"Oh Uncle Pedro, did Father Angelo *really* choose me himself?"
Cristina was so excited! When her uncle Pedro had told her at the beginning of the week that Father Angelo had made his choice for the special communion service on Sunday, and that he'd chosen her, Cristina was over the moon. Father Angelo was such a kind, special man, a wonderful priest, always with the kindest of smiles despite his stern appearance. Oh that he should have chosen her for this special honor! She'd hugged Pedro and kissed him and asked him every question under the sun. Would it be a big ceremony? Would she have to wear something special? Would Father Angelo be stern with her? He often seemed stern, almost fierce. "But he does smile at me in the most wonderful way!"
Uncle Pedro, smiling fondly, had said yes he did choose you himself, although I did nominate you... Cristina had cried out with delight at this and hugged him all over again. Darling uncle Pedro! But no, continued her uncle, seeming as delighted as she was, it's a small, intimate ceremony after the main service, just her and Father A and her godfather - me, of course. Cristina had hugged her favorite uncle even tighter at that. The prospect of the special communion was so terribly exciting, but also a little daunting, a little scary, so the news that her favorite uncle would be there to support her was wonderful.
And perhaps best of all - "Yes, honey," said uncle Pedro, grinning, "of course you need to wear something special. In fact, how about I pick you up from school Tuesday and we go to the mall, find something really nice for you? Uncle Pedro's treat!"
Cristina had fairly crowed with delight, and danced around in a circle, her long, dark, ponytail whirling dangerously, before throwing her arms around her uncle one more time. Uncle Pedro had laughed again and hugged her back.
So, Sunday it was, and Cristina was happier than she could remember. She'd spent a small age getting ready, her long, long hair tied in her favorite ponytail, fixed with a hairband shaped like a big, red Monarda flower. She'd worn uncle Pedro out choosing the dress on Tuesday, skipping from shop to shop at her favorite mall, trying on at least a dozen different ones, but it had been worth it. Her final choice was a white, multi-layered affair with two different flower patterns in pink and yellow finished with pink-ribbon trim. She liked the way it looked against her soft, dark skin and dark hair. Such a beautiful, pretty dress, very feminine, she hoped, and just that little bit more grown up than she was usually allowed to wear. A beautiful dress for my beautiful little niece, uncle Pedro had said, and as they arrived for the service he'd winked and told her she looked radiant! She certainly felt radiant; she felt like she was glowing with pride and excitement and a tumble of other emotions, all good.
She'd hung on to uncle Pedro's arm as they'd gone into church, giggling nervously and chattering away about goodness knows what. The church was full, sunlight filling the space and lighting up the whole day. A number of people, some she knew, some she didn't, complemented her on her dress and how pretty she looked, and she smiled bashfully and clutched uncle Pedro. He glanced down and winked encouragingly. Cristina managed a little grin back; under the surface she sensed that uncle Pedro was almost as excited as she was! She felt so lucky at that moment to have such a wonderful uncle, and when he bent down to whisper in her ear than she looked almost good enough to eat, a shiver ran right through her, despite the warmth of the day.
Cristina had a place in the front pew, close to the altar, right under the gaze of Father Angelo himself. The Padre was around 60, she thought, very distinguished-looking, highly respected, often stern but with a truly beatific smile. This smile be bestowed on Cristina a good few times throughout the service, and each time she shivered with delighted honor, her insides making little flipping sensations. What a truly wonderful man! What a truly wonderful day!
The main service finished, and the congregation filed out. Cristina, almost dancing from foot to foot, waited up front with uncle Pedro. A few folk stopped to smile and congratulate her, and she beamed radiantly all through it. They waited quietly - or as quietly as Cristina could manage - until the church had emptied. As the main door closed, the sacristy door opened and Father Angelo appeared. He smiled and beckoned to them, holding the door open, reserving his warmest smile for Cristina. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks in an outrageous blush as she bobbed her head and slipped past him into the sacristy.
