Her Black Wings

She hovers over me, her knees drawn up to my waist, as she moves up and down my cock, her eyes watching me, burning into my brain. I watch her radiant body moving on top of me, thrusting, her breasts pushed out as she arches her back, her stomach narrowing down to her curved, writhing hips. Her weight holds me to the ground and I can't move if I wanted to. I'm paralyzed by the waves of lustful pleasure radiating through my body from my cock, every nerve connected to my cock, and she holds it firmly inside of her, stroking it, rubbing it, her cunt rippling about it.

She throws her head back, her black hair flying through the air, her black wings snap out over us, extending out across the width of the church, and she spreads her arms over her head as her body stretches out long and lean, her skin dark and tight around her flexing muscles, and she pumps her hips frantically, thrashing on top of me, and my vision explodes in a bright, red light, my back arches uncontrollably like electric current is passing through my body, and my will, my strength, my soul, explode from my cock and into her.

Images form in my head as she whips her body on top of me, images of me going to the seminary, talking to the other students in hushed tones, bringing them her decadent promises, and watching as she seduces them in the night, images of me leaving to a barren country to introduce the destitute population to her as their new goddess, images of her visiting me at night, caresses, kisses, orgasms more intense each time, and I give in to them all.

I shudder as my body falls back to the ground, completely exhausted, drained, feeling like my body has been skinned and every inch of me is raw and alive. She moves slowly on top of me, letting my cock shrink inside of her, still dribbling the last of my semen into her.

She leans over me and touches my face softly. I open my eyes to stare into her face, dark and terrible, horrifyingly beautiful. I see my future and I accept it, taking it into me, wallowing in the knowledge that I'll be her angel, her messenger.

"You'll be my saint," she whispers and folds her black wings over me.