Possessed Pussy (1)

Possessed Pussy (1)
~ Calista ~

The town's beloved holy man is gone.

I wipe a tear from my eye, but it isn’t grief. It’s guilt, the unbearable sting of secrets I can never speak aloud.

Surprisingly, my body still aches for him. I crave his mouth on my pussy, his kisses and thrusts.

But he’s a corpse now. And I need a substitute.

My eyes drift toward my boyfriend.

Daniel stands at the edge of the courtyard, listening to a local fanatic preach about how Father Romanus spent his nights battling hellfire to keep our town safe.

He turns and catches me watching him. I nod toward one of our usual spots, and he gets the message.

I head toward the crumbling log shed five houses down the lane. The faint sound of wailing still drifts through the air as Daniel steps into the shadows beside me.

“Where have you been?” he asks, wiping his hands on his dusty trousers. “I’ve been expecting you for over a week.”

I sigh, looking at his boots. His dressing reminds me of the Normandy boys in one of the books I read.

Those boys mingled with French women who had once been with German soldiers, pinning them against tanks and the ruins of France, fucking them until the women were beside themselves.

I want Daniel to break me like those soldiers. But first, I have to corrupt him.

I have to teach him the dirty, beautiful things the priest taught me.

“I’ve been busy,” I lie smoothly. “My mother has been watching me.”

He tilts his head, a line forming between his brows. “She always watches you, but you always find a way out.”

Is he questioning me?

Heat flashes in my chest, a mix of grief and irritation. I grab his shirt and shove him hard against a wooden bench. He stumbles back onto the seat, startled, as I step between his knees.

“Don’t move,” I whisper, trying to be seductive.

We’ve never done seduction before.

Today, I’m changing the rules.

My hair is tucked tightly beneath my headscarf, so I can’t do that seductive little hair-tuck the girls in those books always use to drive men crazy.

I drop to my knees in the dirt before him.

He stares down at me, wide-eyed.

I ignore the confusion on his face and run my hand up his belly. I pull him down by his collar, leaning up to press my mouth to his.

His hands fly to my head to keep me steady. I part his lips with my tongue, tasting and kissing him until his breath hitches. His hand moves awkwardly up my torso, fumbling until he cups my breast.

It’s the first time he’s ever touched me there.

The heat inside the shed seems to rise immediately.

My hands drop to his belt. I unbuckle it with speed, sliding the leather strap free and tossing it aside.

I reach into his trousers. He’s hard, though not as thick as the priest was.

Still, he'll do.

I press a hand against his chest, forcing him back against the wooden wall.

“Relax,” I murmur.

I draw his cock out into the cool air, looking up at him one last time.

His breathing is shallow as he watches me, waiting to see what game I’m playing.

I smile.

The priest trained me well, and now Daniel is going to reap the benefits.

He doesn't like foreplay, but I really need him to do this.

I might make a monster out of him, but that monster is what I seek. The monster that'll fill my mouth with cum, suck my pussy till I squirt, kiss me till I collapse, fuck me till I yell out my mother’s last name.

I spit on his cock, then I slowly lean on his thigh and take him into my mouth.

Daniel lets out a sharp, choked gasp.

His fingers lock into my shoulders as I move over him, taking him deeper, letting the warm moisture pool between us.

Filthy, frantic sounds fill the quiet shed.

His hips jerk, his breathing turning ragged.

Daniel growls, his hands tightening on my shoulders until it hurts—and then he shudders, spilling his cum into my throat before I can even catch my breath.

Too fast.

I pull back with a soft frown, though the taste of him sends a shudder down my spine.

It’s lighter than the priest’s, sweeter, threaded with the warm scent of summer sweat.

I look up at him, letting a drop escape my lip so he can see what he’s done.

Daniel looks terrified. Sweat glimmers on his forehead, his face pale as he stares at me like I’ve turned into a ghost.

I swallow slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and offer him a dark smile.

“Calista...” he stammers, his voice shaking. “Where... where did you learn to do that?”

“In my books,” I say softly, rising from the floor.

He pushes himself off the bench, shoving his cock back into place with trembling hands. “That’s demonic! You can’t swallow that! It’s dirty, Calista—it belongs in the vagina or the floor, not your mouth.”

I let out a bitter laugh, dusting off my skirt. “Don’t act like a child. You’re twenty-one years old. It’s just oral sex.”

“Who taught you that word?” he demands, backing toward the exit.

“I read about it,” I say, taking a step toward him. “Come back. You owe me a turn.”

He freezes, brow furrowed. “A turn?”

“I knew you wouldn’t last long in my mouth, but at least you should return the favor,” I say plainly, reaching for his wrist. “Suck my pussy.”

His jaw drops. He looks around the dirty shed in sheer disbelief. “Suck your... what? You have no pussy here. And why will I suck a cat?”

I roll my eyes at his ignorance. “My vagina, Daniel. Use your mouth on me.”

He recoils as if I’ve struck him.

When I reach for his arm again, he swats my hand away and bolts for the open door.

“You’re possessed,” he stammers, backing out. “The devil has a hold on you, Calista. I’m not going to hell with you.”

Maybe the town fanatics are right. Maybe the demons that supposedly killed the priest didn't leave—they settled inside me.

“The same devil has possessed your weak ass. You couldn't even last a minute!” I yell after him, my rage boiling over. “You’re not even man enough!”

He doesn't look back. He turns and disappears down the dirt path, leaving the shed door swinging on its rusty hinges.

I stand alone, my pulse still racing.

Daniel is gone. But his reaction doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it should. Because somewhere beneath the shame and the anger, one thought keeps scratching at me.

If Father Romanus could make me feel this way, perhaps Daniel isn’t the problem.

Perhaps I’m simply looking for the wrong man.

To hell with him, then.

The cucumbers in my mother’s garden will pay the price.

For now.