SACRAMENT

For what I am about to do, Father, forgive me.

The tile on the shower’s floor was ice-cold. His weight, increased slightly by the force of Cassie’s foot on his back, ground his palms and knees into the grooves separating the grimy white squares. It hurt.

Cassie’s voice, far above him, said "Hold on, it’s coming." Her fingers rustled in her pubic hair, pressing on her lower belly, helping the process along. "Just a sec."

He stared at her other foot while he waited, the one almost under his nose, flattened and spread out a little on the tile. Red toenails, the nail on her baby toe so short and bitten-back as to be almost nonexistent. Butterfly tattoo on her ankle. He liked to bite it when she took her shoes off evenings, then force his tongue out as far as it would go and lick the butterfly hard. She liked that. But this, what they were doing now, it was new. She had had to be persuaded, like all the others.

Father, forgive me.

Cassie said, "Oh God. Here it comes. Here it is. Ready?"

His shoulders stiffened and itched. He craned his neck upwards, inhaling, trying to smell it before it came out of her. "Do it," he grated. So hard now, his balls tight like two glass marbles. "Please."

The sound Cassie made mixed excitement with an almost anguished relief. She had drunk beer after beer, getting ready, but the nervousness of actually doing it had kept them both waiting. Now it was coming, splashing into his hair, rivulets of it running down his cheeks and meeting at his throat. He ducked his chin down and opened his mouth comically wide, trying to catch the flow. "This will be over soon", a voice inside him said. "Better enjoy it while it lasts". That thought occurred to him every time he got to indulge, and every time he tried his best to imprint the experience on his memory, store the smell and sensations of the woman’s wetness and his own hardness in a place where he could call them up later. It was never enough. Every single time he found himself painfully empty, longing to do it again. But the women who would indulge him were few and far between, and his requests for repeat performances were rarely granted. Sooner or later he started to look obsessive, and then they would get scared and jet.

For now, though, he was content. The smell of Cassie’s piss was sharp in his nostrils. So good. Kneeling like this, the receptacle of her heat, her body’s cast-off fluids. A vessel.

"Is that nice?" Her voice was throaty, excited in spite of herself. She had worked as a dominatrix once, and now she was instinctively returning to that mode. It was the best way she knew to relate to the situation. He didn’t mind. "Are you my little piss-boy, huh? My pissy-ass piss-boy?"

The flow was slowing now, Cassie shaking her ass over his head as she talked at him, nice and sexy; the female equivalent, he supposed, of shaking your dick over the toilet to get the last drops out. He rose up awkwardly on his knees, displacing her foot, clasping her ass and pulling her close, burying his face in her lips. Her lips were swollen and fragrant, still trickling a little. He tried to arrange his face so his nose ground into her clit. They always liked that. He drank from her blissfully, the taste a burning pleasure he knew he would never be able to adequately recall.

"Oh yeah," she said, twining her fingers in his hair and bumping her hips against his face. "Do that, yeah." She wanted to come now, he knew, and then she would want to watch him loll on the tiles clutching himself, prodding him with her toes and talking her dominatrix-shit until he blew white and hot all over his stomach. And then...who could say?

Someone in the apartment above them picked that moment to take a shower. The sound of running water echoed faintly overhead. He opened his eyes and stared reverently up at the ceiling.

"Bet you wish I could go like that, huh?" Cassie asked playfully, tugging at his hair. "I would fill you up like a river. Like three rivers."

"Like the ocean," he murmured.

END