrust back in, going deeper than before. She cried out but there was more pleasure than pain in the sound so he did it again, and again, and soon he was rocking into her, steady and deep, as she moaned like she loved it. He suddenly felt the need to push her to her limit, so his thrusts became quicker and more forceful. "Is this what you want? To be fucked by your priest?"
"Yes, Father, please fuck me!" He sped up, slamming into her while she made the most incredible sounds. He spanked her arse and to his surprise she dutifully replied, "Thank you, Father!"
"Oh, Miss. Swan, you have been a very bad girl, isn't that right?"
"Yes, Father."
"You've been craving my cock during mass, haven't you? I bet you thought about this when you received communion.
"I did!" she cried, "God, forgive me, I couldn't stop thinking about it!"
He went deeper, making her scream, He was thankful no one else was in the church that night.
"Oh, God, I'm gonna come."
"You will come on my cock," he said, "but not until I allow it. This is still your punishment and whores don't get to come until they've earned it."
"Yes, Father."
He fucked her hard. He fucked her until they were both on the brink and she was begging for release, but she did as she was told and didn't allow herself to fall apart until he was emptying himself inside her.
When Killian came down from his high he realized that she was still crying out in pleasure. He reached around and rubbed at her swollen clit, drawing out her spasming muscles that were milking every last drop from him like the greedy sinner that she was.
Killian sagged to the floor and dragged her with him, gathering her in his arms like a precious thing. He turned her so that he could look into her eyes and when he brought her hand up to his lips he felt cool metal.
The ring was silver with a single blue stone. He stared at it, trying to place where he'd seen it before.
Marry me.
The words rang in his head, loud and clear. They were his words, he was sure of it, though he couldn't remember saying them.
She was squeezing her thighs together and wincing as she tried to get comfortable. Suddenly, Killian was consumed by guilt, "I'm sorry, did I... did I hurt you?"
"No!" Emma said quickly, I mean..." she blushed, "a little, but, in a good way."
He grabbed her face and kissed her hard, apologizing with his lips and tongue. Their mouths melded perfectly to one another as if they had kissed a thousand times and yet it felt like the first time he had ever kissed anyone at all. When he reluctantly pulled away he was breathless and needy for more, but he said, "I'm sorry but... you can't stay."
Emma looked down shamefully and he wished he hadn't said it. He didn't want her to go. He considered sneaking her into the annex, but it was too risky.
"I know, I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't be sorry, love." he assured her, brushing some lose tendrils of hair from her face, "That was-"
"We probably shouldn't do that again."
It took a moment for him to process her words. Of course, she was right. What they had done was terrible. Sinful. He had forsaken his vows for a girl he didn't even know, even though it felt like he did. There was no way they could do such a thing again. He would seek absolution and would be forgiven, but he could not give in again.
Still, Killian found himself kissing her once more. He felt her arms around his neck and wished he could keep her there all night. "Never again." he promised, and helped her to her feet.
When she left he felt so alone. He had always been alone but this time he knew that she was out there. He knew what she felt like when her walls fluttered around his throbbing sex. He knew what she sounded like when she came undone because of him. Something had changed. He didn't feel the same. For a small moment he had felt strong and powerful, like a man who was a leader and lover. Killian had never known love, or so he had thought, but Emma Swan reminded him of something, something he couldn't remember. Something good and warm and safe. A home he had once had, perhaps. A place where he belonged.
Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated (unless you want to tell me I am a sinful, blasphemous Babylonian in which case, tell me something I don't know) And for the record, as someone who went to Catholic school for 12 years and skipped a LOT of class I can personality attest to the fact that the church still considers spanking (aka, the rod) a legitimate punishment (which is probably why I grew up to be Priest!Killian trash).