The room was half chapel, half office. Gorgeous stained-glass filled the windows, casting a glorious patina of color across the whole room. The walls were paneled in rich, dark wood, made luminous rather than oppressive by the polychrome sunlight. At one end stood the priest's desk, a lovely, mahogany affair topped with dark green leather and surrounded by bookcases. At the other stood a stone altar-table covered with a heavy cloth of rich purple. Behind that, in a wall alcove, stood a beautifully-carved statue of the Virgin.
Cristina gasped involuntarily, partly at the beauty of the room, partly with nerves, and genuflected towards the statue. Closing the door, Father Angelo put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump as if a little electric spark had crackled from his fingers. She turned, suddenly a little over-awed by it all, but the kindly face of the priest was alight with his smile. "Cristina, my child, don't look so worried!" His words struck just the right tone of informality to break Cristina's spell. She grinned back. "There's nothing to worry about," he continued, leading her gently across to the altar table. "It's quite a straightforward ceremony. It can last a little while, but your godfather is here to help you, eh Pedro?"
"Yes Father," replied uncle Pedro, and risked the wrath of Heaven and the Padre by slipping Cristina a wink. She gasped, giggled, blushed and dropped her head, all at once. After a moment she glanced back up at the two men, seeing two pairs of eyes sparkling back at her, and bit her lip. Oh goodness how lucky she felt! What a truly marvelous day this was going to be!
"Of course," went on Father Angelo, a quirk of amusement on his lips, "it's not every girl who is chosen for this Special Communion. All joking aside, it *is* a solemn occasion. We must not lose sight of why we are here." Cristina straightened up, suddenly all serious. She composed herself in front of the altar table and folded her hands together. Father Angelo moved to stand behind the altar table, the statue of the Virgin looking down over his shoulder.
"Now, Cristina, before we begin I need to ensure you are right for this to proceed. I will ask you some questions, and you must answer me truthfully. Is that understood?" He was stern now, and Cristina swallowed nervously before responding quietly, seriously, "Yes, Father."
"Cristina, how old are you?"
"Nine, Father," she replied promptly. That was an easy one.
"Cristina, are you a sinner?"
Oh help! Oh goodness! Oh goodness, what was the right answer! Cristina's mind panicked. She hadn't expected a question like this, straight out of the blue, but of course, of course Father Angelo would ask that. Oh dear. Honesty must be the best policy, mustn't it? Aren't we all sinners? She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. "Yes, Father," she replied in a small voice.
Father Angelo smiled again. "We are all sinners, Cristina. Well done. Now, do you strive to be a good girl?"
"Yes Father!" She looked up earnestly.
"Do you go to confession regularly, Cristina?"
"Yes, Father." Her head dipped again.
"Do you confess to all your sins, child?" The Padre's voice became a little sterner.
"Yes, Father," she murmured, hesitating a little. The seriousness of the occasion was, perhaps, beginning to sink in.
"Kneel, child," the padre said softly. There was a hassock just in front of her. Cristina knelt carefully, looking up at the priest, their changed positions now making him appear more imposing, especially with the Virgin looking over his shoulder.
"Place your hands on the altar cloth, child," murmured Father Angelo. Cristina did as she was bid, reaching across the rich purple cloth and clasping her hands together. Uncle Pedro had moved to stand beside the altar table.
Father Angelo began to speak in Latin, his tone sonorous and ever so slightly hypnotic. Cristina listened to the words, some familiar, some new. She recognized the part about "this is My body" and raised her head. Father Angelo was holding out the wafer to her. She opened her mouth and he placed it on her tongue. His hand seemed to pause just in front of her face, to tremble a little.
"This is My blood." The familiar words, and Cristina lifted her chin to drink from the richly-decorated gold cup the priest was holding out. She glanced up. His smile was kindly, though his eyes looked a little fevered. "You must drink more than you usually would, child," he murmured, the cup shaking a little. "Take a good... mouthful."
The wine tasted stronger than usual, with a spiciness that was new. Solemnly Cristina did as she was told, taking a decent mouthful and swallowing quickly. It was a little like taking medicine, best to get it over with as soon as possible. Father Angelo seemed pleased. "Good girl, Cristina," he murmured, setting the cup aside. He took a step back and began to speak in Latin once more. "Bow your head, child," he said quietly, "let us pray."
