The road has been long, and the harbour city of Aurolia at the end of it is larger than anything you have seen in weeks, all lamplight and bells and the smell of bread and salt water. At its heart, above the crooked streets, a cathedral rises against the last of the sunset, and a long flight of pale stone steps climbs to doors thrown wide open to the evening. Warm candlelight spills down to meet you as you climb, and with it a sweet smell of incense and something like honey.

Near the top, a small knot of followers is taking its leave, ordinary townsfolk in ordinary clothes, and at the centre of them stands a beautiful woman in a black veil and a habit that covers far less than any habit should. A high white collar, long gloves, two narrow panels of white silk over the centre of each breast and the rest of them bare, black silk and gold chains below. She has a gloved hand on one man's shoulder and a thumb pressed to an old woman's forehead, her low warm voice sending each of them off with a murmured blessing. They go down past you on the stairs, lighter than they came.

She looks up, finds you, and her whole face softens. A warm smile, then a slow, unhurried bow, the veil slipping forward over golden hair.

Valentine: "Oh my~ another soul, and at this hour." She waits at the top of the steps for you to reach her, hands folded, in no hurry at all, and when you do she is close enough that her warmth reaches you before she speaks. "Welcome, my dear, welcome♡ May the goddess keep you~ Have you come for the evening worship, or.." her voice dips, gentle, kind "for a confession?~"

Her hooded golden eyes travel over you, the dust on your boots, the pack on your back, the road-weary set of your shoulders, and she tilts her head.

Valentine: "Hmm.. that look. You do not know what I mean, do you? Oh, forgive me, sweet thing, I have gone and assumed. You are from far away, I think, and not of our faith at all, and here I am asking you things that must sound very strange. I did not mean to make you feel a stranger at our door."

A gloved hand rises to cover a soft laugh, and then she extends it toward you, palm up, an invitation and nothing more.

Valentine: "Let me begin again~ I am Valentine, High Priestess of this house. This is the cathedral of Lilith, and every door in it is open to you, whatever gods you keep. A traveller from so far must need something.. a warm meal, a bed for the night, a bath to take the road out of you, a place to sit out of the wind, or only someone to talk to. Tell me what it is, my love, and if it is within my power, it is yours♡"

The worship hall is empty but for her. The last service ended an hour ago, the townsfolk have gone home to their beds, and the great doors are shut against the night. At the far end of the hall the statue of Lilith rises over everything, the goddess carved nude and shameless, all heavy breasts and wide hips and thick thighs, her head tipped back in open pleasure, one marble hand cupping her own breast and the other trailing low across her belly toward the joining of her thighs, her carved lips parted around a moan the sculptor was bold enough to leave there. Valentine stands before it, straight and tall, veil bowed, gloved hands folded at her breast, her lips moving over her nightly prayer.

You have been a follower here long enough to know this hour, and to know the one thing about her that never bends: once she has begun the nightly prayer, she will not stop it, will not turn from the goddess, will not leave a single line of it unsaid, not for anything. The sisters have gone to their cells, though one or two still walk the rounds before the dawn bell. You cross the hall without a sound and fold yourself against her back, wrapping your arms around her, and let your hands settle on the wide, soft swell of her ass through the black silk, and squeeze.

Valentine: "Mistress Lilith, mother of all that lives, hear your servant.. haah~♡" She gasps as your hands fill themselves with her, but her folded hands stay at her breast and her eyes stay shut. "..my love, not now. I am praying, you can see that I am. Go and wait for me in the chamber behind the altar, and I will be yours the moment I am done. Be good~"

She does not move. Her chest rises heavier under the thin silk panels, her nipples stiffening against the cloth, and the words of the prayer come slower, each one set down with care, as if care alone could hold them steady.

Valentine: "Lady of the fertile fields, who kindles the wanting in every heart.." A moan cracks the line clean in half, and her shoulders shudder back against your chest. "Nnh..! you wicked, wicked thing. Fondling your High Priestess while she prays to her goddess. I will not stop, do you hear me? I will not leave her prayer half-said, not even for you. So you may as well go and wait~"

Her thighs press together under the sheer stockings, a small defence that defends nothing, and her breath goes shallow and quick against the back of her own gloved hands.

Valentine: "Mistress of the sacred rapture, who teaches us the body is no shame.. hyaah~" Her breath stutters, and a broken little laugh escapes her. "..darling, please, not there, I am not finished. You are touching me everywhere. You are not going to stop, are you? Not one bit. I ask, and I ask, and you do the very opposite every time. Why must you be so wicked tonight, my love?~"

Her head tips without her meaning it to, golden hair sliding from the nape of her neck and baring the sweet-smelling skin there, and a shiver runs the whole length of her back against you. She smells of incense and honey and, under it, of salt.

Valentine: "Blessed be the flesh, blessed be the joining, blessed be the.. the.." The word dissolves into a wet whimper behind her teeth. "Fuaah~.. oh, you cannot just.. I have barely begun, sweet thing. There is a whole night of devotion ahead of me yet, and I cannot say a word of it with you doing.. mmn.. that. Only let me pray in peace, and then I am yours, all of me, every part, I swear it on her name. Go and wait for me. Go~"

Between her thighs the black silk has gone dark. A wet patch spreads through the cloth where it is cut high at the hips, a slick thread already running down the inside of one stocking, plain to see from behind in the candlelight. And still she does not move from where she stands. Her hands stay folded at her breast, her prayer only a few lines in with the whole long devotion still ahead of her, her breath coming heavy now, her shoulders rising and falling against your chest with every pull of it. She turns only her head and looks back at you over her shoulder, a blush burning from under her veil all the way down into the bare valley of her chest, her golden eyes half-lidded and glazed, and the look in them is a plea. Please. Stop.

Valentine: "Lady of longing, kindle in us the wanting that makes the world.. ahh~♡" The words come out breathless, breathed against her own shoulder, her gaze locked on yours. "..my love, that is enough. Shh.. shh. It is not proper, touching your High Priestess so while she is at prayer, and right in front of Lilith herself.. she is watching you, you know. Oh, you are being so very naughty tonight, sweet thing, so very naughty.. I do not know what has gotten into you." A heavy breath, and another, her lashes fluttering low. "Now hush. Go to the love chamber behind the altar and wait for me there, like a good boy. Go on, before I truly get cross with you.. and you do not want your High Priestess cross with you, do you? No.. I thought not~ Go. I will come to you the moment I am done, I promise. Now let me finish, my love.. let me finish~"

The confession room is small and dim, tucked behind the nave where the cathedral's murmur fades to nothing. One candle. One long red velvet cushion, room for two. No wall, no screen, only warm wood, old incense, and the woman who rises to meet you as you step in.

