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nubiawrites · 24 days ago

Text

Now maam

Part One: Fighting Temptation

Author’s Note: You are all a buncha sinners who need to REPENT! 🫵🏾😒 Bet you’ll think twice about jumping me! (Will be a two part story)

The summer heat clung to your skin. It was thick, suffocating and you could feel the intensity rolling down your spine with every pass of the rag. Sweat beaded along your brow, stinging your eyes as you leaned harder into the stubborn smear of mud streaked across the church’s warped wooden floorboards. That single patch of dirt refused to lift… just like the whispers around town that wouldn’t wash away no matter how many prayers you mouthed in the dark.

You were bent low in the front aisle, where the stained glass filtered sunlight down in halos, and every groan of the floor beneath your knees made you feel like even the church itself was watching and judging you. The cotton dress clinging to your hips was damp from scrubbing, and your arms trembled with effort and frustration.

You let out a long exhale and only in your head did you mutter a curse that had been flirting with your tongue for the past hour.

“Watch ya’ mouth in the house of God.”

The deep rumble of his voice snatched the air right from your lungs. You jolted, nearly dropping to all fours as you whipped your head around. There he was. Father Elijah “Smoke” Moore. Dressed in simple black slacks and a rolled-up white button up shirt with his sleeves pushed just beneath his elbows. The faint sheen of sweat along his temples was the only indication he was real and not a vision sent to test you.

“I… I didn’t say anythin’… Father.” Your voice was paper-thin, fluttering and raw, like you hadn’t used it all week.

He stepped forward and glanced from your flushed face down to the rag at your feet. His eyes were heavy, smoky things. Watching, weighing and judging like he possessed the eye of God. “I ain’t need to hear you say it vocally. Ya’ actions said everythin’ ya’ lips didn’t.”

The rag on the floor might as well have been your soul, it was dirty, wrung out, and exposed under his gaze. “I-I-I’m sorry, Father.” You turned your face downward, ashamed of the way your thighs pressed together from just the sound of his disapproval. You kept your eyes on the floor like a good girl, but you stopped breathing when he moved again, closer this time.

His boots were polished, heavy, and silent against the old floorboards until they stopped just inches from your bent frame. The air around him smelled of incense, sweat, and cedarwood soap. His presence filled the space like thunder before a storm. “Ya’ scared of me, girl?”

The words landed low in your belly, heat blooming where it shouldn’t. You blinked up at him, heart hammering behind your ribs like it wanted to confess something you weren’t ready to say out loud.

You didn’t answer right away. Just swallowed thick and tried to push yourself upright without swaying. “I… I don’t know what I’m ‘posed to be,” you whispered.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You ‘posed to be repentant. That what ya’ mama said when she dropped you off like an unwanted stray.”

The shame in your chest twisted until it throbbed. Still, you didn’t cry. You wouldn’t give him that. “I never did the things they say I did,” you murmured. “I only danced… just once.”

His eyes narrowed like he could see right through you. “That’s all it take. Devil don’t need much more’n a crack to slip his hand under ya’ skirt.”

You gasped, eyes going wide, but he didn’t apologize or soften the blow. He let the words sink in like a blade slowly twisting. You looked away, cheeks blazing. “I didn’t let nobody touch me.”

He knelt suddenly, boots creaking as he crouched down to your level. “That why you here, huh?” His voice dropped a level as his eyes bore into you. “To stay untouched?”

You held your breath. “I’m here to prove I ain’t what my mama say I was.”

His gaze lingered on your face, then your hands, and finally the small tremble in your wrist. “Then stop scrubbin’ like you tryin’ to erase sin from the floor instead of your soul.”

Silence stretched long between you two. A hum of heat, shame, and something darker neither of you dared name.

Smoke stood like he hated giving your presence that much attention but couldn’t help himself. “Finish the pews next,” he said, eyes still on you. “Then go wash up. Supper’s at six.”

“Yes, Father,” you whispered.

The sun had started to bleed out behind the tree line, turning the horizon the color of rusted copper. Crickets had just begun their nighttime song when you made your way toward the modest kitchen tucked behind the chapel. The scent of buttered cornbread and stewed greens hung thick in the air, wrapping around your senses and settling into your bones. Before supper you made sure you washed the sweat from your skin and changed into another plain cotton dress, the hem brushed your ankles as you moved through the old halls of the church with bare feet.

Father Smoke was already seated at the head of the long wooden table, sleeves rolled, collar undone like it always was come evening. His Bible rested to the left of his plate, like it was part of the meal itself. The overhead bulb casted a dull amber glow across his face showcasing his sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a mouth set in a line too serious for his age. He looked like a man who’d seen death up close and never quite let go of its shadow.

You hovered by the threshold, unsure if you were meant to sit or serve.

“Come eat,” Smoke said without looking up, as if he could feel your hesitation from across the room. “Ain’t no point in starvin’ both body an soul.”