Cristina bobbed her head obediently and closed her eyes. It seemed very easy to close her eyes - they seemed heavy, sleepy almost. Perhaps all the day's excitement and nerves were catching up on her all of a sudden. But she couldn't fall asleep here! What an embarrassment that would be! She clasped her hands harder, although that seemed less easy than she expected. The priest's words buzzed around her ears like hummingbirds, a lilting drone, filling her head and making her feel a little dizzy. She leaned forward, surreptitiously supporting herself on the altar table. It seemed to move under her; perhaps the cloth had slipped?
Her head felt very light. Oh dear, please don't let her be taken ill! The warmth, the excitement - it was very stuffy in here. She swayed, unconsciously unclasping her hands to support herself. She felt a large, firm had on her arm - uncle Pedro had noticed she wasn't feeling well! He would help her through the ceremony. Kind uncle Pedro. She tried to lift her head to smile at him, but it was awfully complicated. She felt something soft encircle first one wrist, then the other. Curious. She tried again to lift her head, but just as she did her arms seemed to betray her, moving apart, undermining her support. She tried to stand, a stumble which caused her to sprawl across the altar cloth, onto the table. She heard a metallic clatter but couldn't place it.
Oh goodness, don't say she'd fainted across the altar table! Oh no! She tried to push herself up but her arms didn't respond; something tugged her wrists as she tried. "Oh yes yes excellent!" She couldn't place the voice. "Now her ankles!"
The girl sprawled forward onto the altar table, sending the offertory cup flying. The thick silken cuffs around each of her wrists had been drawn back through their eye bolts by Pedro's deft pulling; the girl's arms were spread wide and seized to the near corners of the table. Her gorgeous, slutty-girl face lolled on the thick altar cloth, her beautiful, smooth brown skin glowing in the color-stained light. Father Angelo watch as Pedro manhandled his sexy-slut niece into position, his cock throbbing beneath his surplice. He'd taken Viagra before the main service, his cock carefully constrained within his tight underpants, and now it was aching uncomfortably. Fuck yes. "Now her ankles!" he called to Pedro, his favorite fixer in this pastime of theirs. Very efficient, Pedro was, very effective - and he'd almost popped his cork when Angelo had asked him to "fix him up" with his own niece.
Oh yes. Oh, "special communion" indeed. He'd had his eye on Cristina for a couple of years now, a cutely sexy little girl growing up into a gorgeous nine-year-old slut. There were many little girls in his flock that caught his eye, but she was the hottest by far. She was always dressed demurely in church, but even then her tight little ass made his old cock quiver under his vestments - and when he saw her out and about in her favorite fuck-me denim shorts he just about came in his pants. She had to be his, the teasing bitch, had to be taught a lesson for teasing an old man so much with her tight little ass and dreamy smile. Taught a proper lesson, the sort of lesson that little girls need to take from grown men as often as possible.
Damn his cock was almost painful. Pedro had finished securing the lolling girl's ankles to the table legs. She was sprawled, half-standing, face down, butt in the air, just perfectly poised for her special lesson. "Pedro," he called, "come help me with this." He raised his surplice, wrestling the ungainly garment over his head with Pedro's assistance. Beneath he wore his priest's shirt and a tight pair of underpants. With a grunt of relief he tugged these down, freeing his aching cock. He stepped in front of Cristina and reached down, lifting her head by the base of her ponytail.
"Look at my cock, you slut-child!" he hissed, brandishing the straight, hard length of his cock in her face. He was a wrinkled, paunchy creature these days, his belly flabby and his legs scrawnier than ever, but his cock remained his pride and joy. Extreme joy. A perfectly straight eight inches of Viagra-enhanced girl-fucker, he smeared it across Cristina's bleary-eyed face leaving a glistening trail of precum along the ridge of her dusky cheekbone. The girl's eyes were unfocused, slightly crossed, and a dribble of drool trickled from the corner of her soft-lipped mouth. He nuzzled that wet corner with the end of his cock, catching her dribble and nudging her lips. Such soft, warm lips! Dear Christ she was temptation itself! What a wicked, teasing slut of a girl-child!
