Women Of The Bite Part 5

"Celia... "

"No. Not anymore. This was your choice. You made it on your own...you can live with it on your own." Celia snorted at her choice of words, shaking her head as she stood and raked her eyes over the withering figure before her. "Or not."

Moira watched her as she quickly moved away. Finally, when she couldn't see her any more, she stood, still looking towards the horizon. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Closing her eyes in pain, she took a deep breath, turned, and walked back to her hotel. It was less than a month before she lay dying in the hospital.

When Celia finally came to her room, Moira's figure barely stirred upon the bed. Her breathing was shallow, and Celia sat and listened to the agonizing silences that came longer between each labored breath.

"I'm trying not to hate you for leaving me, Moira, but I can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

Celia waited until there was nothing left but silence, then rose and left the room.

Graced Kierstin Cherry She fell forever, tearing through the black void of the night sky. The heavens swiftly became a burning ember behind her. The swelling chorus of the seraphim crystallized, then shattered as she crashed from the pillars of heaven to the earth below.

No sooner had the fire of her immortal corpus touched the earth than she was clothed in flesh. Sacred flame gave way to corruptible skin and bone and blood. Mortal pain a.s.saulted her, breaking through newborn bones and ripping through soft, unsullied skin. It tore over her tall frame, wracking her from the tips of her fingers, to her ribcage, to her thighs, to the pinions of her feathered wings.

It stole the breath she now needed so desperately.

The sharp impact of concrete was a blessing.

The church stood empty, its once-proud faade crumbling under the weight of so much sin. Even the dark of night could not hide its slow decay-the sanct.i.ty of its silence long tainted by the host of transgressions heard in dark confessionals.

Candles guttered, aflame with forgotten prayers, shadow-casting over skeletal pews. Stained gla.s.s glimmered dull, tarnished by the pa.s.sing of so many false penitents. The pulpit stood empty, its sermons drowned in the deluge of sins waiting to be forgiven. Unnumbered offenses whispered among the statues of the saints.

In the darkness crouched a sinner unrepentant.

The preacher's daughter had come here to do her penance alone, unwitnessed, for no one knew of her sins.

Claire dared not confess to her father the terrible fantasies which ravaged her mind every Sunday as she sat quietly at Ma.s.s. His sermons spoke of heaven and harps, of bliss and eternal paradise. She dreamed of rapturous seduction, enfolded in feathered wings, naked against immortal flesh, her body ravished to its breaking point.

Every Sunday, the preacher's daughter wore a mask of piety while beneath it, she writhed in agony, her hands clenching the missal, her unfulfilled s.e.x leaving the pew damp with wanton frustration.

The other parishioners turned a blind eye. Who among them had not sinned? Silently, Claire prayed they would acknowledge her crimes, would d.a.m.n her for the wh.o.r.e she was.

The strain of her silence ached through her like echoes in a shallow pond. She prayed for the release of truth, for someone to witness the l.u.s.t that would not let her rest.

The l.u.s.t that had driven her to come here tonight.

Slowly her feet carried her to the altar, up three rickety steps. A sheen of perspiration sprang to her skin, clinging her thin chemise to her body, making her tremble in the cool night air.

The darkness enshrouded her, the pa.s.sing of so many sinners strengthening her resolve.

Reaching out, she fingered the vestments. A shiver spiked down her spine. To be naked and laid open upon that white cloth. To christen it with brazen l.u.s.t.

Shudders had their way with her body. She tore her hand away, looking heavenward for succor.

Peeling paint and faded gold leaf depicted Paradise above, swarmed by the divine hosts. Halos brightened the darkness around them, their armor brilliant, their swords sharp, deadly to any sinner. Rapture burned in their eyes and upon their seraphic faces. Their feathered wings, so pure and white. She longed for them to burn her with the light of Heaven, ravished by the angels of G.o.d, her pale body lying used, ruined upon a bed of white feathers.

Swooning, she envisioned herself naked among them, a sinner among saints. Would they yield to her touch or would they be as hard as the stone that depicted them? Could she tempt them?

