The Magdalene Ch. 01: Lavender

The fresh priest standing in front of me sways his weight forward. "Who are you?" His dark tone nudges off the stone walls of the bell tower. He is quite handsome for a man of the cloth, and unusually robust. A roughness under his placid demeanour darkens his boyish face. He should be nervous, not starved.

Tilting my shoulders, my dress slips down my body perfectly and onto the floor. The priest falters back, parting his lips but no sound escapes his mouth.

On seeing my nakedness, they usually catch a sense of their destruction. Second thoughts abound, but rarely stop them. No matter how many times I reveal myself, I feel that thrill when their eyes fix on me. It's all in the design, of course. It doesn't work if I feel nothing.

The smell of lavender carries on the cool midnight breeze. I glance out the arched window to the sleepy Tuscan fields in the distance.

"I must know who you are." Crude Sicilian inflects break through his Tuscan dialect. I've never learnt to speak Italian, but I know it, like every other language throughout the Ages. The Gift of Tongues comes with the job.

I coo to the field flowers rippling in the breeze, "It doesn't matter who I am." All this time, it has never really mattered.

"I didn't know women like you existed. There was always talk. But talk's talk." His strange accentuation breaks me out of my momentum. Women like me don't exist, except one–for more than two thousand years now. I bet my age would blow his mind. "Well, I assure you, I'm standing before you in the flesh," I whisper.

"Yes, you are... Tempting me," he grits.

My cheeks pull my lips into a tight smile. I like it when the Elect are not afraid.

We stand in silence. He seems to know he can't escape. The struggle behind his eyes is all too familiar, and something I hope I never get used to seeing.

Another whisk of cool lavender-soaked air sweeps past my bare skin, conjuring a run of goosebumps across my ribs, and over my tight nipples. My slight shiver pulls the priest off his heels. His long slow strides towards me are a play, a test. He's presuming I'll be intimidated but I am not that inexperienced. I look forward to him warming me with his big hands all over my body.

Bracing myself, I'm ready for him to plough through me, but he stops short, and my body is left hanging. He is close, so close he can kiss me if he so desires. His eyes close, head hangs, and he takes a long, deep inhale through his nostrils. He is breathing me in along with the violet-scented midnight.

"Are you tempted?" I ask softly. I want this and he needs to know it.

He shakes his head and looks at me from under his brow. "Every morsel of my being is telling me no... but I don't want to listen."

"Then don't. You can have me, all of me. Right now. My body is ready for you. Made for you. A perfect fit. Take me and ease my craving for you. Show me mercy, priest."

I shiver as his dry knuckles brush over my stiff nipple. His whole hand cups my full breast, his coarse fingers pinch into my soft flesh.

I reach down, the back of my hand finds his thick cock through his heavy cassock, and I stroke along his length.

Screwing up his nose, hissing in a breath through his teeth, a sting of ecstasy hits him. I see it in his eyes, hear it in his breath.

Oh, I'm going to like this.

The priest falls into my neck. I catch his weight, and a low moan escapes his chest. His hold on me is so tight, so tender, it's disturbing–more than I can bare. I freeze up. I am not a Madonna. I am not built for compassion. I can't be–comfort should not be found at my bosom. His grasp has me on the edge of turning back. I can't do this... I can't break this man. I don't want to. But I have to–I was created for the greater good.

All of thirty years, the priest is strong and devout, no blemish on his records, all past deeds cleansed away. But all the Elect must fall, some just need a little more push than others. For the priest to rise to his true greatness, he must overcome sin. One cannot overcome sin without sin being cast upon them.

I am sin.

I was once cast upon every man until my Deadly's were released free into the world. Seven demons possessed me–I carried them as a warning. But my demons were cast out, and I stood sinless, before Joshua, before the world. Sinless with a sinful purpose–I still had my divine calling to fulfil. My forgiveness became a curse. An oversight, blinded by love. A forbidden love.

The sour reminder twists my heart. Over the millennia I've learnt to use my deep aching to suppress my conscience. Well, almost.

Scratching my fingertips through the priest's dense hair, I murmur into his ear again. "If you want it, take me now, or never drink from this cup."

He pushes off to meet me eye-to-eye and I see him for the first time, his longing to understand, his curiosity, his energy to push through the thin veil of obscurity. This is why he is chosen–he searches for truth.