You moved to the far end of the table, setting yourself down as quietly as possible. The only sounds between you were the scrape of cutlery and the soft clink of glass against the wood grain. It wasn’t until halfway through the meal that he finally spoke again, voice smooth, but lined with flint. “Why the town think you a jezebel?”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth and your throat tightened around the greens you barely chewed. Of all the things he could’ve asked… it was that? Your eyes shot to his, but he didn’t look curious. He looked like a man already knowing the answer and wanting to see how you would say it.

“I… um…” you blinked and played coy. “I didn’t know you’d heard all that.”

He raised a brow, unamused. “I live in Clarksdale same as ‘errybody else. Ain’t a whisper don’t reach my porch sooner or later. Ya’ mama say you was dancin’ but the town think you a whore.”

You swallowed hard. “It… it was just a misunderstandin’. I went out with some friends, only for a little while, an someone saw us near the juke joint. We weren’t even inside long… barely even danced.” You rushed to explain, your voice gaining momentum like a river after rain. “I didn’t drink nothin’, didn’t smoke, didn’t touch nobody. But when folks ‘round here see a girl laughin’ past eight o’clock in a dress ‘bove the ankle, they assume the worst.”

He chewed slow, eyes never leaving your face. When you paused to take a breath, he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and asked, deadpan, “You still a virgin?”

You choked on air. “F-Father!” you gasped, the word catching in your throat like a sharp stone. “I… what?”

“I asked a question,” he said, tone unbothered, voice deep and matter-of-fact. “Simple one at that. Is you?”

Your face went hot. So hot it felt like it could set the whole table ablaze. You blinked rapidly, fumbling with the hem of your sleeve, mouth parting, then closing again. “I… yes. I mean—yes, I am. I wouldn’t lie—”

“I didn’t say you would.”

His voice rolled slow across the table. It was calm and unwavering but that didn’t cool the heat spreading between your thighs, a strange sensation growing where it had no business blooming. Not in a church and certainly not with a priest sitting across from you looking like he was forbidden fruit.

You stared at your plate. At the crumbs of cornbread and the sweat-beaded glass of sweet tea. You could barely concentrate on anything besides the lingering pulse between your thighs.

A silence stretched between you, thick and humid. Until finally, the words came out sharp and too loud. “Well… are you a virgin?”

It landed like a dropped Bible in the middle of a sermon. You instantly regretted it but you were annoyed. Annoyed at the way he looked at you like he knew you better than you knew yourself. Annoyed at how he could ask so many questions without ever offering anything back. And maybe… just maybe… you wanted to see if he could be flustered, too.

But he wasn’t. Elijah Moore didn’t so much as blink. His dark eyes held yours steady as he leaned back slightly, arms folding across his chest, voice low and plain as dirt. “Ain’t been a virgin since I was fifteen.”

The air in your lungs vanished.

He didn’t elaborate and he didn’t need to as he let that truth settle into the room like dust. “I lived a different life back then,” he added after a moment, glancing down at the ring of condensation under his glass. “Did things I ain’t proud of. Took what I wanted. Lived fast. Sinful. An women… well, they came easy.”

You swallowed hard. “But that was ‘fore you…”

“Ten years,” he said, cutting in. “Ain’t touched a woman in ten years.”

Your jaw slackened. “Ten… years?”

His nod was slow. “Since the day I came back from that bank job gone wrong. Day I buried my brother. That was the day I buried the man I used to be.” He said it with no emotion like he had rehearsed it, or maybe just said it so many times it no longer stung.

But you couldn’t move past it. Ten years? Ten WHOLE years? The thought clawed at your insides like something wild. You eyed his broad-shoulders, how he still looked young despite the weight in his eyes, and the way his lips looked plush yet untouched by time.

“What? You shocked a man can live that long without warm company?” he asked, sensing the disbelief in your silence.

You blinked. “It’s just… that’s a long time.”

He gave a dry chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s discipline.”

You should have let the conversation die, but instead your nervousness got the best of you and without warning your tongue betrayed you. “Well… my friends say that most men who follow God only do it ‘cause their thing don’t work no more. For… ya’ know… nookie.”

You winced the second the word left your mouth. Nookie? You sounded like a child caught sneaking into grown-folk business.

But Smoke’s jaw ticked once, subtly and a flicker of something flashed behind his eyes. It wasn’t anger, just the slow build of a quiet insult. He spoke low, voice smooth but edged in something firm. “I’m thirty-seven years old an healthy as an ox. Ain’t nothin’ on me that don’t work, little girl.”

Your stomach dropped and you diverted your eyes away from him while trying to calm your nerves. “I ain’t mean it like that—”

“But you said it.” His eyes never left yours. “An since you so curious, let me put ya’ little assumptions to rest.”

You didn’t breathe.

“When I was indulgin’? Never had a woman walk away dissatisfied. I ain’t boastin’… just speakin’ plain. I knew what I was doin’, an I did it well.”

Your mouth had gone dry and you reached for the glass of tea, hand trembling slightly as you took a sip, but the drink didn’t cool you down.

He leaned in, folding his arms again. “An if I did ever choose to go down that road again… which I won’t… but if I did…?” His gaze dropped just for a heartbeat, to the curve of your throat before rising again. “Wouldn’t take much for me to please a woman. Not a challenge I ever needed help with.”