Gripping her ponytail hard by her roots, he mashed the tip of his cock against her mouth, squashing her lips apart. He smeared his wet cock across her cheek again, pushing it up into her nose. God-cursed dirty little bitch! He watched her eyes swim into focus, partly with the pain in her scalp, partly his cock dribbling across her face. He saw them widen with shocked recognition. A pulse of precum blipped at his cock-tip. He smeared it into her eyebrow. Damn little whore!
"Oh the bitch-child is driven by the very Devil himself," he hissed. "She is temptation! Her lips, her face, her body, her ass - all are temptation.
"Pedro, chastise the bitch!"
Father Angelo released Cristina's hair, letting her head flop back to the table cloth. He stepped back, his aching cock in his hand as he watched Pedro lift the girl's dress-skirt up, folding it neatly onto her back. The whore was wearing virgin-white panties, bright against her smooth coffee skin, tight across her toned little ass. Her hot, tight, toned little ass. He just loved the sight of little girls' bottoms clad in tight white panties. The contrast with their long brown legs was delicious. He stroked his long, gently throbbing cock as Pedro lifted the stiff wooden paddle and took up his stance.
The first loud, flat sound of the paddle striking Cristina's butt brought a surge of delight to the old priest. He moved around, leaning over to watch the bitch-child's ass shiver and squirm, watch the flesh redden and begin to glow beneath the tight white cotton. He heard her gasp, a long, hitching sob, then a wail of pain burst from her drugged stupor, making his cock throb in reply. "Nooooooo! Please..! Noo!" Oh Lord what music! Oh yes! He stroked his cock, squeezing it, feeling it squeeze back, blood roaring through his stiff member as the paddle thwacked against the girl's ass and she screamed and cried for help! Her whole small, thin body quivered and shook with each blow. Pedro was clearly getting something out of his system too, thought Father Angelo with a private smile. The man was sweating, his angry red cock out of his trousers, standing hard and proud as he slapped his niece on her butt.
Cristina was crying uncontrollably, her body shaking, tears squirting from her eyes, snot bubbling at her nostrils. Father Angelo stepped around the table once more. The sight of Cristina's slight young form lying helpless on the table pulsed precum out of his rampant cock again.
"Is the girl-child penitent?" he murmured, then louder: "Pedro, lift her head!"
Pedro put aside the paddle and took up Cristina's long, dark ponytail. Yanking it hard, he pulled her head up, her shoulders and wrists straining against the silken cords. Father Angelo thrust his cock at her again. "Lick my cock, slut-child!" he commanded, jabbing the tip of his cock into her slippery cheek. The girl moaned incoherently. He mashed her succulent lips with it. "Lick me!" He sensed resistance.
"Ohhhhhhh!" he hissed and drew back his hand. He slapped her hard across the face, his fingers tingling. Her head jerked sideways, but not far, held as she was by Pedro's strong fingers in her hair. Father Angelo paused a moment, his cock drooling, as he watched the red fingermarks slowly emerge on her wet brown cheek. His blow seemed to have dazed the girl - her sobbing was suddenly stilled. Excellent!
He slapped her again, the other cheek, then again across the first, and again, and again. She was screaming now, each hard slap making her hitch and wail, an agonizing high-pitched cry that made his cock sing along. Each slap sent a spray of tears and saliva and snot splattering sideways; each time Pedro jerked her hair to keep her steady for the next.
One more slap, and Father Angelo grabbed her small, defeated chin in one hand, his dick in the other. "Is the girl-child subservient now?" he murmured, and thrust his cock into her mouth. There was no resistance.