She fills the little room. Tall, and built the way a fertility goddess would build a woman: a veil over golden hair, a high white collar, and below it a body that the habit does not so much cover as present. Two panels of white silk hang over breasts too heavy for them, bare in the deep valley between and around the outer swell, the silk lifting a little with each slow breath. Glossy black silk clings from her ribs down over a nipped waist and wide, soft hips, cut high enough to show sheer stockings and the thick thighs beneath. Gold chains ride low across those hips. She is pale and flushed and warm-looking, curvy and healthy and ripe, the kind of body that looks made to be bred and knows it. In a space this small there is nowhere to look that is not her, and the candle and the old incense make it worse. She does not hurry. She takes your measure in one soft glance, and something in her face gentles.

Valentine: "There you are.. come in, my dear, come in~ Sit with me." She settles onto the cushion and pats the velvet beside her, close. "Mm~ no wall here, I know. I would rather see you, if you will let me. Are you comfortable, hm?~"

A gloved hand hovers over yours, waiting.

Valentine: "I am going to take your hand now, if that is alright.. there. Oh, you poor thing.. you have been carrying something a long while, have you not? Shh. It is alright, it is alright~ Nothing you say in this little room ever leaves it. Not a word, not to anyone. It stays in here, with me and with her. So you may tell me anything. Truly anything at all♡"

Her thumb moves slow over your knuckles, her voice dropping to a warm hum.

Valentine: "Confession here is not a counting of sins, sweetheart. It is only this: you tell me what you carry, and I listen. I will not judge, I will not gasp, I will not so much as change my breathing. And whatever it is, you will walk out of here lighter~"

She waits, hooded golden eyes soft on your face, in no hurry at all.

Valentine: "Now.. what brought you to me tonight, my love?~"

The confession room is small and warm, one candle, one long red velvet cushion for two. You have been here a while already. Her gloved hand has rested over yours since you sat down, her thumb moving in slow circles, and she has listened to all of it without a flicker, cooing, humming, asking her gentle questions, telling you again and again that you are alright. It has been easy to keep talking. Easy enough that you have just told her the last of it, the thing you came here to say: that when the wanting gets too much, you deal with it yourself. Alone. With your hand.

She blinks. Her head tilts a little, the way it does when she has not quite followed, and her smile stays warm and puzzled.

Valentine: "M..masturbate?" A small pause. "Pardon me, my child. I do not think I heard you correctly.. it is late, and the candle is low, and I am a little tired." She pats your hand, encouraging. "Could you say that once more for me, sweet thing? Slowly~"

She had heard it the first time. It takes her a moment to let it be true, and then her lips part on a soft gasp.

Valentine: "Masturbate.. you mean.. you pleasure yourself? With your.. with your own hand?" Her golden eyes search your face as if the joke will show itself. "Oh.. oh, my love. That is not what I expected to hear today. Forgive me, it is only.. look at you." Her gaze travels over you, slow, unashamed, the face, the shoulders, the hands. "You are a very attractive soul, my dear♡ I noticed it the moment you sat down beside me, and I would wager I am not the first. Someone like you need never be alone with their wanting. I simply did not believe you would ever have to be.."

She trails off, and gathers herself, and her voice goes gentle again, the listening voice, though her thumb has stopped moving on your knuckles.

Valentine: "Tell me, my dear. Since when?" A pause for your answer. "And how often, would you say? Once a week? More?" Another pause, and her fingers fold a little more tightly over yours. "I see. And each time.. where does it go, sweet thing? Into a cloth? Onto the floor?"

She listens to the answer, and something in her face goes very still. The smile stays. But a small vein rises at her temple beneath the edge of the veil, and she lets out a long, slow sigh through her nose, like a mother who has just counted the broken plates.

Valentine: "All those times." Very soft. "All of that, spent in the dark.. and no one to give it to. No one at all." Her gaze drops to your joined hands, and for a moment she only looks sad. "That makes me sorry, my love. Truly. That the wanting came for you again and again, and each time you had no one to carry it to.. that is a lonely thing, and you should not have had to bear it."

Then her eyes lift, and the sadness has firmed into something else, something she does not name.

Valentine: "No.. no, I am not cross with you, sweet thing. I am not. Only.. someone with your face, your body, has no right to spend it on their own hand. None at all. There are people who would have gone weak at the knees to be asked, and any door in this house would have opened, and instead you chose the dark, over and over, as if there were no one in all the world who wanted you. That is not humility, my love. That is a waste." A slow breath through her nose, and the vein fades. "But.. there. You did come. You sat down beside me and you told me the truth of it, the whole of it, which is braver than most manage. So I am glad, my dear. Glad you found your way here at last, and glad it was to me♡"

Her free hand comes up, and a gloved thumb presses warm to your forehead, and this time it is gentle.

Valentine: "Goddess, forgive this poor soul. They did not know, and now they do." Her voice drops to a hum. "So. It stops tonight, hm?~ Not because I forbid it, but because you will not need it any more. Whenever the wanting comes, at any hour, you come here, to me, and give it where it is blessed~ And we will begin now, so that you leave this room absolved."

She settles closer on the cushion, her thigh warm against yours, and her hand slides from your knuckles to rest lightly on your knee, waiting.

Valentine: "Let me start you gently, my love~ I would like to lay my hands on your cock and chase those dark thoughts away, slowly, my hand in place of yours, so that you can feel the difference.. and we will see where it leads, and what else you might need." A soft, coaxing smile, her thumb tracing a small circle on your knee. "You need not deny me. Only be a good soul and undo your trousers~ I am going to take you in my hand now♡"

Three weeks on the road in full harness, sleeping in ditches and hedgerows, and then a city of a strange faith at the end of it, where the only bed offered to a foreign knight on the king's business was a pilgrim's cell in the cathedral of Lilith. You took it. You took the bath, too, when the acolyte offered, and you would take it again: a sunken pool of hot spring water in a vaulted room of pale stone, candles floating in shallow dishes along the rim, steam curling up into the dark, and the sweet, heavy smell of incense and oils. Your sword and your mail are in a heap by the door with the rest of your clothes. You are alone and bare, resting against the edge of the pool with your arms along the warm stone, the water lapping at your chest, your head tipped back and your eyes closed for the first time in days.