A thrill stabbed through her belly, hot with blossoming guilt. Shame made her desire quicken harder, faster, tightening the flesh of her inner thighs. She caught her hand straying to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Her skin was flushed, the barest brush of her fingers a blessed torture. Shivers chased through her belly, catching her breath shallow. Like any worthwhile sin, once begun, she could not stop.

The flimsy nightgown clung to her cleavage and through it, she toyed with herself, eager fingertips exploring the softness of her own body. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s ached, taut nipples straining against the imprisoning cloth, but she denied herself the touch of her naked flesh, relishing each twinge, each small thrill evoked by her teasing caress.

Above and around her, tarnished effigies and crumbling statues stared, transfixed. Their forced voyeurism gave Claire her first taste of decadent satisfaction. Sin quickened within her. Let the saints be her witnesses.

Aroused, she pinched her nipple hard, a guilt-stricken breath escaping her full lips. She pulled and twisted, lifting her small breast by its rosy aureole, gasping over stabs of forbidden pleasure.

This small joy, this small sin, was not enough.

Slowly, her other hand trailed down her body, fingers brushing between her cleavage. Antic.i.p.ation tightened her belly. She teased the nightdress away from damp thighs.

Disgrace blushed high on her cheeks. The angels looked down from above, their eyes burning, setting her body on rapturous fire. Her legs quivered as they opened wide for her audience. One hand yanked aside soaked panties.

Without ceremony, she plunged a stiff finger into her wet and waiting c.u.n.t. A gasping moan tore from her throat, resounding in the sanctuary. Her eyes rolled heavenward, never losing sight of the seraphim. Feathered wings and halos. She thrust harder. Her legs buckled, and she went to her knees, genuflecting before the altar.

It felt right to be on her knees before G.o.d.

The church was filled with her moans.

Broken, she plummeted from the light of heaven's grace, the sound of her name spoken by the tribunal of arch-angels, branding her a sinner. "Lisiel..."

In the dim shadows, she jerked awake, the pain of memory coiling about her head like an ill-fitted halo. "...the soul of an angel cannot sustain the sins of a demon..."

Her pale limbs shook. She was uncoordinated, unused to the mortal form. A breath of fire imprisoned in a torment of corruptible flesh. Naked, she stumbled to her feet.

The dim glint of stained gla.s.s shone across her face. Looking up, she beheld the light of a church. Gazing higher, she could only see the night sky, alight in stars, its dim faade hiding the vaulted arch of heaven.

Bereft, abandoned, she dared closer to the house of G.o.d. Her feet stumbled up the splintered steps and she fell to all fours before the doorway.

The lacquered wood was cool under her touch. The doors parted an inch. Hesitant, she peered in.

Before the altar knelt a young girl.

But she was not praying.

Legs spread, one hand buried between her thighs, the other shamelessly groping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her head was thrown back, her face contorted with the immoral bliss she brought herself.

Wild, panting, she was unaware of being watched. Two fingers, wet to the hilt, thrust in and out of her eager gash. Her chemise had slipped, clinging to her waist, her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s exposed, enticing. Grabbing at them, she twisted her nipple hard. A sordid cry escaped sultry lips.

Watching, unseen, Lisiel was singed by the slow, insidious burn of curiosity-a tiny flare that carnified into sudden ardent fire.

Slowly, she brought a hand to her own bosom. Her body responded, awakening, the first shivers of mortal pleasure a.s.saulting her. Unprepared, she was suddenly breathless. Enthralled by her own flesh, she filled her hands, cupping her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, squeezing them. Her nipples grew hard under her illicit caress.

l.u.s.t rose within her, fueled by the spectacle of the preacher's daughter.

Two fingers were no longer enough. Claire shafted herself with three, her unfettered moans echoing throughout the church. Her thighs quivered, and she shuddered with each thrust, burying her fingers deep into her own body. Gasping, she writhed, affording Lisiel a glimpse of her ripened s.e.x.

Her l.u.s.tful cries and the slapping of wet fingers brought a hot blush to the angel's cheeks. Unwittingly, her body responded, torrid heat building within her, flashing through her limbs. Between her thighs, a turgid wetness blossomed, beckoning, echoing the longing of a shared sin.

Deliberately, she began to explore her new flesh, drawing her hands down her torso, across her abdomen, to her pelvis. Biting her lip, she dared lower.