Ahhh! Her mouth was hot and wet, tightening towards the throat as he pushed his throbbing erection into her. He gripped her head, thrusting into her mouth. Her cheeks were red, swollen and puffy from his slaps, smeared with the fluids of her pain and misery. He felt her tongue working beneath his shaft, her throat working, her eyes widening, panic rising as he forced his cock into the back of her mouth, triggering her gag reflex. She spasmed under him, around him; it just made him harder. He nudged further, triggering another gag, a retch, and a wash of hot fluid against the head of his dick. Mmm yes! Oh yes indeed! Oh learn your lesson you teasing little slut!
"Ah, yes! Oh, yes! Mmmm yes! Ah! Pedro! Let me see you penetrate her now! Take your niece in her asshole all the way in! Yes!"
Cristina's mind whirled and bounced, crashing from nausea to pain, from fear to horror, back and round and there was no end to it. The wine, it had been the wine, drugged, her head still fuzzy and heavy. They had tied her up. Uncle Pedro! Uncle Pedro had tied her up so that Father Angelo could put his thing in her face! Oh no, please! Father Angelo's thing had been so big and he had jabbed it in her face, his big, red, wet thing all over her face!
She hadn't really worked out what was going on, whether she'd fainted and was having a strange, awful dream filled with Father Angelo's thing and his burning eyes, when the terrible stinging pain in her bottom had snapped the world into focus. A really hard, stinging slap, and again! Aiee! Stop! No! Father Angelo!
No, wait! Aiee! No! Uncle Pedro! Uncle Pedro was slapping her, spanking her really hard with something hard and flat and stinging! Her tears burst from her, part pain, part dawning horror. She tried to yell, but it seemed far away. Her bottom was on fire, burning! She tried to look around, but her head still felt heavy, uncoordinated.
Ouch! Aiee! Another stinging slap to her bottom, and then something new. Oww! A hand had grabbed her hair, pulling hard on her beautiful long ponytail. Her head was pulled up, her hair tugged painfully. Her wrists jerked against whatever held her arms sprawled across the table. Her eyes swum, trying to focus.
Oh please help no! Here it was again, Father Angelo's big thing, looking harder and redder than ever. He hissed at her; she couldn't hear his words. He shoved his thing against her mouth again. No. No. She wouldn't open her mouth. No.
The slap to her face knocked her head sideways; the yank on her ponytail dragged her back. For a second she was dazed, numb. Then the pain flushed into her cheek. She opened her mouth, and a second slap came. A small, thin, voice screamed in the dead air of the sacristy, a pitifully small noise against the fiery slaps and the increasingly painful yanks on her hair. A tiny child's cry. Her cry.
She lost track of the slaps, but they stopped. Her face felt hot and swollen, her eyes similarly hot, wet with tears. Her scalp hurt, really hurt. Her face hurt. Her bottom hurt. When the long, hard penis pushed into her mouth she let it in.
It was Father Angelo's penis. At least it wasn't uncle Pedro's. That would be too much. Father Angelo's penis. In her mouth. Oh goodness.
Wait! Wait! No! Too far! No! Stop! You'll choke...! NO! I can't..! Stop!
She retched, gagged, quivered all over as the monstrous thing choked her, filled her mouth, stifled her breathing. She gasped for breath, gagged again. Snot flared and bubbled in her nostrils. Oh Lord please help! Her eyes swung wildly, catching sight of Father Angelo's face looming above his penis. His face was a terrifying mask of... of... she couldn't describe it. She'd never seen anything like it. The Virgin looked sadly over his shoulder, merciful, powerless.
Oh no she was going to... The acrid wash of stuff from her tummy jerked and bubbled up her throat, squirting around the huge blockage in her mouth, oozing out of her nose and dribbling down her chin. She heard the priest make a sound, something animal. She heard him use uncle Pedro's name. Her vision blurred again.
Oww! Fingers raked across her tender buttocks. She tried to turn her head, but the penis in her mouth and the hands gripping her face were implacable. She felt her panties dragged down, scraping across her inflamed skin and tenderized flesh. Her legs her spread wide, she noticed. She couldn't move them. Her ankles were tied somehow. The elastic of her panties started to dig into her thighs as they were jerked down, stretched wide between her splayed legs. They came to a halt just above her knees. What..?
