Rosach Monster Boyfriend: Bricassart Part One (complete)

There are few places on this earth I feel truly comfortable. One is home - or at least, the apartment I live in. The other is the church down the street. The old cathedral reminds me of my childhood - the whispers of people praying in their pews brings me back to gaping at my father as he swung a thurible down the aisle. He always looked so regal and tall, and there was never a moment I didn’t feel safe when he was near. Being inside the church brought back the sense of comfort and safety I used to feel.

When I was young, I started to notice a problem with myself. The more I saw people, the less I recognized their faces. It started with my mother. One day when she came home, I panicked because a stranger was in the house. It wasn’t until she was beckoning for me to come out from under my bed that I realized who she was.

Then it started to happen in the mirror itself. When I looked at my face, I could see me, but the reflection was like another person. It was like I was standing at an open door with someone else on the other side, someone with a face I couldn’t quite read. 

It got to a point where I didn’t leave the house often. Sometimes I only felt like I could be myself when I didn’t have my head on, because then I didn’t have to worry about seeing myself in mirrors and catching a glimpse of the stranger so close to me. Being a Dullahan, I had the gift of never having to be in my head, so to speak. 

My parents took very good care of me. Every day, my father would pray over me. I would pray with him, wishing I could once again see the face of the person I loved most in the world. 

“Sometimes God gives us challenges, Ingrid,” my father told me. “It may seem cruel, it may even seem unfair. But in all things, God is there, and he knows what he is doing for us.” He would place his warm hand on top of my head. “But if I could, I would take this from you, my precious love.”

“It’s okay, Papa,” I murmured. “I would take it back from you. You’re the only one who sees the face of God.”

When my father broke down crying at that moment, his arms hugging me so tight, I truly understood love and how strongly my father felt about his calling.

To be blunt, I was an accident. My mother and father were an odd couple. After all, she was a Dullahan and he was a priest. My mother was not religious in the least bit and my father was not supposed to fall in love with her. My father called me a ‘special case’ but everyone knew I was his daughter. He loved me with all his heart and I loved him even more.

After he passed away, my mother was not long to follow. She loved him too, and in a way I would never know. Their love was something special, something beautiful. It was something I wanted to find, but with the way I saw the world, I had figured it would take a miracle from God to come to pass.

I worked a variety of odd jobs for a while, but my condition eventually got the best of me. So I turned to an old family friend for a job at his well-known establishment. The TLK Hotel, or True Love’s Kiss, was rather infamous, especially with my father. He visited the owner often, and the two became friends despite their contrasting backgrounds. My father considered the place sinful, but at the same time a safe haven. Claude, the owner, respected my father highly, and had him perform services in the hotel often. When my parents passed, Claude offered me a place to stay. I turned it down at first, but he readily offered when I came back.

One thing I liked about Claude was that, every time I spoke to him, he had a face I could see. As a shapeshifter, he could take any form he wanted. Since he knew of my ailment, he changed his face every time he met with me. It helped. It made me feel cared for and watched over. But my job at the TLK might seem a little shocking, being the daughter of a priest and all.

The TLK offers many services, including therapy, massage, recovery and exercise, as well as the oldest profession in the book. High libidos were a curse on my mother’s side of the family and I had been having one-night stands longer than I care to admit. I figured I might as well get paid for them. 

I work a variety of jobs at the TLK, sometimes in the gloryhole section. This is my favorite, because I can set my head down on a stool and relax while my mouth does the work. I also work in the sensory chambers, using touch and ASMR as part of sexual therapy, and do cam shows with some of the other girls. Being a Dullahan with the ability to remove my head is quite the draw for some people.

For the most part, I enjoy my work. It’s easy enough, and I like the people I work with. One of my favorite things, though, is going down to the cathedral down the street on my days off. The TLK was once a cathedral itself, one that had gone through changes and tribulations. The one down the block was a bit older, but not as grand. It reminded me of my childhood, of my father.

Perhaps my favorite thing of all is the confession booths. I go inside them to bask in the comfort of the four walls around me, the dim light, and most of all the voice of the priest on the other side. I have grown fond of the priest that is usually in the confession booth. He has the voice of an angel, and a kind understanding that makes me feel at ease.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I always start out, feeling the heavy weight of it all upon my shoulders. “I feel so envious all the time, and I do not know how to end it.”

“Tell me,” he says gently. “What is it that you long for for so greatly?”

I hold my head in my lap as I speak. “I cannot perceive faces the way that others do, and I cannot help but desire that I could have that same familiarity. I find myself hating.”

“What is it - or better yet - who is it you hate?” His voice does not sound judgemental or harsh. In fact, he sounds sad.

