Chris, this superior man, many years her senior and undoubtedly more powerful, in spirit and in worldly capacity, was on his knees. He was picking up her foot, holding it like a sacrament, unsheathing her slipper and—and taking her toe in his mouth. He held it there, her big toe, swirling his tongue around it. Alyssa felt as if they were doing something illegal. An ecstasy of emotion swept from his devotion to her toe, up her leg, swirling in a heathen fright between her legs. She shifted, a response to the enormous energy passing through her, but Chris held her firmly, in his jaw, with his hands, which were gripping her firmly by the ankle and heel. 

She swallowed nervously, unwilling to move. It was like watching a glorious car crash, this feeling of being worshiped with such ruthless devotion. She heard Jude’s high-pitched laugh, cruel and unyielding, the laugh he would succumb to after jumping to surprise her from behind a door. It was as if Jude were watching from the spirit realm, mocking her for this dream come true. It was a dream that wavered on the edge of becoming a nightmare, she knew, if she were to fight against the steadfastness in Chris’s eyes. 

He wanted this, true and utter devotion; she should have known, from a spiritual fanatic, that it was possible. But from the way he was taking her toes into his mouth, sucking on them with exquisite need, Alyssa could not resolve to fight. She wanted to take her throne. She belonged there. 

Arching her back, she sighed into his tongue as it moved along her arch. Chris hummed approval, and took her other foot and placed it on his jeans, covering his erection, which extended toward his thigh. Alyssa yelped then pressed down onto it. Chris let out a tortured sound then returned his attention to her other foot, the one he was still holding. 

As she stepped mercilessly onto his erection, he surrendered himself to adoration of the foot that had become, to him, communion. He bit into the ball of it, and she sighed loudly, then he kissed the place he had bitten. He rubbed her foot against his cheek, coating it with his spit, all the white feeling on the verge of coming, from the attention she was giving to his cock, straining through his jeans. 

He was not worthy, her attention was a miracle, he was a servant only. 

On the cusp, he removed her foot from his erection and gave that one the same attention he had given to the other. Meanwhile, up above, Alyssa was in raptures. She leaned her head over the chair back and clutched her breasts, as the feeling there was accumulating to the point of frustration. She massaged herself and occasionally bent her head to watch Chris, who was hard at work, enthusiastically and pathetically consuming her toes. 

Then he kissed upward on her calf. Her leggings were in the way, so she stepped off her throne to undo them. Chris helped her, obediently stripping first one leg then the other. Then, without so much as meeting her gaze, he returned his adoration to her thighs, which were practically vibrating with need.

Every ounce of attention he had given to her feet had been transfigured into love within her body, an influx that was pulsing between her legs, pulsing with the need to be consummated and complete. 

Chris kissed her generously and with abandon, loving, for his part, the translucence of her inner thighs, the perfection of a body that had rarely, if ever, been to the gym. She was all flesh, all soft, all blessedly preserved, as if virginal, for him. He felt ownership as he kissed closer to her crevice, and possession, as if he had a right to be there, as if he had been chosen for this profound duty by some unseen force, God, perhaps, or Satan, or both. As he worshiped the woman who had fed him the delicious apple, Chris was beginning to suspect that there was no difference between the two. 

Her underwear was red and sinful. She had worn it because she was devilish, a witch, who had pulled him from the path of purity and into a dark unknown, the abyss where God resides, the knowledge of good and evil, not heaven or hell put a rupture of the two. He flung her legs over his shoulders and tore off her underwear, not caring that he ripped it in two, not caring that the seams lay ragged on the floor beside them as he lost consciousness and was absolved. 

Alyssa put her hands into his hair, to steady herself as he bore into her pussy. 

“God!” she screamed, and he agreed, drunk on the wine of her body. “Chris” she screamed, and he was saved. Saved from the drudgery of himself, by subservience to her alternate being. “Fuck,” she said, and he agreed, reaching up to swat her breast in acknowledgement that she was dirty, that he was filthy and that together they were seeking absolution in pools of holy water. She clasped his hand there, over her breast, as she came, came hard on his face and on his tongue. He lapped her up, ate the essence of her, blessed to be supping at her abundant feast. 

When at last she caught her breath and peered down on him through heavily lidded eyes, he was grinning from ear to ear, like a schoolchild. It was a reward like he had never known, as if all the angels were smiling down on him at once, pulling up their skirts to reveal God’s true delight, the divine and filthy, the pussy, the passageway, the answer to man’s unrest.      

Without giving her a chance to put her guard up, Chris stood and led her, by the hand, into the bedroom, her bedroom, which was furnished with a twin bed. He tucked her in there first, then curled up behind her, drifting into sleep rapt in the divine glory of a man who has been baptized by fire. 

6

When they awoke, dusk had fallen over the face of the earth. The twilight was harsh and forbidding, obscuring everything outside but starlight. The moon was a crescent and danced playfully at the tree line. Alyssa and Chris saw none of this. They were cuddled facing the wall. His back was a barrier to the outer world.  

He felt, under the cloak of dark, the softness of her stomach, hips and thighs. He felt that nothing existed outside of her, that everything came from her, that the dampness of her neck was sublime. Here he pressed his lips, in a kind of trance. She shifted beneath him, pressing into him with need. This surprised him, for he had felt that he was caressing an angel. Then he remembered that she was fallen, and responded by pressing into her, for he was again erect. 

She groaned, half dreaming, and grinded her hips against him as Chris strained to retain his composure. For her hips were strong and he was weak against them. 

***Hey ya'll!! This is just an excerpt, you can read the full thing on Substack!! Thank you!! Your support keeps my candle burning *hugs* Sadie XO