push-ups in drag

11; priests in heat

SEX WARNING❗️❗️‼️‼️❗️

Moans crawl up the walls, he knocks the pew next to us as his back arches. Surprisingly, railing someone in a pew is more pleasurable than you might think. His fingernails dig into my back, dragging the skin under them down my spine. He curses under his breath as I reach deeper into him. He pulses around me uncontrollably. They push my head back to their neck and I pull at their skin with my tounge, biting them occasionally to hear them react.

It was 1351, homosexuality wasn't exactly accepted, especially in the church (and IN the church). Neither was being transgender, but that didn't exactly apply to me, but rather the person under me. His name was Andres. He had to been to so many conversion camps, and he was kicked out of his own home, quite literally by his father. He was the same age as me at the time, 18. The church took him in after I was given the title of priest. He was meant to be my sort of.. apprentice. Not altar boy or anything, God no. I had been a priest for almost two years at this point, even though that was almost completely unheard of. My entire life revolved around Catholicism, but that didn't mean I did. I believed in God, of course, and being a priest was my calling. I'm sure you've heard it before a thousand times, but the Bible has been so twisted and mistranslated since it's creation, that leaving it up to interpretation is exactly what should've been done. Yet even still, I was only even allowed to spread the word of the church. I never believed in homosexuality being a sin, if it happened in nature then who are we are humans to oblige that? It was the same for me with transgender people, it doesn't harm anyone.

When I took the vows to preach only the "truth", I lied on those parts, which is one of the worst sins I ever did. I repented everyday until the one that I died. My pure devotion seemed to dissipate any repercussions in the eyes of Him, but that's jumping a bit...

Swearing in vain rattles off the walls followed by moans filling the open, empty room. The bells from the rooftop ring, signaling the top of the hour. Whimpers follow suit.

He tried suppressing it, 'praying the gay away' and all, but obviously that didn't quite work. He was my first and I his last.

Commotion outside of the building startles the both of us. He gasps as I pull out, moans subsided by terror. I fix my pants and throw my long cowl around Andres fast enough to give them decency before the doors whip open. The bishop stands behind it, only for a second, before storming toward us.

He didn't deserve to die that night. Neither of us did. The church was cruel, as you know. Mercy was foreign, hangings were events. That damned hag had him set that very hour, I to follow later into the night. I was made to watch him choke.

They rushed me into chains. Neck, ankles, wrists, and torso. The clinking of the metal and crowd beyond gives me a headache as they force me outside into the bright, stinging sun. When my eyes adjust, I see myself submerged into the crowd. Front row standing. I look up, already knowing what I'm expecting is to be true. Andres stands on a trap door, as tears stream down his face. I scream, pleading for them to let him go and take me as a replacement, but the guard holding me close tugs the chains closer to him, simply stating "You're next, faggot."

My screams were heard, and laughed at in response. I pull away from the guard, losing my balance momentarily, the chains catching me. I wail his name, over and over. The only thing that shuts me up is when the lever cranks back and the wood below him falls. The sound of his neck cracking on impact when he falls reverberates in my skull. I close my eyes, but the guard reaches over and peels them open, sick with laughter.

I stood there in shock, I mean - what else could I do? The guard's laughter filled my head as the replaying of that damn noise broke my fucking heart over and over again.

They shove me into a dark, wet, and muddy room. The only light came from a cutout in the door, bars cutting off consistent light. The guard spits at me through the gap.

I sat there for a while. The only thing on my mind was that sound and repentance. I took my time repeating what I helped so many before me with. I prayed over and over again. My head was spinning, but I didn't stop. I said them out loud, screams, whispers, silence, I repented over and over. It wasn't until sunset that the same guard came back to get me, yelling for me to get up, though I was physically incapable due to the chains that he only cared to tighten once he lifted me to my feet, not minding my skin being pinched and ripped by the links.

He undoes the chain around my neck once behind the very same platform that strangled and nearly beheaded innocence. Repentance leaks out of my mouth in a hushed tone as I walk up the stairs to my demise. They shove me into the sane stance Andres was in. Removing my chains and replacing them with a rough noose. Tears burn my face, hot and filled with the need for a revenge I'll never get. The bishop takes the place of another at the lever. He spits at my feet.

"God will not forgive you for this"

"He already has."

Another snap was heard that day.