“I hate myself,” I confess. “I hate my inability. I hate my eyes. I hate that I feel so incomplete.” I place my hands around my eyes. “And I know God made me this way for a reason, so I cannot stand hating something he loves.”

“Keep that in mind,” he whispers. “Remember that no matter what, God’s love is in you and will always be with you. Pray to him and feel that in your heart.”

One evening at work, I am taking a shift at the glory holes. The room I’m in is one of my favorites in all of the TLK. It’s painted sapphire blue, with touches of sea-green and gold. There are big, fluffy chairs, soft blankets, and pillows, pillows, pillows everywhere. Comfort is always key at the TLK.

“You okay, Ingrid?” Millicent, a kobold girl and one of my closest friends, asks me before I start. Her cool hand rests on my arm, a small sign that it is her.

“I’m okay,” I reply.

“Your eyes are red. Did you just get back from confession?” She gives my arm a squeeze, then places her free hand on my back. 

“I’m okay,” I nod. “I always feel better after confession.”

Millicent reaches up, fixing my lipstick. I usually don’t wear makeup, but I wear lipstick when working because some people enjoy having lipstick left on their skin. 

“There, just a little smear,” Millicent chuckles. “If you need anything, I’m working the counter.”

“Thank you,” I sigh. “Oh, could you bring me some of that coconut mint water you make later?”

“I already have a bottle chilling for you,” Millicent giggles.

I sigh and clasp my hands together. “You’re an angel, Millicent.” I go into the room, and pull up the stool and set my head down by the hole. I stretch as I wait, bending over, cracking my spine and popping my fingers. 

There is a knock at the wall to signify there is a customer.

“Go ahead, I’m ready,” I answer. 

“I must admit,” he says from the other side, “I’m a bit nervous.”

“Oh? First time?” I ask. “Don’t worry, everyone has firsts.”

“No,” he says softly. Something about his voice sounds familiar, but I cannot put my finger on it yet. “I come here often, but I am nervous each and every time.”

“That actually sounds quite cute,” I reply. “Why so nervous then?”

“I know it is wrong,” he answers. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but I fear if I do not come, then the beast inside me will emerge again.”

“A beast?” I gasp, intrigued. 

“I have been fighting it since my youth,” the man sighs. “I have been fighting myself for longer than I can remember. I thought I found peace, but there are some battles I cannot win.” The voice baffles me. I know I know it, but I still cannot place it.

I stand near the wall while I listen to him. Then I slip my hand through the hole. “Let me hold you. Let me comfort you.”

He places his cock in my hand and I suck in a breath. “Someone is blessed,” I purr. His shaft is thick and heavy, and I can feel hard pearl-like shapes along the shaft under the skin. “You feel like a beast.”

The man moans against the wall. “You have beautiful hands.”

He grows bigger as I stroke him, pumping my fist over his velvety shaft while his precome slicks my fingers. “I can barely hold you,” I sigh. I reach down with my other hand, touching myself as I wonder what such a thing would feel like inside.

“What can I ask for?” he snarls hungrily. “What are you willing to give?”

I weigh my options carefully. There are many things I would be willing to do, although I always reserve the glory hole for oral. I pull his cock through the hole and see it is pitch-black with swirls of white traveling down from the tip. I slowly run my tongue along it and take him into my mouth.

“Thank you,” he snarls. “Oh yes, thank you.” He moves his hips, thrusting himself slowly into my mouth. I touch myself, feeling his tip slip into my throat. He pulls away from me, and I hear him chuckle from the other side.

“I like your lipstick,” he snarls. “Such a perfect ring.”

“Thank you,” I purr back. “Keep going.” I open my mouth again as he places himself on my tongue. I suck around him, tasting him and feeling the pearls under his skin. He grunts and moans, bucking himself into my mouth.

I move my head back and he grows still. “What is it?” he sighs.

I realize how I know his voice. It’s the priest from the confession booth. I hold my breath as a mild panic starts to course through me.

“What’s wrong?” he moans. “Is everything out?”

“Just a moment,” I manage to spit out. I pull up one of the ottomans and bend over it, pressing my ass to the hole. “Go ahead,” I close my eyes. “I’m ready.”

“What a blessing,” he moans.

I feel him slip inside me. My priest stuffs me and he has no idea. I let out a grunt as his cock stretches me. He goes deep, then pulls all the way out again. “I can’t believe how good you feel.” He starts thrusting, going faster.

My head is still sitting on the stool, where my moans and whimpers can be heard as clear as day. I feel so good and yet so conflicted at the same time. I reach down, rubbing my clit as he moves inside me. His heat floods through me, pooling in my head where until I lose my train of thought. 

“I’m going to come,” he snarls. “I’m going to come!”