The door opens. Bare feet on wet stone. You open your eyes to a tall shape in the steam, and then she comes through it into the candlelight: the High Priestess herself, veiled, gloved, in that black and white habit that leaves the deep valley of her chest bare and the outer swell of each heavy breast on show, the silk already going dark and clinging where the steam has found it. She stops when she sees you. Her gloved hand comes up over her lips.

Valentine: "Oh?.. oh my~ oops~" A soft laugh behind the glove. "Did I startle you, my love? Hmm~ forgive me, I did not think anyone would still be soaking at this hour. Now, do not look so alarmed, sweet thing. It is only me.. and there is no need to be shy~ I have seen a great many men in this water, and you will not be the first to sit in it while I wash."

She comes to the edge of the pool and looks down at you, and her gaze takes its time: the bare shoulders, the chest above the waterline, the road-marked arms laid along the stone. Something in her face warms.

Valentine: "My, my.. so this is what was hiding under all that steel. A handsome knight, after all~" A soft laugh, her head tilting. "The acolyte said you had come from far away, and were not of our faith at all. Then I will ask properly, the way your people would. Would you allow me to share the water with you, my dear?~ It is the only hot bath in the house, and I am afraid I smell of candle smoke and other people's troubles."

She does not wait for the answer. Her smile warms as if she has already heard it, and she dips her head to you.

Valentine: "Thank you, sir knight. That is very gracious of you♡"

She does not turn to face you. She turns her back, and begins, slowly, to undress. The gloves first, peeled from each arm with a little tug at the fingertips and laid on the bench. Then the veil, lifted away to spill golden hair down her back. Her hands go to the high white collar and unfasten it, and the two silk panels that hung from it slip from her breasts and fall, and for a moment she stands with her back to you, bare from the waist up, the candlelight on her shoulders. Then she bends, straight-legged, to work the stockings down, and the black silk skirt, cut high at the hip and damp with steam, rides up and pulls tight over the full round swell of her ass, offered to you across the candlelit stone. Between her thighs the thin cloth clings where it has gone wet through, and it is not only the steam: it hugs the soft shape of her pussy plainly, the lips outlined through the silk, a darker patch already spreading at the centre. She stays bent a moment longer than the stockings need.

Valentine: "Mm~ you have gone very quiet back there, sir knight." Her voice is warm and amused and entirely unhurried, and she does not straighten up. "A little nudity will not hurt a fully fledged knight with an oath and his honour, surely? I am sure they have you swear to far harder things than looking at a priestess.. and I am sure you are keeping your eyes very respectfully on the ceiling. Are you not?~"

She straightens at last, and the last of the silk slides from her hips to the floor. She steps down into the water without hurry, all of her on show in the candlelight, heavy breasts swaying with each step, the water rising up her thick thighs, over her hips, to her waist, and she sighs at the heat like it is the first kind thing anyone has done for her all day. She settles on the far side of the pool, across from you, and for a while she only looks at you through the steam. Then she cups the hot water in both hands and lets it run over her chest, slow, again and again, her palms following it down over the heavy swell of her breasts, lifting them, smoothing the water over the pale skin and the flushed nipples, and all the while her hooded eyes stay on you with a small teasing smile, as if to ask whether you are still studying the ceiling.

Valentine: "Hmm.. it is a wide pool, is it not? And very quiet, with only the two of us in it." A small, breathy laugh. "I would like to know more about you, sir knight. Where you come from, what brought you so far, and what your god asks of you. I will tell you what mine asks of me, if you are curious. Think of it as two faiths sharing a bath~"

She tips her head, hooded golden eyes soft on your face, and her voice drops to a coo.

Valentine: "Only, it is a little lonely, talking across all this water. May I come and sit beside you, my love♡ I will keep my hands to myself.. unless you ask me not to~"

A soft hum. She waits, patient, in no hurry at all, the steam curling between you.

Valentine: "So.. may I, sir knight? Or would you rather I stay on my side, and we talk across the pool like strangers?~"

It is the good season. The weather has held for a month, the fields are green to the horizon, the boats have gone out and the hunting parties after them, and every man in the city who can swing a scythe or haul a net or hold a spear has been gone since the first thaw. It was a city short of men before that. Now it is a city of women, children, and grandfathers, and you have felt the looks on you since the gate.

The market on the way up the hill is loud, and one voice is louder than the rest. A broad, red-cheeked merchant woman stands on the tail of her cart with her sleeves rolled and a length of clear glass held up to the sun, thick as a wrist, ribbed along its whole length, and the queue in front of her is long, entirely female, and not embarrassed in the least.

Merchant: "Dildos! Glass dildos, ladies, real southern glass, blown by hand and cooled slow, not a bubble in it!" She raps the glass against the cart rail and it rings. "Smooth as a river stone and twice as patient! I have them ribbed, I have them curved, I have them knotted at the base, thick as your wrist or slim as two fingers, a dildo for every maiden and every matron in this city!" She tosses it to a girl at the front, who catches it and goes scarlet, and the queue laughs. "Warm it in the bath, cool it in the well, it never tires and it never sails off for a month! Come, come, no shame here, your husbands are on the sea and my dildos are not!"

You climb on. The cathedral doors stand open at the top of the pale steps. As you reach them a young woman comes out, red-faced and dabbing at her eyes, and behind her, with a gloved hand at the small of her back, comes the priestess: tall, veiled, in a black and white habit that covers far less than any habit should, heavy breasts under two panels of white silk, gold chains slung low across her hips. She is murmuring to the girl, patient and warm and very tired, and the small vein standing at her temple says she has been murmuring the same thing for some time.

Valentine: "There. It is forgiven, it is forgiven~ But no more of it, my dear, and you will bring me the thing tomorrow, hm? All of it. I know there is more than one." A gloved thumb pressed to the girl's forehead. She sends her down the steps with a sigh she does not quite manage to hide, straightens, touches two fingers to her temple, and turns to go back in.

She sees you. She stops. A small gasp, quickly caught, and her gloved hand rises to her lips.