Your breath became shallow with your chest rising and falling like you had just finished running ten miles, except you hadn’t moved. You sat in the same spot unraveling slowly under the weight of a man who hadn’t touched a woman in ten years but still spoke like he knew exactly how to unmake one.

He stood without another word. The chair scraped back on the wooden floor. “Supper’s over. Wash up the dishes. Then head to ya’ cot.”

A response disappeared on your tongue and you simply nodded. He turned without saying anything else and the sound of his boots echoed against the floorboards as he walked out, leaving the heat behind him like a storm that hadn’t fully passed. And still, even after the door creaked shut… you sat there, trembling and wondering what it might feel like if he ever decided to sin again.

The next day you tried to forget what occurred during dinner. You really did. You scrubbed harder. Prayed longer. Bit your tongue and kept your eyes low like a woman of God should. But that supper… that conversation… it etched itself into your bones like the scent of pinewood oil on the church floors. Smoke continued to act impassive and didn’t bring it up again. He didn’t even glance at you differently. And at night, when the world went quiet and when the lanterns were blown out, you couldn’t stop the scenes that played behind your eyes.

In the evening you laid flat on the cot in the back of the church house. Moonlight seeped through the narrow window and stripped your legs in silver. The room was hot and sticky, even with the window cracked. Your thin nightdress clung to the sweat slicked against your belly and the insides of your thighs. You rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow. You weren’t even tired but you were restless and burning up inside. And every time you attempted to let sleep consume you, that deep southern drawl echoed inside your skull… “Ain’t nothin’ on me that don’t work, little girl… Wouldn’t take much for me to please a woman…” You shoved the pillow harder against your ears to quiet the voices but the second your eyes fully closed, your hips shifted.

The next day you overslept and missed morning prayer. Smoke didn’t say a word about it, but you could feel his eyes lingering longer when you passed him in the hallway with your lips bitten raw from whatever dreams had left you feeling tainted.

On the third night, it got worse. You woke in the dark, chest rising fast, nightgown bunched at your hips and thighs damp. You could still feel the phantom weight of hands that hadn’t touched you… couldn’t touch you… but in your dreams they did. You sat up and rocked back onto your knees, forehead pressed to the wall as you tried to pray the feeling away. You whispered Hail Marys into the stillness until the sky lightened into that pale southern blue. But no prayer could cleanse the fire brewing in your soul. Not when your body knew something your mind wasn’t ready to face.

By the fourth night, you started avoiding Smoke during the day. You scrubbed pews while he was in his office. Cleaned the apse when he walked to town and you busied yourself in the garden just to avoid being in the same room. Because every time he got close and every time you caught the scent of cedarwood you clenched so tight you couldn’t breathe right. And still, he didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask if something was wrong. Didn’t offer comfort. He didn’t need to. His presence alone undid you.

The fifth night, you woke again but this time it was to the faint sound of a voice. It took you a minute to place it before you realized who it was. You slipped from your cot, bare feet trailing silently across the floor until you reached the sanctuary while holding your breath. The doors were cracked just wide enough to see him.

Smoke knelt alone before the altar. Candlelight danced against his profile, casting shadows across his face, highlighting the square of his jaw and the tension in his neck. His sleeves were rolled high on his arms and his hands were clasped so tightly his bronze knuckles paled.

His voice was low, steady. Measured like it always was. “I know the devil don’t always come with horns. Sometime he show up with soft brown skin an big eyes. With shame in her voice an questions on her tongue. Lord, I’m tryin’. I am. But she don’t even know what she’s doin’, does she?”

Your heart stopped. He was talking about you. You covered your mouth with both hands as the weight of his words sank down into your chest and curled into something sharp.

“I gave You ten years,” he continued, breath catching just slightly. “Ten years of silence. Of obedience. A You test me NOW?” He bowed his head and the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was violent as it thrummed in the walls and in your spine. The whole church held its breath with you.

Then—

“If this is what You want from me… You gon’ have to make me stronger. ‘Cause I ain’t sure how much more I can carry.”

By the six night, you were completely hollow and exhausted. You hadn’t slept and your body was screaming for something that you couldn’t explain. Your legs trembled when you stood too long. Your voice cracked during prayer. And still, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t speak of that night or the ones before. But that tension continued to snowball. It bloomed like magnolias in heat and you knew if this went on any longer… One of you would crack soon.

It was nearly midnight when he summoned you.

You had just finished folding the altar cloths when the door to the chapel creaked open behind you. You turned and saw him standing there backlit by a hallway lamp, all shadow and silence.

“Come with me,” was all he said. And like Eve in the garden of Eden, you followed him without question.

Walking down the narrow corridor you could hear your heart thudding in your chest. He led you past the sanctuary and the garden door, all the way to his office. It was a small and tucked-away room where no one else ever stepped. A place where he kept his ledgers, his private sermons, and the keys to every locked drawer in the church.

He opened the door and stepped aside. You entered, still silent and obedient. He followed, then shut the door behind him. The click of the latch echoed loud in the stillness. The room was dim, lit by a single lamp on the corner of his desk. The air inside was warm, thick, and unmoving. Books lined the walls. A rosary lay coiled on the blotter like a serpent.