Her eyes rolled, desperately trying to see behind her. She felt her gorge rising again and retched, her throat spasming on the pulsating penis filling her mouth. Oh Lord. Help help help me please... Oh, and then maybe an answer, some kind of answer, some tiny hint of relief. A cool, soothing trickle of liquid on her bottom. Ointment, perhaps, or soothing cream, and fingers to rub it gently across her sore, tender flesh. Oh. Oh, wait. Fingers rubbing between her buttocks now, rubbing her butt-hole. Oh! Oh no! A finger just went up her butt! Goodness! And it felt a bit weird, a bit loose, like she might need a poo, but she didn't need.
No! Oh God no no no no no no no! Something else, something soft, nuzzling her butt-hole. Something soft but hard, nuzzling, sliding, slipping, nudging, pushing... Wait! Uncle Pedro..?
OHH! OHH GOD HIS THING IS UP MY BOTTOM!
Goddamn but he was harder than he'd ever been in his life. Goddamn, finally he'd got the chance with Cristina. Goddamn fucking hell yeah!
Since the first time he'd changed her nappy he'd wanted her. Pedro loved girls, of course, but something about the long, innocent intimacy of family life had left him with a particular lust for his darling niece Cristina. Originally it had been a healthy lust, a simple desire to revel in her naked body, have her laughing and smiling and sucking his cock. But years of frustration, watching her grow into a little flirting tease even from the age of eight, had hardened his desire, honed his lust into something terribly sharp and terribly dark.
Father Angelo's activities had, eventually, provided the opportunity, the wonderful, golden opportunity, to give the little slut what he knew she really wanted, show her where she stood in that world of grown-ups she so hankered after. Special communion, new dress, blah blah, easy as pie - and here she was, tied down, chastised, meek, ready for some serious grown-up cock.
Fuck it had made his cock hard, spanking her tight little ass with the paddle. Each blow had sent a tingle up his arm, a tingle that spread through his whole body and finished up deep in his balls. Each blow had twitched a bead of precum from his cock. After the first couple he'd hauled his aching cock out of his trousers and smeared the paddle with his leaking juices. His niece's ass was so tight and firm, her panties so white, her skin so creamy brown...
It was just as good to see Father Angelo slap the bitch, too. After the first resounding slap he'd twined his fingers into her ponytail and yanked it tight. He'd jerked his cock as Father A showed her what was what, stroking, smearing his juices across her wide-stretched thighs. "Yes!" he'd hissed. "Yes! Teach her, Father! Teach her a lesson! Teach her how naughty little sluts must be punished!"
And then: "Pedro! Let me see you penetrate her now! Take your niece in her asshole all the way in!"
Ahh! He must do the good Father's bidding! Reluctantly he let go of her ponytail. Her small, slim body lay sprawled beneath him across the altar table, shaking and trembling with the oral abuse meted out by Father Angelo's big, hard cock. He hitched her skirt a little higher, admiring her lithe, muscled back, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of her simple white panties and yanked them down.
Her buttocks her red, bruised in places by the paddle. He raked his fingers over them as he hauled her panties down. Her ass was gorgeous. It was his. He left her panties twanging-tight between her knees, found the small bottle of baby oil and dribbled it onto her ass. Breath panting he worked it between her buttocks, finding her little asshole and rubbing the oil liberally into it. Part of Father Angelo's "special communion wine" relaxed the muscles beautifully, and his finger slid easily up his niece's delicate little butthole. He worked the oil into it, using two fingers, feeling her stretch quite easily. He heard her moaning around her mouthful of cock and smiled softly.
Ah how his cock and balls ached for her! He grabbed her ponytail again, giving it a good jerk to remind her of her duty, then nuzzled his stiff cock lovingly up between her buttocks. Damn it felt fabulous, slipping up and down her butt crack, nudging at her anus. He teased her for a moment or two, but the real deal called to him. Setting his feet just so, he poised, and stabbed forward.