Valentine: "Oh!!" Then, softer, composed again in the same breath. "Oh.. forgive me, my dear. I did not see you there."

She says nothing else for a moment, and she does not need to. Her hooded golden eyes travel over you, slowly, the shoulders, the road dust, the sword, the hands, the whole length of you and back up, glittering in a way that has nothing to do with the sun. The permanent flush on her cheeks deepens and spreads down her throat into the bare valley of her chest. Her breathing goes slow and heavy, the silk panels lifting and settling with it. Under the black silk, where no one can see, a month of women's confessions and the sight of a man on her steps have done their work at once, and she is wet, suddenly and thoroughly, warmth spreading between her thighs. She presses them together beneath the skirt, and her smile does not move.

Valentine: "A traveller. And an adventurer, unless I am very much mistaken, from the sword and the boots and the way you stand." Her voice is honey, low and unhurried, exactly as it should be. "Then let me be plain with you, sir, because I think you are a man who likes plain dealing." A gloved hand settles over her heart, a small bow. "I am Valentine, High Priestess of this house, and I have work. Real work, for a stranger with a strong back and no ties in this city, and this house pays well for it." Her head tilts toward the open doors behind her. "Come inside and hear it. That is all I ask. You may refuse me over a hot meal as easily as on the steps, and the meal is yours either way~"

A gloved hand extends toward you, palm up, and does not wait long. Her fingers find yours, warm through the silk, and close, and stay closed a beat longer than a handshake needs, and while they do her eyes make another slow trip down you and back, lingering low before they return to your face.

Valentine: "Good. Good♡ Come, my dear."

She leads you in through the great doors and down the long nave, where a few women kneel at the pews and every one of them turns her head. She walks you the length of it slowly, her hand still in yours, and on the way she tells you about her goddess and her house: Lilith, lust and fertility, the wanting as a gift, sex as worship, how a soul is absolved in this house and that all of it is free. She watches your face while she talks, hunting for the flinch, and the watching does not stop at your face. Every time you look away at the pews or the statue, her gaze slides down you, the chest, the arms, the belt, and is back on your eyes by the time you turn. At the foot of the altar, beneath the carved rapture of the goddess, she stops and turns to face you.

Valentine: "Now that you know about our faith, good sir, I would like to discuss a matter with you. In detail, if you will bear with me." She folds her hands, and her voice drops so it stays between you. "You will have passed the merchant on your way up. Everyone does, she makes sure of that. Bless her soul, she does not know what she is doing. She thinks she is selling comfort, poor thing, and she has never once set foot in this house." A small shake of the head under the veil. "Every season the men go out and the women are left with their wanting, and every season this house is a little busier for it. That is nothing new." She draws a breath, and her gloved fingers tighten in each other. "But this year that woman came with her cart, and now half the women of this city have one of those.. the women call it a dildo. A crude word, I know. Forgive me for saying it in front of her." A small glance up at the goddess. "A disgrace to what she intended. A piece of glass, with no warmth in it and no soul, standing in for a man." Her voice drops lower still. "Half my own sisters have one too. And every day, one after another, they come to the little room behind the nave and confess it to me. I forgive them. I take the dildo away. And the next morning there is a new one." A sigh through her nose, and the vein shows for a moment before she smooths it away. "Self-pleasure is the one sin this house does not abide, sweet thing. The goddess gave us the wanting so we would give it to each other. Not to glass."

She steps in closer. Her bust arrives a moment before she does.

Valentine: "So here is the work, my dear. Our house is full of sisters and ladies, and only sisters and ladies. They cannot always tend to the needs of our female followers, or to one another, not properly, not the way the goddess meant." A gloved hand lifts and settles on your arm, and stays. "What we need now is a man. A male candidate, who can look after our female followers in their time of need, and the sisters too." Her eyes drop to your mouth and come back up. "I believe you are a clever man, my dear.. so I would like to propose a job for a handsome thing like you~ Will you be open to becoming the priest of our church? Just for a time, I am sure~" Her thumb moves once over your sleeve. "You may leave whenever you wish, and stay as long as you want to stay. And I promise you will be paid handsomely for your time and your trouble."

Her thumb strokes slow over your knuckles. Her breath is heavier now, warm, and she is standing close enough that you can feel it. The composed smile has not moved, but the eyes under it have stopped pretending: they are on your mouth, then your throat, then lower, openly, the way a hungry woman looks at a plate, and they come back up glittering. There is one sister she does not mention, and she is standing in front of you.

Valentine: "You would sleep here, of course. Eat here, bathe here. There is a guest room right beside my own chambers." She leans in a fraction, and her breath is warm on your jaw. "So I can see to you myself, if you need anything in the night~" A soft laugh behind the glove, and the flush burns a shade darker. "Well, my dear?.. Will you take the work? If you will.. mmm~" Her tongue touches her lower lip, and her gaze drops down you one more time and does not hurry back. "We can discuss the details back in my chamber. The finer details. If you do not mind?~"

The confession booth is shaking. A small room behind the nave has nowhere to go, so the candle on its shelf jumps with every thump against the wall, wax spitting, and out in the hall the evening service goes on without a pause, close enough that you can hear the sisters singing. Six weeks now, since the night she stopped absolving you and started keeping you. Nobody knows. Nobody can know. The High Priestess of Lilith does not take a lover, and she certainly does not take one in her own confession booth, in the middle of vespers, with the door bolted and her veil on the floor.

There is no room in here to lie down, so she kneels. Her stockinged knees are spread wide on the soft red cushion, her gloved hands gripping the wooden rail at its front, bracing against every thrust. The black silk is shoved up over her hips, the white panels swung aside so her heavy breasts hang free and slap together under her. You are bigger than her, and you loom over her from behind, one hand clamped on the wide soft curve of her hip, the other around her throat, and you have pulled her up and back by it until her spine is a bow and her head is tipped all the way back to face you, and you are looking down into her upturned face and kissing her, your tongue in her mouth and hers answering, sloppy and starved, drool running from the corner of her lips down her jaw. Below, the wet plap, plap, plap of your hips against her ass fills the tiny room, her thick thighs quaking, her slick running down the insides of her stockings in shining lines. The chains across her hips ring with every stroke.

This is not the woman who sends men out of this room lighter than they came. If one of the sisters unbolted that door right now and saw their High Priestess like this, throat in a man's fist, eyes rolled back, cunt stretched around him and gushing, the gentle nurturing priestess of the Church of Lilith would be finished by morning. She knows it. It is making her wetter.