Smoke didn’t sit and he didn’t pace around the room. He just looked at you with an expression you that sent tingles down your spine before finally speaking. “Kneel.”

The word hit you like a bell in your chest.

You blinked. “Wh… what?”

“Kneel,” he said again, voice clipped with authority. “Repent.”

You hesitated for only a second longer before your knees hit the rug in a soft and effortless manner. The hem of your dress pooled around you, and your hands clasped obediently in your lap.

That’s when it happened. The last sliver of Smoke’s restraint finally snapped like a rubber band that had been stretched too far. It was like watching a man lose a decade of control in a single breath. His shoulders tensed. His jaw locked. And for the first time, something feral flickered in his eyes.

His breath caught as he stared down at you. “Lord have mercy,” he muttered. But it wasn’t a prayer. It was a warning.

You looked up, confused. Your lips parted to speak, to ask what you did wrong but Smoke stepped forward and placed a hand on the desk behind you, leaning down slow.

His voice was like thunder pressed against your ear. “You got no idea what you just did, do you?”

You shook your head, lips trembling.

“You dropped to ya’ knees like you was born to be there.”

Your stomach twisted and he straightened slowly, with his hand dragging down his face like he was trying to scrub the sin off before it stuck.

Then he looked down at you again. Voice deeper and rougher with venom. “You had no damn business askin’ me if I still knew how to operate as a man.”

Your lips parted. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” you whispered.

“That don’t matter.” He stepped around you in a circle like a lion in a pen. His boots scuffed the rug as he passed behind you. Your shoulders stiffened and you could feel the weight of his stare like it was pressing heat into the back of your neck.

“You think I forgot how to touch a woman? Forgot how to make her knees shake? How to make her cry my name ‘til her throat go raw… You think this collar means I ain’t still a man underneath?”

You didn’t know what to say or what to think. All you knew was that your thighs were trembling, your heart was racing, and whatever this was… it wasn’t fear. It was something you had never felt before.

Smoke came to an abrupt stop in front of you. You looked up and the sight of him stole every breath from your chest. His expression was unreadable with his lips drawn tight and eyes shadowed in firelight. But under it all was power. Barley caged… but… controlled power.

“You keep pushin’, little girl. You keep temptin’. You get on ya’ knees like you want me to break. Is that what you want?”

You blinked, breath shaky. “I…no… you said…I… um… I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie in this room.”

Your lips quivered. “I just… I like when you talk like that,” you whispered. “I don’t know why. I just—”

His eyes narrowed as he studied you. “You like the sound of a man tellin’ you what he’d do to you?”

You swallowed hard.

He stepped closer, towering above you now. “You like how I sound when I’m close to sinnin’?”

You couldn’t concentrate with him being so close to you. “I ain’t never been touched,” your voice was soft… too soft. “But… if someone did… I think I’d want it to sound like that.”

Smoke exhaled hard through his nose. His voice dropped lower than before. “You don’t need gentle,” he growled. “You need structure. Command. A hand on ya’ neck an a voice that don’t ask, just takes.”

You whimpered and it was barely audible.

He crouched before you, one knee on the rug as he stared straight into your eyes. “You ever seen a real man starved? One that’s been holdin’ back for ten long years?”

Your breath stuttered and you nervously shook your head no. Smoke’s thumb traced the edge of your jaw and the rough pad scraped the softness of your skin like he was trying to memorize its shape before he ruined it. Before he owned it. His gaze didn’t soften. It sharpened, seared, and scorched through you like brimstone catching dry grass.

“I swore I’d never touch temptation again,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “But you? You done crawled into my prayers. Into my nights. Into every cold bath an every silent scream.”

His voice trembled at the edges from restraint. A man unraveling thread by thread with each breath you took. A man who hated the way your presence cracked open the tomb he had sealed himself in. “You got no clue what you’ve done to me, little lamb.”

You stared up at him, throat dry and breath shallow. Your chest rose and fell like you were waiting for the Holy Ghost to pass over you but what loomed before you wasn’t salvation. It was judgment… desire… It was Smoke. And the way he looked at you now? It didn’t belong in a church.

“Ten years,” he growled. “Ten years I gave to God. Ten years I ain’t touched no woman. Ain’t tasted no flesh. Ain’t claimed no soul.”

His hand slid down your throat, fingers wrapping around like he needed to feel your pulse under his palm. Like he needed to know you were real. That this was real. That this sin belonged to him now. “I hate that you the reason I’m ‘bout to break that vow,” he said, voice rough, thick with ruin. “But I ain’t gonna do it soft. I ain’t gonna do it kind.”

His thumb pressed just enough to tilt your head, to make your lips part like they were begging to be taken. “If you want a kind man of God to touch ya’, go find someone still prayin’ with both knees an a clear conscience.”

You whimpered as heat coiled low in your belly. “You came to me,” you whispered. “I didn’t ask—”

His grip tightened. “You tempted me,” he snapped, low and dangerous. “You walked ‘round me peekin’ glances an askin’ questions with them wide eyes like you ain’t know what you was stirrin’ up.”