Fingertips darted over flushed skin. The outer lips of her s.e.x were warm, lined with moisture. Slicking her fingers, she slipped inside and parted them. The heat they withheld nearly burned her.

Shock suffused her blushing cheeks. She explored further, delving deep between her trembling thighs, probing the hot stickiness of her inner lips. Under her touch, the soft petals of her quim spasmed, growing wetter until her fingers slid back and forth without friction.

She spread her legs wider, her caress burning an ache through her soul-a desperate need she could not fulfill alone. Following the preacher's daughter, parting her sodden slit, she slipped a finger deep inside her virginal hole.

The resulting seizure rocked her tall frame, her inner muscles contracting tight against the stiff invasion. Softly she cried out, the musky scent of her own s.e.x thick around her. One finger became two, shafting herself deeper. Shudders coursed over her mortal body, shivering to the tips of her white wings.

As if sensing a challenge, the preacher's daughter began to f.u.c.k herself hard, her moans rising, her face blushing with shame.

Unused to such carnal desperation, Lisiel struggled to breathe, f.u.c.king herself in rhythm with Claire's own thrusts. Her wet fingers stabbed deep into her p.u.s.s.y, driving her toward an ecstasy only mortal flesh could know. Gasping, she leaned against the door, her limbs slack and disobedient, her body a slave to the sin she committed upon herself.

Breathless gasps escaped her, shameful, unbidden. She could not stop. The ardor of corruptible flesh overwhelmed her. A cry of rapture escaped her lips.

Startled, the preacher's daughter froze, her face stricken with the realization that she had been discovered.

Legs spread wide, fingers buried within her needy c.u.n.t, Lisiel writhed. Crippled pa.s.sion scorched her immortal soul, threatening to burn her desire to ash before it could even be realized.

"the soul of an angel..."

Her face flushed dark.

"...the sins of a demon..."

In the absence of heaven's light, she was free to sin.

Standing, she thrust the doors open.

The shadow of her outstretched wings fell across the preacher's daughter. Terrified, Claire scrambled back. She tried to stand, but her legs failed her. Pale-faced, she fumbled with the crumpled chemise, tugging it back over her shoulders, her lips parting in awe.

Two steps from the preacher's daughter, Lisiel trembled. Her legs gave out and she fell before the altar of G.o.d. Limbs and wings splayed, she looked up, the l.u.s.t of a mortal confessed upon the face of an angel. Naked and vulnerable, she lay before the preacher's daughter.

Claire felt her hand reach out.

Beautiful, primal, the angel crawled up the steps toward her. The moonlight cast a halo around her head and shone upon her perfect flesh-her pale shoulders, the delicate swerve of her neck, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, hanging heavy and alluring. Claire's breath crystallized in her throat, her longing too huge for her to swallow.

For a long moment, they regarded each other, mortal and angel, sinner and sinner; both guilty before the altar of G.o.d.

Heart pounding, Claire reached out to touch her, to make her real. As she leaned closer, Lisiel lowered her wings.

Without pretense, Claire buried her hands in the white feathers, shocking the angel, shocking herself with the shamelessness of her touch. Desperately, she pressed the length of herself hard against the glorious softness. Her cheeks blushed hot, echoing the rising fire within her. She longed to feel them against her naked body, enfolded in their soft down, f.u.c.ked on a bed of angel feathers.

Gently, Lisiel lifted the wings from her grip, and folded them around her.

Claire's breath became a ragged gasp. Her eyes locked to the angel's blazing gaze, she leaned back, one hand trailing over her breast, the other parting her thighs. Teasing fingertips toyed with the fringe of her soaked panties.

The sight of her, lying half-naked before the altar, sweat glistening on her skin, her chemise clung tight to her ripe body, the scent of l.u.s.t heady and enticing- Claire looked up at her, dark blue eyes dilated.

Lisiel let desire draw her in.

She knelt between Claire's open legs. It felt right to be on her knees before G.o.d. The display of the girl's willing slash, barely concealed by a thin veneer of sodden silk, tormented her. The pungent scent of her was intoxicating, crucifying her angelic purity.