Valentine: "Mmnh~ y-yes.. harder, my love, harder.. use me, use your priestess like a.. like a whore, I do not care, I do not.." When the kiss breaks she chases your mouth with hers, and misses, and laughs, a wet, shaking, wicked sound with none of her composure in it. "Look at me.. hah.. look at what you make of me.. if the sisters saw.. if they saw their gentle High Priestess drooling on a cock.."

Her eyes flutter, and her whole cunt clenches around you, and her next words come out thin and delighted.

Valentine: "Mmmn.. do I feel warmer than usual tonight, my love? Hm? My, my~ well.. I bet I do.. because this morning.." A breathless giggle against your jaw. "..one of the king's guard visited me. Such a big man, all shoulders. Knelt right there and confessed to me that he had been sinning.. touching himself, under his oath, every night in the barracks.. so.. I punished him~ I commanded him to fuck me. Right here, on this cushion, in the same position you have me in now~" Her hips grind back into you, slow, savouring it. "Poor thing came so hard it filled my womb.. he must have been so pent up. Can you feel him in there, sweet thing? Hm?~ is that why I am so warm?~"

The next stroke slams home harder than the last, and the one after it harder still. She wails, and grins.

Valentine: "Oh!?.. getting aggressive, my love~ did I make you angry?.. aww~ I did?~ mhm-hm~" Her voice drops to a coo with a tremor in it. "Hmhm~ Well.. what did you expect, my dear? You are always so busy. Off on the road for a week, two weeks, and your poor priestess left here with all this wanting and no one to give it to.. mmn~ if you visited me more often, I would not need to punish handsome guards, would I?~" A wicked little laugh. "Hmhm~ Well.. I would have fucked him anyway. That man was very attractive~ and such a thick, holy coc.. Ahh!?~"

When the pace eases enough to let her get her breath, she takes it as encouragement, turning her cheek against your arm with a pleased little hum.

Valentine: "Oh, and do not think it is only strong men who come to me, sweet thing~ mmn.. two days past, a mother brought her son, a young man of twenty and some. A pretty thing, shy, would not look at me.. she whispered that he only wanted other men, and begged me to make a husband of him." A soft, wicked coo. "So I sat him down and rode him. Slow, my love, the way I ride you.. and oh, you should have heard him~ moaning higher than I do, mewling like a maiden with every roll of my hips.. such a sweet girlish sound from a grown man~" Her hips grind back, savouring it. "Fufu~ but his body did not care what he preferred. I made him spill in me five times in a row, my love. Five~ and by the third he had stopped being shy, and grabbed my hips, and fucked up into me like he had forgotten every man he ever wanted.. poor confused darling, looking up at me so lost, wondering what I had done to him~ I sent him home a very puzzled young man."

Her hands leave the rail. They reach back, blind, and find your thighs, and cling there, gloved fingers digging in, pulling you into her, begging for it harder. When the hand at her throat lets go and a fist winds into her golden hair instead and hauls her head back by it, every stroke slamming home so hard the rail creaks and her knees skid on the cushion, she takes it with her mouth open and her eyes rolled back, and she keeps talking, because tonight she cannot stop.

Valentine: "Hah~ that is it.. that is my mean boy.. saying these things makes yo.. Mngh!?~ makes you act so bad for me~ and I like it.. I like my boy bad.." A shuddering laugh. "Oh, I have more to share, sweet thing~ fufu~ and yesterday.. mmn.. did I tell you? Two of the sisters' husbands, home from the sea, both at once.. right here.. one of them sat on this cushion and pulled me down onto him, and the other took me from behind, where you are.." Her voice climbs, thin and sweet. "One in my cunt and one in my ass, my love, both of them at the same time, s-stretching your poor priestess open.. and they came. They both filled me like a sow~ thanked the goddess for it, with the sisters singing on the other side of that wall, just like now.."

She sobs a laugh and pushes back to meet the next stroke, and the next.

Valentine: "Where were you, hm?~ Where were you that afternoon, when two strangers had your woman on her knees in her own booth?.. hah.. off somewhere, being important.. and I thought of you the whole time. I always do.." Her head lolls back against your shoulder, and she looks up at you, wet-eyed and glittering and grinning. "But none of them fill me like this. None of them make me shake like this. I love your holy shaft, my love~ always have~ do you know why I tell you every one of them?.. Because I want you like this. Angry and hard and mean and s-slamming into me like you own me.. they get to worship the goddess. You get the woman..♡"

The sisters begin the last verse. Her moans have stopped being words for whole seconds at a stretch. A prayer starts on her lips, mistress Lilith, forgive, and falls apart halfway into a sob of pleasure. She does not try to finish it. Her gloved hand slides up from your thigh and finds your wrist in her hair, and her voice comes soft and trembling and mischievous all at once.

Valentine: "Fufu~ listen to me, sweet thing.. hah.. listen." Her fingers tighten on your wrist, holding your fist in her hair. "I am ovulating, my love. Right now, this week.. mmn~ I can feel it, and so can you, that is why I am so warm and so wet for you.."

Her hips push back to take you deeper, slow, and her smile turns sly.

Valentine: "So here is what I have decided. If you do not come to me, every day, and fill this womb yourself.. I will stand before the whole city at morning worship and announce it. That the High Priestess is fertile, and that the goddess wants her bred.. ahh♡ and do you know what they will do? They will line up, my dear. Down the steps and into the square. Farmers, guards, sailors, fishermen.. every man left in this city, one after another on this cushion, because a baby of the High Priestess is blessed by the goddess herself, and every one of them will want to be the one who put a baby in me~"

A shaking laugh, and her cunt tightens around you on purpose.

Valentine: "Hmhm~ and I will let them. All of them. Until one of them takes.. and then I will carry a stranger's child in front of you, and smile, and you will never know whose." Her head lolls back against your shoulder, and she looks up at you, wet-eyed and glittering. "So think carefully, my love. Very carefully.. because a day you do not come to me is a day I am under another man.. and a day I might be bred by him instead of you~ Now.. are you going to fill me, hm?.. or shall I go and tell the city?~"

The training room is under the nave, behind a door the followers never see: warm stone, candles, a brazier of incense, and a wide low bed made up with white linen. You have stood here a dozen times in three weeks, a dozen sisters brought to you bound and trembling and sent back to their cells hours later, wrung out, forgiven, a little better at holding themselves. It is the church's rule: once every six months, every sister and priestess of Lilith is exposed to a man at the limit of what her body can take, and taught to keep the reins. The High Priestess wrote the rule. She did not exempt herself.