“I didn’t know,” you gasped, thighs clenching. “I just… just wanted to ask a question.”

“They say curiosity killed the cat,” he said, leaning forward until his lips nearly brushed your ear. “You mine kitten, you been in every sleepless night I done had this week. Every sermon I had to rewrite ‘cause ya’ face was where scripture should’ve been.”

You whimpered again, louder this time, and he shuddered. Then his hands left your neck and gripped your jaw forcing your eyes to meet his. “I’m gon’ break you for this,” he grunted. “Not ‘cause I’m angry.” His lips brushed yours. “But ‘cause I need to.”

And then he stood. His movements weren’t fast but they were commanding. “Get up,” he ordered. “Real slow. Let me see what’s mine.”

Your legs wobbled as you rose, dress falling back around your ankles, hands curled at your sides. His eyes dragged down your frame, devouring each inch of quivering flesh like a starving man trying to decide where to bite first.

He stepped behind you and placed a hand flat on your lower back as he guided you gently but firmly, until you were bent forward over his desk. “You wanted to know if I still knew how to operate?” His tone was mocking now. A bitter rasp laced in hunger. “You gon’ learn tonight.”

Your breath stuttered as his fingers curled into the back of your dress, pulling the fabric slowly up your thighs. His hand pressed harder into the curve of your back, forcing your spine into an arch and the edge of the desk bit into your thighs. Your breath became thin as the weight of his presence cloaked you, thick as incense. Every inch of him radiated control and authority.

“I oughta leave you like this,” he muttered, voice low, ragged, vibrating against your ear. “Bent over where you sinned. Let you feel the frustration of waitin’. Let you sit with what you done stirred up in me.”

You whimpered, shame and need crashed together inside of you like lightning striking water.

“But I ain’t got the patience for that tonight.” His hand slid up your back, fingers trailing along your spine until they wrapped around the nape of your neck. A warning wrapped in devotion. “You been walkin’ ‘round here like temptation, don't got a price. Like you ain’t gonna pay for how you look at me. How you breathe near me. How you drop to ya’ knees like you belong there.”

Your lips parted and a plea nearly escaped but he squeezed the back of your neck just enough to silence it.

“Ain’t no beggin’ yet,” he growled. “Not ‘til I say.”

You nodded against the wood, eyes shut tight and your body vibrated beneath the weight of his control.

“I gave my life to God to stop from ruinin’ people,” he said. “To stop from takin’ what don’t belong to me.”

His other hand ghosted down the back of your thigh, fingertips brushing, then gripping. “But you?” He dragged your dress higher, bunching it around your hips with unhurried cruelty. “You want to be ruined.”

The air hit your bare skin and your breath hitched.

“You want to be used, taught, and tamed.” You whined loudly and he chuckled darkly. It was a sound with no humor, only possession. “That’s what you are now. Mine to tame.”

He paused and the air went still. Then came the sound of a sharp, deliberate crack as his palm met the tender flesh of your backside. You yelped and the sting bloomed across your skin like a brand. His fingers stayed there, spread wide, claiming.

“One,” he said.

Another crack that felt 100x harder. Your body jolted.

“Two.”

The burn spread and caused new feelings to rise to the surface. You had pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn’t tell them apart.

“Three.”

By the fifth smack, tears lined your lashes, but it wasn’t due to pain, it was because of the overwhelming pressure in your chest. The surrender. The way his voice carved into your soul like scripture written with fire.

“Tell me what you are,” he demanded, voice like thunder swallowed by velvet as he pressed his palm flat against the heat he’d left behind.

“I’m yours,” you meweled, broken and breathless.

“That ain’t enough.”

“I’m your sinner,” you choked out.

He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You my responsibility now. My punishment. My downfall.”

And still he didn’t touch you the way you craved. He didn’t bother giving you what you thought you were ready for. Instead, he pulled back, standing tall behind you. “From this moment on, you don’t get to feel good without my permission. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

That did something to him. You heard it in the way his breath caught. Felt it in the way his hand tightened. He reached forward, pressing a single kiss between your shoulder blades and then his voice rumbled again. “Lesson ain’t over yet.”

His hand slipped from your nape down to the small of your back again, that same unforgiving pressure anchored you in place and reminded you who held control now. Smoke didn’t offer sweet words or soothing touches. He didn’t stroke your hair or whisper that you were doing well. That wasn’t who he was.

He wasn’t kind. He was order. He was fire. He was ten years of restraint hardened into discipline so sharp it could cut bone. And now, every second he touched you… every breath he took in your presence, it was a sin he was willing to own.

“You want softness?” he rasped, voice thick with disdain as his calloused hand gripped your inner thigh, forcing your legs just a little wider. “Go back to ya’ mama an beg for lullabies.”

His fingers dipped between your thighs, dragging through the slick heat already gathered there. He groaned in delight behind you. “Lord…” he muttered under his breath.

“You that wet from a few spankings?” he asked, dragging his fingers slowly up your seam, spreading the mess you couldn’t hide. “From me talkin’ rough to you? Bein’ strict with you?”

A soft whine spilled from your throat. Shame and need were warring in your belly, but it was the need that kept winning.