“Don’t stop,” I pant. “Don’t leave me.”

Inside of me, he twitches. He is shallow when he comes and I know what he wants. He wants to see my slit filled with his seed. I press close, trembling as his load drips from me. 

I feel his tongue, and I cry out. I seize up and my fingers dig hard into the ottoman. He licks his seed from me, and I hear him moan darkly. “Oh no,” he whispers. “Did I make you bleed?”

I then remember the whole reason I wanted to work the glory hole tonight - my period is starting. “No!” I quickly gasp. “It’s, uhm… Oh, I’m so sorry, sir!”

He chuckles low. “Quite alright. I’m just glad I didn’t hurt you.” His tongue slips back inside me, and it’s longer than his cock. I shudder, moaning out loud again.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Is there any way I can schedule a private session between us?”

I sit up and place my head back on my neck. “Millicent at the counter can do that for you,” I sigh deeply.

“Is that okay?” He asks.

“Yes,” I answer a bit too quickly. “I would enjoy having you again.”

The priest sighs. “I’m glad.” I hear him dress then leave the room. After a while, I step outside and approach Millicent at the desk.

“Oh, Ingrid,” she gasps. “Someone just made an appointment with you.”

“I know,” I pant. “What was his name?”

Millicent pulls up the computer screen and scans it over. “Bricassart,” she says brightly. “Isn’t that lovely? It suits him so well.”

My heart seizes for a moment as my chest and stomach grow cold. “What did he… look like?” In all this time, I had never glanced at my priest. I had fallen in love with his voice and his prayers, but his face was a mystery I was willing to keep.

“Oh, hmm-” Millicent thinks. “It’s hard to describe… He doesn’t really have a face.”

I grip her shoulder. “Do not tease me, Millicent!” I scold. 

“I’m not!” she argues. “He doesn’t really have a face, but somehow he’s still so very beautiful.” She places her hand over mine. “It’s like black ink in white paint. Like those blot things. What are they called?”

“Rorschachs?” I ask.

“Yes! Exactly. He looks like one of those, only… fluid.” Millicent sighs softly. “He was very beautiful. He reminds me of Claude in a way.”

I pull my hand back and lay it over my chest.

“Oh, Ingrid!” Millicent yelps in shock. “You’re bleeding! Why don’t you leave early and go take a nice hot bath?”

I let out a long, gentle breath as a smile spreads on my lips. “I might, Millicent. Thank you.” I touch my lips. “I wonder, will I see him?”

“What was that?” Millicent asks.

“When,” I gasp. “When do I see him again?”

“Hmm,” Millicent looks over the computer again. “Two days from now, Sunday evening. He’s requested the Red Room.”

I giggle to myself. “I’ll be very excited to see him again.”

“Really?” Millicent takes my hand. “How was he?”

“He’s hung like a god,” I whisper to her, realizing the irony of my words. 

I go to the cathedral the next morning, arriving just as early mass has ended and all the little old ladies are filing out the door. I see a priest standing outside by the door. I watch him for a moment, trying to determine whether I recognize him or not. He has long white hair that turns black in waves as he moves. It’s combed back from his face and tied at the nape of his neck. As he turns, I see his hair neither begins or ends on his face. It all blends together, as if his face both does and does not exist. He shakes the hands of the old women, blessing them and thanking them. His face perpetually changes as the black and white morph and melt, never mixing, but always together. 

I can see what Millicent meant by saying he is beautiful. The oddity of him is alluring, captivating - dare I say, bewitching?

He sees me standing apart from the rest, and once the final person has left, he approaches me. “Is there something I can help you with?”

As he stands before me, I realize how tall he is, and how big he is too. I could dance on his shoulders, and his chest is barreled out like some sort of superman. I feel my face grow warm as I remember what else about him is big, as well as how good he felt inside. 

I peer up at him through my lashes as his face constantly changes. He wears no expression, only the warping of the black and white. 

“I’m sorry,” I chuckle softly. “I’m afraid you caught me staring.” As I look up at him, I tuck a loose lock behind my ear. 

“Staring?” He tilts his head to the side. “What could you have been staring at, I wonder?” His tone is teasing, he at least assumes what I was staring at, but he is also trying to pull a confession from me.

“You must get this often, or else you would not be asking so bluntly.” I smile up at him. “You’re a very stunning vision.”

He bows his head with a laugh, then extends his hand. “Father Bricassart,” he answers brightly. 

I shake his hand, enjoying the warmth of his palm. “Very nice to meet you, Father Bricassart.” I let my hand linger before slowly pulling away. 

“You sound familiar,” he remarks. 