After a rolling glance over my bareness, he scratches at his neck and tears away his white collar, attacks his belt, then the buttons on his double breasted. The Sarum falls to his feet. His tattooed sleeves rippling over the contours of his arms pique my interest, but the gothic cross punctured into his chest salts the wounds in my heart.

It's always a cross.

I set aside the image, distracting my eyes with the priest's bubbling abs to ready my body for him. A rush of sin tingles between my legs and my wetness surges into a warm dripping flow of approval.

The priest pulls down his boxers and his manhood bobs up and down in that hypnotic way. A drizzle of him flows out of his blowhole and glistens in the moonlight as it rounds into the perfect tear drop. My mouth pools for a taste.

Before I can offer my usual limits–one hole, any hole, "choose wisely"–he rushes at me, taking me up into his arms, and slams me against the cold stone of the window arch. With my body firmly wedged between his hips and the tower rock, he scoops up my legs into his rough hands, spreading me wide around his waist to receive him. The tip of his cock finds the mouth of my sin without any guidance, and I have to wonder how this priest knows what to do so well.

The little sharp corners of the rock graze my back as he slides his shaft all the way, deep inside me. He's so hot, and warms me through.

He shifts my hips to sink himself further and now I am all too aware that he has done this before.

He watches me as he pulls out so slowly, then charges into me and smiles carnally at my gasp. Hard driving thrusts fuelled with his passionate energy–he's a raging bull determined to explode. My body jerks up with each plunge, steeped in his lascivious desire. His abs crunching to reach in further, his arms curling, not willing to let me go. The hunger in his eye for me–he's too beautiful to behold.

Wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling up eases the cuts driving into my back from the rugged wall. My chin hooks over his shoulder–a five pointed star, a mark of family loyalty, is embedded in his skin. The priest is La Stidda mafia–he is out of his province, out of his profession.

A sizzling chill suddenly makes me pay attention to his thick hot cock swirling around deep inside me. Oh, it really shouldn't be this good. It's not fair. I hang onto his burly arm tensing to keep me down on him. His sweat at his nape saturates my wrist as I take the pleasure and pain ramming and whirling deeper into me. It's too amazing, and I search for distraction to get in control of myself again.

The country breeze flows over us, but the priest's heat consuming me wards away any shiver. A storm is coming, the night sky rumbles, mimicking my quaking. The silvery moon electrifies the green among the violet fields, and lightning strikes up through my frame. I battle with my voice. It wants to cry out into the stormy night but I can't let it. Not for two thousand years have I succumbed to the pleasure, but the verge is too close.

The rhythm in my reformed mobster becomes constant. I hear the savage thirst in his breath. It won't be long now. Twisting his hair in my fist, I pull down, making him direct those daunting eyes at me. Beautiful agony and rhapsody stare back, ripe for supplication. Biting my lip, I grasp the first tinge of my climax. Oh no, this is not going to be an orthodox ring in. My whole being clenches onto him, squeezing out every possible sense from his cock. The sublime pleasure shudders through my frame. While I tremble in his hands, the priest pushes up through my tightness, fully evolving my orgasm. The release is too much for my mortal body and a tear escapes me, betraying my strength.

His satisfying sigh catches me before I have time to feel weak. The contentment on the priest's face, his eyes so reaching, a gentle smirk on his lips... he is thrilled to the core of what he has just done to me. I am dangerously too close to him to keep my distance.

My thighs twist as he wrings them in his hands. The rhythm through his hips find speed again. He won't take his eyes off mine. The priest is coming to his end.

He moves, keeping our gaze the centrepiece of his kindling. Taking hold of my waist, hands squeezing, he finally lifts his eyes off me and bucks up his hips, arching his back, throwing a growl into the roof of the tower. Beastly, and beautiful to watch. The big brass bell lightly vibrates, and I catch myself giggling at the delight to my ears.

While on his high, I snatch hard the scruff at his neck and make him look at me. Leeching onto his eyes, I draw in his full attention. His soul catches its reflection in the darkness of my pupils. I am a window to Heaven, a vessel for Divine will. I make wayward men fall to their knees and look up. I don't know what they see through me, I cannot know, but whatever it is, it catches their humanity.

The priest's brow crumbles and meekness fills his body, but his eyes keep fixed on mine. The vision has caught him up.

What wondrous things he must be seeing.