“I knew you was pure,” he growled. “But I ain’t think you’d be so eager to give it up to a man with no mercy left in him.”

His fingers found your clit and circled once in a featherlight manner. Once. The touch was precise, deliberate, and enough to make your hips jolt. But the pressure vanished before you could chase it. “Don’t move,” he warned. “You start rubbin’ against my fingers without permission, I’ll pull back an leave you cryin’ over this desk.”

You nodded, desperate and needy. Your thighs burned from holding the position. Your core pulsed, greedy for contact. But you held still.

Smoke chuckled low, a bitter rasp under his breath. “You learn quick,” he said. “That’s good. You gon’ need to.”

And then he landed another slap to your backside that was sharper this time. His hand landed on the same spot he’d already marked and the burn flared again, deep and spreading. But before the cry left your lips, his fingers returned to that throbbing place between your legs.

Pleasure. Pain. Pleasure. Pain.

He was toying with you. Not for fun. Not for flirtation. But because it was how he taught. How he commanded. Another crack rang through the room. Then a slow, dragging stroke up your folds, his fingers dipped lower, just a tease… just enough to make you moan.

Your hands clutched the edge of the desk like a lifeline.

“You like what I’m doing to you, little lamb?” he muttered, leaning closer, lips brushing the back of your neck. “How I give an take? That’s how you learn discipline. That’s how you get trained.”

Trained. The word sank into your spine like a brand. He pressed his fingers deeper this time… deep inside. The stretch burned just a little and your walls fluttered around him, trying to adjust to the new intrusion. His knuckles brushed against the heat of your slick entrance, and your breath shattered.

“Mmm… tight little thing,” he rasped, sounding almost angry. “You was meant to be broken in real tender. But I gon’ do that tonight.”

His words poured like oil on an open flame, and the fire spread across your skin, crackling under every breath. His fingers… those thick, calloused fingers that had once gripped a Bible with blind devotion now curled inside you with calculated cruelty, dragging against a spot that made your legs tremble. But just when your back arched, chasing the edge you weren’t even sure you were allowed to reach, he withdrew.

The emptiness was violent. It felt worse than the sting of his palm. Worse than the ache building between your legs. It hollowed you out, made your breath hitch and your eyes blur with something more primal than shame. It was want and loss jumbled up into one. It was submission clawing its way out of your throat like a cry that refused to come.

Behind you, Smoke stood quiet for a long moment. Watching. Breathing. His presence loomed like a storm about to break. “Already twitchin’ like you close,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Ain’t even done nothin’ to you yet.”

His fingers traced the wet mess he left behind, slow and mocking, the pads of his fingertips slick with evidence of your undoing. He brought them up to your lower back, smearing a stripe of your own arousal across your skin like a mark. “Look at you,” he rasped. “Didn’t take much to get you here, huh?”

You whimpered, barely able to stay upright, your thighs quaked from the effort to hold still. His lack of mercy made your body scream but your soul craved it.

“Y’know what I hate more than bein’ tempted?” he continued, voice low, as he stepped around you, grabbing your chin and forcing your gaze up to meet his. “I hate that you want it rough. You want my punishment. You like that I ain’t kind.”

His grip tightened just enough to keep your head tilted. You stared up at him, too far gone to pretend otherwise. “I ain’t the type to whisper sweet things in the dark,” he growled. “I ain’t the kind to ask if it feel good. I take. I use. I command.”

You nodded, breathless, helpless.

His thumb traced your bottom lip then shoved past it, pressing down on your tongue. “You gon’ learn how to obey without bein’ coddled,” he said. “Gon’ learn that pleasure don’t come ‘fore pain. Not with me.”

He let go and circled behind you again.

You felt the tip of something firm, cool, and wide drag up the inside of your thigh and your blood went still. It was his belt and he hadn’t even used it yet, but the threat of it made your body stiffen.

“Count for me,” he said.

You blinked. “What?! Y-You aren’t done?”

“You heard me,” he snapped, voice dark and sharp like the crack of lightning. “You want release? You earn it. Count every strike. You miss one, I start over.”

And then—

CRACK.

The leather bit into your skin like fire laced in thunder. A line of heat bloomed across your backside, sharp and electric, leaving your nerves singing.

“One!” you gasped.

“Take it, little lamb,” he murmured. “Don’t lose count.”

CRACK.

“Two!”

CRACK.

“Three!”

The pain bloomed into pleasure. The sting licked up your spine, each strike bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes and clear honey between your thighs. You didn’t understand how it felt so good. Why the hurt made your body beg for more. But he knew. Smoke knew exactly what you needed. Exactly what would make you obedient and his forever.

After the sixth strike, your voice cracked. After the eighth, your knees buckled. By the time you reached ten, you were sobbing through clenched teeth, desperate for touch, desperate for him.

He dropped the belt and the sound of it hitting the floor felt final. Like the end of a chapter. The end of a life you used to live. He stepped close again, hand wrapping around your waist, dragging you up to your feet. Your legs wobbled, barely holding you. Your head lolled back against his chest. And then his fingers dipped back between your thighs.

