midnight mass

the life of every creature is its blood

I was late for my meeting with Father Paul. Only by a few minutes, but it felt so disrespectful that I ran the whole way there.

I burst into the door already rushing out an apology and Father Paul's head snapped up.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Father." I sucked in a few harsh breaths, trying to regain my composure.

"You're hurt," he said instead of responding to my apology, "what happened?"

I glanced down at the gauze wrapped around my hand.

"Nothing really," I was confused at the sudden change of topic, "just a little accident in the kitchen."

I approached the chair opposite of him and was shocked to see how tense and uptight he was. Maybe something was wrong.

"Are you ok?" I started, giving him a once over, "We can do this some other night, Father."

"Oh no, no, I'm fine, sorry," he grinned, but it seemed forced, "Let's get started shall we."

The meeting was normal, if not weirdly strained, the tension in Father Paul seeming to build with each minute until it was almost over and he let out a sort of choked gasp.

"Your- your hand, Y/n," his hands were gripping impossibly tight the to fabric of his jeans, "it's bleeding."

I shot a look down to my hand to find that blood was dripping through the gauze, and I cupped it with my other hand before any got on the floor. The touch burned and I let out a hiss of pain.

Father Paul stood suddenly and went over the coffee table to grab napkins. I stood up to meet him when he came back, and I observed how his hand shook when he reached out to grab my not injured hand that was covered in blood.

He froze for a second with the hand in front of his face, the napkins he was supposedly going to use to clean me dropped to the floor.

"Father?" I was nervous now, Father Paul had some sort of predatory look on his face and it made me feel small. "Father Paul?"

Without warning, Father Paul licked a clean stripe through the blood on my hand, letting out a strangled moan in the process.

"What the hell!" I yelled. I tried to yank my hand away, but the grip on my wrist was tight and Father Paul was much stronger than he seemed, keeping me in place even as I tried to back up.

"What- I don't-," my words came out as panted whispers as he was now dragging his tongue in between my fingers.

I pulled impossibly harder as he reached the last finger, but froze when his eyes suddenly were staring mine down. And then he pounced.

The back of my head hit the floor with a crack and the world was fuzzy for a long moment. Father Paul took my state as an opportunity to unwrap the injured, dripping hand and collect the blood flowing down my wrist with his tongue, a growl escaping his lips.

I came to a little bit and tried to move, but Father had me pinned, legs on either side of my torso, one hand on my chest forcing me down, the other gripping my wrist in an iron grip.

I went to scream, I needed help, anyone, but it turned into a moan when Father Paul put his mouth to my wound and started to suck. I stopped flailing, stopped fighting, because it felt good, the sucking taking away any pain from the wound I had felt.

I thought about how grotesque we must of looked, as he forced me down to suck even more blood from me and my hips twitched up to get some sort of friction, my panties growing wet from the eroticism of it all. Father Paul was still letting out small moans and groans, and I could feel his cock hardening in his jeans at the taste of my blood and my hips bucking up.

All of the sudden, all sensation stopped and I worried for a moment that that was the end, but then Father Paul was picking me up to walk over to the chair in the middle of the room.

He sat me down in his lap, right on top of his hard cock. I rolled my hips and let out a whimper as the angle provided me the friction I needed. His mouth came up to my neck and left little sucks and kisses.

"I'm sorry for this." Was all he said before his teeth entered my neck. I screamed in pain and tried to get away, but he had me trapped in his arms.

The pain subsided after a second when he began sucking and he used his hands on my hips to encourage me to grind again. The friction mixed with the pain on my neck made me shake and whimper violently and I knew I wouldn't last long.

Father Paul was bucking up to match my grinding now and one of his hands came up and tangled itself in the roots of my hair and then pulled my hair back to expose my neck even more, hard.

My hips stuttered as I came in my pants so hard I saw stars and judging by the unholy moan Father Paul let out, I'm assuming he did too. I shook in his lap for a minute as waves of pleasure hit me. I sat gripping his shoulders for a minute while I caught my breath.

Both his hands rubbed my sides comfortingly as he lapped up any remnants of blood on my neck.  When there was none left to be found, he pushed me back a little to look me in the eyes, one of his hands came up and tucked my hair behind my ear. Neither of us really knew what to say.

Father suddenly connected his mouth with mine in a filthy kiss. I could taste my coppery blood on his tongue and I lightly bit his lip when we parted, breathing heavily, foreheads touching. I giggled at his face, all covered in blood.

My legs were weak when I stood up from his lap, my neck aching, and picked up the napkins Father Paul had dropped on the floor in the beginning of this all.

"For the inside of your pants." I joked a little awkwardly, backing up a few steps before fleeing the rec center, throwing a "see you next week" behind my shoulder.

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Finally did something involving his little vampire problem.