Mmm! Oh fuck yes! His cock pushed past her sphincter and slid, tightly but easily, right in, right into her asshole. He felt his cockhead muscle past her anal ring, then his whole shaft followed, his head squishing fabulously into the warm, wet billows of her rectum. He felt her jerk, heard her muffled cry, heard Father Angelo crow with laughter. Mmm, yes! Gorgeous little niece, gorgeous little asshole!
He was balls-deep in his nine-year-old niece's ass! The little whore had taken his full length up her ass. He felt his cock squishing and squelching as he set into a hard, long stroke. God it was good. He hauled her ponytail taut, pulling her head up as high as Father Angelo's cock would allow, arching her back, penetrating her deep and hard. His belly slapped her glowing red ass-cheeks, his balls her sweet, tight pussy lips. He pulled nearly all the way out, then thrust hard back in. Mmm, tight, hot, sweet little Cristina! Ohh, you glorious little bitch!
He pulled out a few times, each time to watch her gaping asshole quiver and slowly close, each time to wipe his messy cock on a corner of her pretty summer dress and to slap her swollen, beet-red buttocks with his hand, before plunging his dick back into her. Father Angelo egged him on as he steadily fucked Cristina's trembling mouth. "Slap her, Pedro! Slap the whore's ass! Slap her pussy! She is a dirty, filthy slut-child, temptation's whore! See how she enjoys our cocks in her!"
Yes, thought Pedro, yes, she is a dirty little child whore who wants to be abused and slapped and fucked in her slut-girl fuck-holes again and again and again.
Cristina hurt. Her mind was slowing down, shutting down, shutting out her situation, but she still hurt. Her bottom burned like fire every time the man behind her hit her. Her scalp hurt where he yanked her hair. Uncle Pedro? No, she must be dreaming. What a bad thought to have about uncle Pedro! It wasn't him. Of course it... Everything was a little hazy... Her throat was sore. She'd thrown up at least once as the implacable priest had plied his monstrous cock in and out of her mouth, deep down her throat. Her butt felt strangely, disturbingly full each time the man put his thing in her, and he was so rough, so hard. The front of her thighs were bruised from the hard edge of the stone altar table.
Her eyes were closed. Every now and then the priest (was he a priest?) slapped her face, but her eyes remained closed. She was numb, retreating. They were raping her, she knew that, raping her mouth and her bottom. Raping and hurting her. Why? She didn't know. Perhaps she was a wicked girl after all. Perhaps all the bad names they were calling her were true. She didn't know. Didn't know. Couldn't remember. Couldn't...
Oh God please let it be over soon. Oh God...
The aching hardness of his cock in Cristina's throat was the best feeling Father Angelo could remember. Pedro's niece was the hottest little girl he'd been with, the sexiest little slut he's ever slapped and abused and fucked. And the best wasn't over yet, oh no. The best was just about to come...
He slapped her face one more time, for luck perhaps. She was clearly dazed now, her tears just about dried up, but with a permanent trickle of snot and gagged-up stomach fluids depending from her cute little nose. The rich purple cloth under her chin was a dripping mess, the floor beneath slippery. He stepped back slowly, withdrawing his engorged cock from her mouth gradually, largely for the excitement of the visuals. Thick strands of slime and goo hung dripping between his cock and the girls puffy lips, the white-green ropes of intense mouth fucking. His cock sprang hard as it finally slipped out, quivering, lubricated, ready to finish. His back ached, as did his knees, but neither as much as his balls - old, wrinkled but full of cum just bursting to flood out into this slutty little girl splayed on his altar of virginity.
He let go of her head with his other hand, letting it fall suddenly. She controlled it in time, though it still bounced a little on the altar-cloth. She gave a long, shuddering groan, her lips working soundlessly.
"Pedro! Has the bitch made a mess of your penis?"
Pedro looked up, slowing his ass-fucking of his tormented niece. He grinned and slowly withdrew. Despite a regular wipe on the girl's dress, his cock was indeed a dirty mess of slime and shit from Cristina's ass.
"Father," he replied with a leer, "I fear it is so."