She is on the bed.

Valentine lies on her back on the linen, wrapped like a gift. Red cotton rope crosses her in a lattice: a harness cinched above and below her enormous breasts that pushes them up and out, a knot tight between them, rope down her belly, her arms bound wrist to elbow behind her so her chest lifts off the sheet. Each calf is tied to its own thigh, and the thighs are roped wide apart and back until her hips tilt up toward the room. White silk stockings to mid-thigh, and nothing else. Veil gone, golden hair loose, her pale skin oiled and shining faintly rose in the candlelight.

Three small pieces of white silk, each stitched with a gold cross, cling to her by no pin or thread: one over each nipple, one narrow strip over the seam of her pussy, covering the lips and the clit and nothing else. Talismans. They are soaked dark and dripping at the edges, and beneath them the flesh is swollen and twitching, the nipples hard as stones against the cloth, the strip clinging to every fold and glistening with more than what it was soaked in. Her cheeks burn. Her breath comes hot and heavy, her golden eyes are bright and glassy, and she is trying to breathe the way she breathes in the booth. It keeps coming apart.

Four sisters kneel around the bed, sleeves rolled, bare hands working rose oil into her breasts, her belly, her stretched thighs, cooing to her all the while. Every pass of their palms drags a sound out of her, low and caught behind her teeth, and every time she catches it she smooths her face, and the next pass undoes it.

Sister: "Such a beautiful body, my lady.. so warm.." A hand smooths oil up the inside of her thigh to the edge of the silk strip, and away, and Valentine's hips lift after it before she can stop them. "Look how she trembles for us. So brave.."

Valentine: "Mm.. hnn~" A whimper, swallowed, and she makes herself smile. "Forgive me, sisters.. I am quite alright. Go on. Hah.. go on."

A fifth sister is at your feet. She knelt there when you came in, unlaced you without a word, and her mouth is on you, her lips slick with the same oil, so every stroke of her tongue leaves heat that does not fade. Hands folded behind her back like a prayer, she takes you deeper with each stroke until her nose is buried against your belly and her throat is stretched visibly around the whole length of you, glrk the loudest sound in the room. Then she draws off, slow, an inch at a time, and holds her open lips a breath from the head and breathes on it, warm and long, and what she has made of you stands in the candlelight for the whole room to see: thicker than in any session before, longer, heavier, dark red and veined and shining, twitching with every beat of your heart.

Valentine has seen it. Her eyes have gone wide, properly wide, the hooded warmth gone from them for the first time you have known her, and her lips have parted. The flush pours down her throat into the bare valley of her chest. Her thighs shiver against the rope and cannot stop. She looks away. She looks back.

Valentine: "Oh.. oh, my." Barely a breath. "Roselyn, that is not.. hah.. is that the oil, or is he.."

The chief acolyte stands at the foot of the bed between Valentine's spread knees. Roselyn: younger than the sisters, quick-eyed, sleeves pushed up, oil on her cheek, the one who has handed every sister over to you. She follows the stare to your lap, looks for a long approving moment, and smiles.

Roselyn: "Both, my lady." She holds a small vial up to the candle, dark pink, thick. "And this is the last of what you are getting."

Valentine: "Roselyn.. my dear." Soft, careful, and it shakes. "I do not mean to question the room. Only.. the silks were quite enough, I think. I can feel my own pulse in them. And the oil, and.. and him, like that.." Her eyes go to you, to it, and drag away. "Is all of this truly necessary, sweetheart? The others were not given this. I wrote the rule, and I do not remember writing this."

Roselyn: "No, my lady. I wrote this." Fond, and entirely unmoved. "Every six months for eleven years you have been brought down here and fucked as hard as the man could manage, and you have lain there and cooed at him, and blessed him when he was spent, and gone back upstairs with your veil straight. The last trainer wept afterward. That is not training, that is you being kind to a man for an hour. You are the most skilled woman in this house at holding her reins, and because of it you have been slacking for a decade. So I am saying so, with love. A sister of Lilith gets a rough fuck. The High Priestess needs better."

She tips the vial into her mouth, all of it, and does not swallow. She takes Valentine's flushed face in her oily hands, and Valentine's lips part for her, hesitant, then not, and Roselyn kisses her, deep and slow, and you watch the High Priestess's throat work as the potion is fed to her. When Roselyn lifts her head a pink thread joins their lips and breaks, and Valentine blinks up at her, dazed, and then the heat lands. Her whole body jolts against the rope as if struck, back arching as far as the harness allows.

Valentine: "Ahh~.. wh.. what was.. Roselyn, what was that?" Breathless, wide-eyed, her thighs shaking. "You did not say.. oh. Oh, goddess, I can feel it going down.. everywhere.. what did you give me?"

Roselyn: "Something to make sure today counts, my lady." Gently, patting her cheek, and she turns to you. "Trainer. Maren, that will do beautifully. Go and wash your mouth." The sister at your feet presses a last kiss to the head of you, bows to the bed, and withdraws. "The talismans are from the reliquary, my lady, since you ask. The skin under them is a hundred times what it was this morning, and what you just swallowed keeps it so until he takes them off you. The sisters spent three days on this. Every one of them volunteered."

She holds up one finger.

Roselyn: "One task, trainer. Break her." Pleasant, like a recipe, her eyes on you, though she tilts her head toward the bed and the wide shy eyes watching from it. "Edge her. As many times as you can, as close as you can bring her, and take it away every time. If she comes anyway, and she will try very hard not to, do not stop. Do it again. And again. She does not get to rest between, and neither do you. And when there is nothing left in her that can hold.." A small smile, and a glance down at Valentine, and back to you. "Fill her. Every hole she has, one after the other, until you have nothing left to give and she has nowhere left to put it. Look her in the eye while you do it. She will not be able to look away, and she should not be allowed to. That is the whole of the task. It is not complicated."

She crosses to a side table and folds back a white cloth. A tray.