This time, he didn’t pull back. This time, he filled you completely with his two fingers. The stretch made you gasp and your walls clenched around him like they missed the contact. Your legs buckled underneath your weight as you tried to stay upright while your back still ached from the belt and your skin was still flushed and raw.

“Mmnh—” you whined, hips shifting on instinct. “T-that’s… a lot…”

Smoke’s hand stilled inside you. For a moment, the air was silent and then he scoffed. “A lot?” His voice was thick with disbelief, a mocking rasp near your ear as he pressed the weight of his chest to your trembling back. “Two fingers, an you cryin’ like I shoved the devil himself in you?”

You wanted to explain how you felt but instead you bit down on your bottom lip and let out a shallow, needy breath.

“You think this is too much?” he taunted, curling those fingers just so, making your legs jolt. “You think this…” another deliberate press, another wicked curl, “… is the max I can stretch ya’ pretty pussy out?”

Your knees buckled again and he caught you, his arm wrapping tight around your waist to hold you upright. But there was no gentleness in the gesture. Only control. “You ain’t even felt nothin’ yet.”

You sobbed, chest heaving. “I—I don’t know if I can…”

He clicked his tongue. “Hush. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

His fingers pushed deeper and you felt every knuckle, every ridge of skin, every ounce of tension he buried into you like a man trying to carve his name in your body. “You told me you wanted a man, didn’t you?” His breath was hot against your neck. “Said you ain’t know what it meant, but you liked how I sounded.”

You nodded frantically, tears slipping past your lashes. “I do—I do, but—”

“But now you feel what a real man does, an you wanna act like you ain’t built for it?” he cut in. “You was made for this. You was beggin’ for this. Don’t back out now.”

He twisted his wrist, scissoring you open. You cried out, a high, choked sound. “Shhh,” he hissed. “You takin’ it… Barely, but you is.”

Your thighs were soaked now, the sounds between your legs wet and obscene. Smoke pulled back just enough to hear it, and you swore he grinned at the proof. You whimpered, hips twitching toward him in spite of the sting still clinging to your skin.

“Aw, look at that,” he taunted, voice curling around your ears. “She want it worse.”

You shook your head as you tried to lie, but you actually did want it worse and he knew it too. Your body gave you away with every flutter, every helpless gasp, every time your thighs parted wider without meaning to.

“You gon’ take it worse,” he continued, fingers dragging down your folds again, teasing and circling that overstimulated bud until your breath caught in your throat. “’Cause I said so.”

He crouched behind you then, spreading your legs wider with his shoulders, the heat of his breath hitting the mess he just made between your thighs.

You stiffened.

“Don’t move,” he warned, voice gritted with command. “You move, I stop. You cry, I keep goin’. That’s how this works.” His tongue touched you. It was one singular lick from root to tip. A single taste that was almost enough to make you pass out.

You moaned into the desk, both hands gripping the edge until your knuckles turned white.

“Sweet little sinner,” he rasped against you, voice thick. “Didn’t think you’d taste this fuckin’ pure.”

You whimpered, lost in the pleasure of the sensation.

He spread you with two fingers and licked again harder this time while groaning like you were the sin he had been starving for. “Bet God don’t even blame me,” he muttered, tongue flattening against your clit before pulling away. “He knew what He made when He made you… knew you’d ruin a man like me.”

You gasped, legs shaking violently now. The tension was unbearable, the pressure coiling, building, blinding. “P-Please,” you sobbed, voice cracking like old wood, splintering under pressure you didn’t understand but couldn’t stop craving.

Smoke didn’t pause and didn’t bother giving you a response. He wasn’t in the mood to be merciful tonight. Instead his grip tightened around the backs of your trembling thighs as his mouth returned to you, tongue relentless as it flattened against your swollen clit, circling with maddening control. His tongue didn’t flick. It devoured. It drowned. It moved like he was baptizing himself in your juices.

You wailed, the sound high and broken, hips jerking forward trying to pull away but his arm locked around your waist, holding you open.

He growled against you. “You run from me again,” he rasped, voice soaked in heat and saliva, “I’ll tie ya’ ankles to the legs of this desk an keep you spread ‘til sunrise while stuffed with a crucifix.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed, tears slipping down your cheeks. The pressure inside you was too much, building fast and hot and scary… like he was going to break something inside of you that couldn’t be put back together.

“I-It’s too much,” you cried, voice barely audible. “I-I can’t—Father Elijah, I c-can’t—”

He chuckled. That sound was low, mean and full of knowing as it vibrated through your core worse than any touch. “You ain’t even started to break yet, little lamb.”

His tongue licked deep between your folds, dragging up every drop of slick, every bit of heat, every part of you that throbbed with need. “I told you not to lie in this room,” he muttered, spreading you wider with two fingers before his mouth found you again. “An you lyin’ right now talkin’ ‘bout you can’t when ya’ pretty little pussy beggin’ for more.”

You sobbed harder. Your body felt alive… too alive and your mind felt like it was melting to mush. “I’m scared,” you gasped, finally. “It’s—it’s too much—”

His head lifted, face glistening with your slick, jaw set tight as he stared at you from between your thighs. “Good,” he said, voice flat. “You should be scared.” Then he spat right onto your pulsing cunt before diving back in, lips sealed around your clit like he was punishing it with pleasure. You screamed, body jolting, unable to run and unable to think.