Claire held her breath. Gentle fingertips tore aside panties soaked with frustration. The angel's breath was hot on her most sacred flesh, her mouth soft, her tongue velvety smooth. Slowly, she kissed Claire's p.u.s.s.y, tasting her, licking the folds of her swollen s.e.x, sucking them in.

Gasping, the preacher's daughter writhed against her, thighs quivering, straining. Her hands reached across the angel's back, desperately trying to draw her closer.

Gently, Lisiel came into her, splitting the cleft of her outer lips. The fragile mortal flesh drew her and she sank deep, pressing her mouth against the stiffening c.l.i.t, feeling it pulse beneath her hard, wet kisses. The preacher's daughter cried out, clawing at the foot of the altar.

Tonguing deeper, licking the sticky petals, Lisiel spread her wide. Parting flushed lips, she slipped her tongue into the tight hole. Shudders wracked the preacher's daughter. Her hands found the angel's soft blond hair and pulled at it. The twinge of pain was pleasurable; Lisiel moaned against her p.u.s.s.y. She licked hard, then drew back, and plunged deep.

Claire cried out, yanking Lisiel close. The angel buried her face between the girl's wet thighs, licking, sucking, f.u.c.king her with her mouth. Her lips grew wet with the taste of her, the sultry infusion of saliva and the juices from Claire's wanton p.u.s.s.y perfuming her skin.

Again and again, she plunged her tongue deep into the girl's shuddering hole. Claire cried out, her hand twisting in Lisiel's hair, riding her c.u.n.t against the angel's insatiable mouth. Breathless and shuddering, she came against Lisiel's divine visage.

The angel opened her mouth wide. The sweet stickiness ran over her lips. Baptized in l.u.s.t and sin, she drank deep, the taste like sacramental wine.

Shivering, Claire reveled in their blasphemy, their shared sacrilege. Above her, the white wings quivered, and a soft rain of feathers fell around her.

The angel collapsed next to her, breathing hard as if her newborn heart would burst. She writhed in frustration, alight with a heat she could not smother.

The preacher's daughter straddled her, concern creasing her brow, her features more beautiful in their turmoil. "l.u.s.t with a mortal is a serious sin."

Lisiel touched the fall of dark hair upon her bare shoulder. "G.o.d has taken his Grace from me. I am free to sin as I please."

Claire turned her face, pressing her lips to the angel's hand. "Then let me be the instrument of your d.a.m.nation."

Leaning in, she put her mouth on Lisiel's. Her tongue flicked out, tasting her s.e.x on the lips of an angel. For a moment she lingered, then took Lisiel's hands and drew her to a stand before the altar.

The angel towered over her, wings spread, white feathers falling like accusations. Her burning gaze was without judgment.

Claire came into her arms, the flimsy chemise clinging like a second skin. The sensation of flesh on flesh was heady, immediate and captivating. She reached up, encircling Lisiel's neck, drawing her down.

Claire embraced gently, pressing her petal-soft lips to the angel's forehead. The kiss burned like a crescent of fire, but instead of stepping away, Lisiel stayed within the circle of her arms, allowing the kiss to scorch her, to brand her a sinner.

Captured in the seraphic embrace, Claire reeled. The feel of the creature in her arms, the warmth of her skin, the weight of her naked bosom. Her hands slipped to the angel's shoulders. She bit her lip and dared lower.

Her fingers trembled, but the nipple sprang up hard under her touch. Bending, she took the angel's breast in her mouth. It was too full for her to take it all in, but she licked eagerly, sucking, suckling.

Unprepared for the gentle barrage, helpless in the face of her own unyielding l.u.s.t, Lisiel nearly buckled.

The sound of Claire's wet kisses echoed across the pews. Ravished, the angel shivered and shook, her hands tangling in the girl's dark hair. Pulling her head back, she put her mouth on Claire's.

Immediately, the preacher's daughter responded, kissing deep, her tongue darting past Lisiel's lips to taste her. Both hands groped the angel's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, fondling her, pinching her stiff nipples. Lisiel moaned softly against her mouth.

Trailing kisses down her perfect skin, the preacher's daughter genuflected before her. Soft hands slipped between the angel's thighs, parting them firmly.