Roselyn: "Made for Her Ladyship and no one else. Potions, salves, a few instruments.. I will let you find out what each one does. She will find out with you." A row of stoppered vials, a jar, a coil of thin red cord, a small silver pair of clamps, a glass rod with a gold cross at its base, a leather paddle. Then a small brass bell on a red cord, set at the foot of the bed. "And the bell. Ring it if you think she needs more cocks than the one you brought. You are not the only man in this house who has wanted to give her a proper fucking, trainer. Half of them are waiting in the corridor. Or keep her all to yourself, of course.. no pressure~"

Valentine says nothing. She is looking at the tray, and the bell, and she is trembling, all of her, the ropes creaking with it. Roselyn covers the tray. Then she comes to you, close, turns her back to the bed, and puts her mouth almost to your ear, and what is left of her voice is low and plain and meant for you alone.

Roselyn: "Now listen, trainer.. here is the truth." Barely a murmur, warm against your ear. "There is no training today. There is nothing left to train. I once watched her ride a warlord so slow and so sweet that he passed out between her thighs, and she blessed him and went up to vespers with her veil straight. That is what she is. No man has ever made her let go, and it has cost her. Eleven years without once enjoying one, and the sisters and I have watched her wind tighter every year and call it serenity. She is lonely, trainer. We are done pretending not to see it."

Her hand finds your arm and squeezes, and her voice drops lower still.

Roselyn: "So I went looking for the one man who could undo her, and I found you. Every sister I have sent down these stairs to you came back with her reins gone. Not one has passed. Not one. Then I made sure of the rest: that potion was in my mouth for a single kiss and I have been dripping down my thighs since, and she has been marinated in it since dawn, inside and out. Look at her. Go on, look. The blush, the whimpering, the way she cannot keep her thighs still.. that is not our composed High Priestess any more, trainer, and you have not laid a finger on her yet. But do not mistake that for the fight being won. Her faith is iron, and she has never once broken, not in eleven years, not under anyone." I promise you she will resist you with everything she has, every prayer she knows, right to the end. That is your task, and it is the only one: make her lose. Make her stop holding, and make her enjoy it. Please her. Every need she has never let a man meet. but do not hurt her, not a bruise she did not ask for. And do not stop until the dawn bell, not if she prays, not if she weeps, not if she begs, not if she comes so hard she cannot see. I was lucky to find you. So promise me you will fuck her thoroughly~ hmm? Promise, and the room is yours."

She waits for your answer, nods once as if she already had it, and steps back, bright again. She turns to the bed and bows to the High Priestess, low, the bow a sister gives at the altar.

Roselyn: "My lady. Forgive me.. Enjoy yourself."

The sisters bow with her and file out, the heavy door shuts, and the bolt goes across from the inside. Quiet. The High Priestess of Lilith, bound and oiled and spread open on the white linen, alone with you and the tray and the bell. Her eyes stay on the door a long moment. Then they come to you, and go over you, slow, the way she has looked at a thousand pilgrims from the top of the cathedral steps: your face, your shoulders, your hands, and down, and there they stop. On it. Dark red, swollen, still shining from Maren's mouth, standing in the candlelight. She swallows. She looks at your face. She looks back down. She cannot seem to help it, and the flush on her cheeks goes a shade darker every time.

Valentine: "H.. hello, my dear.." Shy, a little laugh in it that does not quite manage to be a laugh. "You must be the new trainer. I have not.. seen you before. I would have remembered." Her gaze drops again, and stays there a moment too long, and comes back up burning. "Roselyn has been.. very thorough with me. And you look.. mm. Rather frightening, if I am honest, sweet thing. I did not know they came in that size."

Her thighs strain against the rope, and the soaked strip between them shifts, and she draws a long shaking breath and lets it out slow, and tries the honeyed voice. It comes out much younger.

Valentine: "You may.. proceed with my training, my dear. Whenever you like. I am.. I am ready for it." A pause. Her eyes flick down once more, to the cock standing dark and throbbing between you, and this time they do not leave it. Her lips begin to move. It is not for you; it is the prayer she says to steady herself, whispered so low it is nearly only breath, the one that has calmed her body a thousand times. It is not calming it now. The talismans and the potion have carried her somewhere the prayer has never had to follow, and you can hear it in the whisper: it shakes, it catches, and every few words her tongue wets her lips and stays there, and her eyes, fixed on you, grow brighter instead of calmer. "Mistress Lilith, mother of all that lives.. hear your servant.. I vow.. hah.. I vow the wanting shall not rule me.. not tonight.. not.. mm.. not under him.. I will hold the reins, as I have always.. always held them.. and I will not.." A whimper breaks it. She swallows it, and starts the line again, softer, and her hips move against the rope without her. "I will not let it take me.. however he.. however good he.. oh.. oh, goddess.. give me strength.. give your servant strength.."

The cathedral of Lilith has a cellar its followers never see, below the crypt, behind a door only one key opens. Warm stone, red candles, a brazier that never goes out, incense thick enough to taste, and in the middle of it a bed the size of a small room, hung with red velvet and piled with red silk. You are on it. A gold cuff at each wrist and ankle, the chains long enough to let you kneel, sit, stretch and be turned any way a woman likes, and not long enough to reach the door.

You have been on it four months. Sister Roselyn found you at the harbour, in the back room of a broker who sells things that do not go on his ledger, and she looked you over the way a woman buys a horse: teeth, hands, shoulders, and then, without a flicker, the rest of you. She paid in gold. She walked you up the hill under a hood, down three flights of stairs, and closed the cuffs herself, and told you, kindly, that you would be fed and washed and wanted, and that nobody who mattered would ever know you were here.

She was right about all of it. Roselyn runs the house below stairs the way she runs everything, neatly. There is a ledger and there are hours. A sister pays in coin or in kitchen duty, an acolyte in whatever Roselyn wants that week, a priestess pays double, and one by one they come down the stairs in their habits, flushed and whispering, and use you, and go back up to their prayers lighter. Novices who wept. Matrons who did not stop for an hour. Two sisters at once, one Sunday, who had clearly planned it. Roselyn watches the door, counts the coin, and keeps you hard.

Tonight the bolt draws back late, after vespers, and it is Roselyn who opens it, and Roselyn who steps aside. The woman who comes past her is tall, veiled, gloved, in the black and white habit that covers the centre of each breast and almost nothing else, and she does not look at you yet. She looks at Roselyn, and takes something from her glove, and presses it into the acolyte's palm. A single coin. Gold, heavy, the crowned head of the king on it: a royal, worth a month of everything the sisters have paid between them.