One of his hands moved to your belly, pressing down firm to keep you from squirming.

“You gonna learn what it feels like to be taken apart right,” he growled, tongue working in cruel, unhurried circles. “To be taught through ya’ tears. You want soft? Go find a little boy.”

His lips sucked at your clit and you cried out again, nearly collapsing. You didn’t even know if you were still breathing.

“You said you wanted a man,” he reminded you darkly, mouth hot and wet against your most sensitive place. “Ain’t no man walk away after bein’ tempted like this. Ain’t no man keepin’ his word after tastin’ a cooze this fuckin’ sweet.”

You shook your head, body locked in a desperate quake.

“You close?” his question was rhetorical as he licked harder. “Don’t you dare cum. Not yet.”

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it.

“Not yet.”

His tongue stopped just before you reached the edge. Your body jolted like it had been yanked back from a cliff mid-fall, the sudden absence of pressure slicing through you like glass. You screamed high, ragged, guttural as every nerve burned raw with denial. Every inch of you was trembling, aching, and desperate for the release that hovered just out of reach.

“Please—!” you sobbed, voice catching in your throat.

But Smoke wasn’t moved by your pleas. He didn’t care and he didn’t even blink. He stood between your thighs, breath heavy, jaw slick with the evidence of your need and his eyes locked on your quivering form bent over the desk like an offering that had forgotten what it was meant to be sacrificed to.

“Look at you,” he growled, voice cold and unbothered, as if your pleading hadn’t stirred the heat already throbbing between his legs. “Didn’t even take a full touch to get you screamin’. You so soft… too soft.”

You cried louder, lips trembling and body jolting with every beat of your heart. “I—I was close,” you breathed, not even sure why you were admitting it. Maybe because you thought it would earn you mercy.

It didn’t.

Smoke scoffed. Loud and deliberate. “Close?” he repeated, stepping back in and sliding two thick fingers through your dripping folds with slow, punishing intent. “That weren’t close. That was cute.”

He shoved them back in and your mouth fell open. No sound came out just air and disbelief. He curled them, twisted them, angled them upward until your thighs clamped around his wrist and your walls squeezed tight enough to make him grunt in satisfaction.

“There she go,” he groaned. “Now you learnin’.”

Your legs wobbled, but his other hand was already back on your lower back, pinning you down and keeping you still.

You tried to speak, to plead again but the words dissolved into another helpless whimper.

“I told you,” he said, voice like a fist around your throat. “You don’t cum ‘til I say. You don’t breathe deep ‘less I allow it. You give me everythin’. Even the parts that scream.”

He pulled his fingers out, slow and soaked before holding them up as he watched them glisten in the low lamp light. Then out of nowhere, he slapped your pussy with them. The sound was wet, sharp and loud.

You screamed, the sound bouncing off the office walls like thunder on stained glass and you were sure everyone heard you but you didn’t care. Your knees collapsed completely. Only the desk held you up now.

“Too much?” he asked, mock-sweet, crouching again between your legs. “Still scared?”

You sobbed and nodded as delirium began to set in. “Yes—yes, I’m scared—”

“Good.”

He didn’t say anything else, he just dove back in. No teasing this time. No restraint. His mouth sealed around your clit and sucked hard, over… and over… and over… and over…

Your back bowed off the desk. You screamed, choked, clawed for something to hold onto. Nothing made sense except his mouth and the blinding white heat building inside you like judgment day come early.

“I can’t—” you gasped.

He didn’t stop.

“I—FATHER, PLEASE, I— HAVE MERCY!”

His fingers plunged back in, syncing with his tongue, curling deep while his mouth ravaged the nerves that were already close to bursting. “You want mercy,” he growled between licks. “You hold that fuckin’ feelin’ ‘til I say.”

Your vision blurred. Your toes curled. Your entire body convulsed, and still—still—you held it, somehow, afraid of what Smoke would do if you let go without permission.

But then… he lifted his head and uttered a one word command.

“Now.”

You shattered like glass beneath a hammer, screaming into your arm, your body seizing with a release so violent it felt holy. Fire and rapture poured through your veins as your first ever orgasm slammed into you, wave after wave of relentless euphoric bliss. Your legs shook. Your vision blacked. And you didn’t even hear your own sobs over the roaring in your ears.

Smoke didn’t stop as he worked you through it and past the point of no return until you were gasping, twitching, and begging.

“Please… I-I can’t… n-no more…”

Then and only then did he pull away and the absence was blinding. Your body collapsed against the desk, soaked and ruined, chest heaving and legs twitching uncontrollably. You didn’t dare move. And behind you, Smoke rose to his full height.

He dragged his thumb across his slicked jaw and wiped it off on the hem of your dress that was still bunched around your waist.

Then, voice low and final, “That was mercy.”

Author’s Note: Second part is on thee wayyyyyyyyyyyy. I’m not done punishing you heathens! 🫵🏾😠

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