"Come here, my son. Let the bitch-child clean you like a good little penitent. Let her gentle mouth soothe the hardships her filthy ass has imposed upon your penis."
Father Angelo moved around, circling Cristina with Pedro as they exchanged places. He stood by her thigh, his cock dribbling slime down her leg, as he absently patted her red-glowing butt and watched Pedro approach her mouth with his dick. Father Angelo took up the girl's ponytail and hauled her head up; Pedro cupped her cheek almost tenderly as he steered his cock to her lips, and pushed it into her mouth.
She gagged and retched at once, her whole body spasming, but there was nothing left in her stomach to emerge. She squirmed and tried to pull away, but Pedro slapped her cheek and Father Angelo held her hair hard, and she had no escape from the hard, filthy cock in her mouth. Pedro let out a long sigh, and grasped her head in both hands. He began to buck his hips.
"Yes, my son," murmured Father Angelo softly. "Fuck her mouth. Cover her face in your seed. Fuck her hard. Cover her in cum, all over her slutty little face!"
Pedro grinned, a vicious, humorless grin, and bucked harder. His belly nudged her nose each time, his thrusts deep into her throat. Most times she gagged, but it was a small thing now. Father Angelo watched for a while, reveling in the hard, dirty throat-fuck the uncle was administering to the niece, then, still hauling on her ponytail, he stepped around between her thighs.
Her anus was still open, hovering halfway between gaping and closed, so heavily used that it might take hours to close fully. Her soft, young pussy, one the other hand, had remained untouched, unscathed, unviolated throughout. It was a beautiful thing, two pure little lips and a delicate pink slit, a little more open than usual thanks to the magic mixture in the communion wine, a little messy from the hard ass fucking. He wiped it gently with the hem of her skirt.
Untouched, unscathed, unviolated: two pure little lips and a delicate pink slit.
He rammed his hot, stiff, slimy cock hard into her, hard between those pure little lips, hard into that delicate pink slit, violating her once and for all.
Her hymen parted like torn silk. He felt her whole body spasm in its constraints. Her cunt was tight, so tight, tight but just relaxed enough for him to plow his way in, deeper, deeper, until the head of his deliciously-held cock came up against the neck of her cervix. Uncomfortable for her, fantastic for him. Fantastic, tight little cunt! Sweet, sweet little slut-child!
"Ohhh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, the slut-child is truly the daughter of Eve! Accept our seed, daughter of Eve, that you may accept all that is good!"
Father Angelo fucked her, fast, as deep as she would take him up her tight young cunt. His balls seemed to swell as his cock slid fast within its beautiful enclosure, the hot, wet walls of her girl-cunt bringing him higher and higher and closer and closer. He saw Pedro's sweating face as her fucked Cristina's mouth faster and faster, watched the intensity build within him.
"On her face!" he gasped. "Remember, my son, on her face!"
Pedro groaned, grunted and whipped his cock out of the girl's mouth. Ribbons, streams of thick, white cum gouted from the head of his cock into the girl's face. One strand flew over her head, covering her hair, falling oh so neatly right along her rigid ponytail. As Pedro's cum splashed and splattered all across his niece's face, so Father Angelo erupted deep, deep inside her cunt. He grabbed her hips to steady himself as his achingly hard cock exploded, his scrawny old balls squirting gloriously deep inside the girl. Holy Mary Mother of God it felt so good..!
The old priest was trembling, his knees weak, by the time he'd emptied himself into the young girl. Pedro helped him over to his favorite armchair by the bookshelf. Cristina was comatose, passed out on the altar in a pool of body fluids, semen dribbling from her distended vagina, her anus still open. The two men admired their handiwork for a while, then Father Angelo stretched.
"You have the story for the family?" he asked.
"Yes Father," replied the uncle. "And you have the Sisters ready to receive her for the next month?"
"Yes indeed, my son."
"And she won't remember who we are?"
"They never do, my son, they never do." Father Angelo seemed almost sad as he said this. "They say you always remember your first time, but my girls never, ever do."