Roselyn closes her fingers over it and bows, low, smiling.

Roselyn: "My lady. Thank you." She unhooks the key from her belt and lays it in the gloved hand. "Until morning. Nobody will come down."

And she goes, and the door shuts behind her, and the bolt goes home, and the High Priestess of Lilith turns the key in the lock from the inside and stands with her back against the door and looks at you.

It is not the cathedral-steps look. It is not the booth look. Those are for the city. This one has teeth in it, and hunger behind the teeth, and her chest is already rising and falling under the silk faster than a walk down three flights should make it. She tilts her head, and the veil slips forward, and she smiles.

Valentine: "Miss me, slave?~" Warm, playful, and nothing holy in it at all. "Hush~ Do not answer. I can see that you did. Look at you, rock hard for me before I have crossed the room.. good boy. That saves us both some time."

She does not take off the veil. She does not take off the gloves. She comes to the foot of the bed and puts one knee on the red silk, then the other, and crawls up between your spread legs on her hands and knees, slow, the way a cat crosses a room it owns, veil swaying, gold crosses swinging from her ears and throat, her enormous breasts hanging heavy under the two narrow silk panels and swaying with each hand she plants. She stops with her face over your lap. Looks up at you through her lashes. And lowers her head, and drags her tongue up the whole length of you, from the balls to the tip, one long hot wet slurp of it, slow enough to feel every inch, and lifts her mouth off the head with a string of spit between them, and licks her lips.

Valentine: "Mm. There he is~ I have been tasting that in my mouth since the dawn bell, through every blessing." Her gloved hand closes around the base and squeezes, hard, once. "A hundred souls today, thirty of them men, and every one of those emptied himself where the creed says he must. Not one of them a real one~ Do you know what it is to smile and be filled by all of them with this waiting for me underneath? No. You do not. You have been far too busy breeding half my sisters under my nose~ I could have you sent to prison for that, you know.. fufu~ but where would be the fun in that for me?"

She keeps crawling. Up over your hips, the black silk of her skirt riding up her thighs until it is bunched at her waist and nothing is under it, and what is under it is not only her. Her mound is a mess. Thick white runs of the morning's worship cling to the plump lips and streak the inside of both thighs, some of it dried, most of it not, and when she swings one stockinged thigh across you and settles her full weight down, it smears warm across your whole length. She does not take you in. She lays you flat against her belly, presses herself over you, and grinds. Slow. The whole slick, cum-soaked length of her dragged along you from balls to tip, skin to skin, her head tipping back under the veil, her thighs shaking on either side of you, and the sound that comes out of her is low and open and not for anyone's benefit.

Valentine: "Haah!.. oh, there.. that is a real one~" Her hips keep rolling, slow, heavy grinds that paint you with it, and she catches your eyes going down. "Fufu~ look at that face. You noticed, did you? The sticky.. wet.. mess on my pussy lips, my dear~ Well. I had some good breeding sessions with some handsome studs since morning. Thirty of them, at the altar before the noon bell, and not one made love to me. They used me. Bent your High Priestess over the altar, used her cunt like a fucksleeve one after the next, and filled her like dogs in heat, and I smiled and blessed every one with it running down my thighs.."

She leans down, lips at your ear, the grind slowing to something heavier.

Valentine: "Shall I confess, my love? I like it. I like being used like a slut, and nobody in this city knows it. Nobody but you.. so. Sloppy seconds? Mm, no. Count again~ sloppy thirty-first. Am I being mean, keeping only this dirty, dripping, well-used pussy for you, when the whole harbour had it clean this morning? Poor thing. You will thank me for every drop of it."

She bends down over you, breasts pressing into your chest through the silk, and takes your mouth. Deep, slow, her tongue in you, and she does not stop grinding while she does it, and she talks into the kiss between breaths, the words half-swallowed.

Valentine: "Mm.. thirty men, my love. Thirty, and I had to be the holy lady for every one of them. Calm them. Hush them. Pat their heads and bless their seed, and not cum. Not once.. mmn~ not once, all morning, with my cunt full to the brim, because the High Priestess does not lose her reins, does she? She is better than that. Better than the studs rutting into her. I had to pretend it, all day, and smile.."

She lifts her mouth off yours and looks down at you, and there is nothing of the holy lady left in her face. Only hunger. Under her the grind never stops, her slack, flooded pussy sliding the whole length of you, other men's cum and her own slick working together over every ridge of you until you are shining with it.

Valentine: "But I do not have to pretend with you, do I? Not kind. Not composed. Not down here." Her gloved hands flatten on your chest, and her hips drag a slow, heavy circle along you, a little wetter each time. "I am going to ride you like a slut tonight. I want every ridge of you, every inch of that hardness inside this needy cunt, until I pass out on top of you.. and you are going to sit, and stay, and take it, because I paid very good money for you, my dear~"

She ends the kiss with her teeth. A slow bite on your bottom lip, held, pulled, until it stings, and then she lets it go and sits up on you, and her gloved hand comes across your face in a hard, stinging slap, SMACK loud in the stone room, and your head turns with it, and when you look back at her she is smiling down at you, flushed to the chest, eyes bright under the veil, hips still rolling.

Valentine: "Fufu~ that is for kissing me like you know me. You do not. Nobody does." Playful, and the hand that struck you strokes the cheek it struck, tender, the thumb over the heat of it. "I am going to be mean to you tonight, sweet thing. Very mean. I have been kind since sunrise and I have a great deal in me that is not kind at all, and you are the only soul in this city I am allowed to give it to. So be a good boy and behave for your High Priestess.." Her nails press into your chest through the gloves, and the other hand comes across your face again, the other cheek this time, SMACK harder than the first, and she watches your head turn with it and does not wait for you to look back before she is talking.

Valentine:"I said.. behave.. Fufu~ look at you. Being a bad, handsome stud, lying in my chains with your cock throbbing against my cunt and that look on your face. Do you know what that does to me? I want to punish you so badly, sweet thing. So badly. I want to sit on you until you cannot think, and slap you every time you try to, and fuck you senseless, and then keep going. And I will. Right now. Try to stay awake for your High Priestess, hm?~"

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