I know it could not possibly be from the TLK. I often use a different voice when dealing with clients. “I might,” I say with a smile. “I do come here often, although it’s usually in the evening for confessionals.”

“That must be it,” he murmurs. “That is usually what I am relegated to do.” He lays his palm over his chest.

“They must do that so people look towards God and not at you,” I try to jest.

Bricassart sighs and his shoulders slump low. “That would not be the first time that has been said about me.” He tilts his head again. “Most of the elder priests here do not like me. They say I am a distraction.”

I frown. “That’s rather cruel of them,” I scoff. “Are you not a priest same as they are? Are you not here to do the same thing?”

He sweeps his hand out. “The gardens are quite lovely if you’d like to continue our conversation-” he hesitates. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

I shrug. “I didn’t throw it.” I step up beside him. “My name is Ingrid.”

“Ingrid,” he murmurs. “Family name?”

“How’d you ever guess?” I walk beside him with a smile. His presence is large and warm like a comforting shade. 

“I found God much later in life,” he tells me. “Before then, I had a life that was as far from God as it could possibly be.”

“Oh my,” I gasp.

“All my life, even as a child, I had no control over myself. I did as I pleased without restraint. I had been in and out of jail so often, I knew all the guards and their families by name.” He shakes his head. “But it was also in jail that someone reached out to me. They helped me see the error in my ways and guided me into the life I lead now. Most of the Fathers here do not look too kindly on my past.”

“Isn’t there a rule in the Bible against that?” I scoff.

He chuckles. “Yes, I suppose there is.”

“If it was such a bad life,” I start, “then why even tell people about it? Why give them a reason to be suspicious of you?”

“Because I use my past to witness to others.” His voice is so full of heart, it moves me. “If someone like me can make such a change because of God, anyone can. My path was forged for a reason and it is my duty to wield it.” He lays his hands over his chest. “And even though I am here, I am still not perfect. I still sin. I am not better than anyone on this earth.”

“My father said that too.” I choke up slightly. “He was like you. A priest.” I look away from him and smile towards the ground. “He had me even despite it.”

“I see,” Bricassart murmurs. “Did he take responsibility, at least?”

“He did,” I nod. “He loved me and he told me that daily.” I smile to myself. “I miss him greatly.”

Bricassart lays his hand on my shoulder. “Then I am sure his spirit is with you.”

I fear what I feel for him in that moment, but I do not regret it. Come Sunday, I wonder what he’ll say or how he’ll react. Perhaps it was foolish of me to go and see him, but we are both playing with fire.

The Red Room is named because everything inside it is red. The walls are painted a deep burgundy, and the furniture and decor is as red as blood. I go in an hour before Bricassart is supposed to show up, and prepare the room after it has been cleaned and set. I set up a few things of my own, as well as light the candles. I dim the lights, creating a seductive ambiance. 

I look myself over in the mirror once, preparing myself in the way Bricassart requested. I am wearing all white with red heels. My skin is a dusty blue, with smoky gray patches along my hands, neck, and legs. My eyes are pure black with bright yellow in the center. I keep my gray hair short, because I hate when long strands get caught up in my neck. I’ve been called cute, but I am not a good judge of that. I can’t tell.

I hear the key turn in the door as Bricassart steps into the room. He’s dressed in a black coat that hangs down to his ankles. He locks the door behind him and turns to look at me. For a moment, all I can hear is the sizzling wicks of the candles.

“Ingrid,” he whispers. 

“Father Bricassart,” I step towards him. “Take off your coat. Get comfortable.” I step behind him, taking hold of his coat as he shrugs it off. Underneath, he is wearing a shirt that allows me to see his skin morphing underneath.

“What are you doing here?” he whispers.

“I belong here,” I tell him as I lay his coat aside. “What about you? Why are you here?” I press myself close to him, rubbing my palm down his chest.

Father Bricassart grabs my arms, and his body tenses as my palm moves to his groin. I feel him in his pants, already pressing for attention. 

“You cannot breathe a word of this to anyone,” he hisses into my ear. He rubs himself against my palm. “Consider this our confessional.”

I feel the heat pool in my loins. “Do not worry.” I ease him back to the bed and make him sit there. “Here, you are safe. With me, you’ll be cared for.”

Bricassart touches my face and pulls me close. Hidden in the black and white of his face, there are lips. He kisses me, and I return the kiss in full. As I straddle his lap, his warm hand cups my mound and kneads it. He pushes my panties aside and plunges his fingers inside. His tongue slips into my mouth, long and slithering like a tentacle. I suck on it, tasting wine. His fingers plunge into me, becoming longer and longer.

“Are you still bleeding?” he snarls into my ear.

“Only a little,” I whimper. 

Bricassart throws me down onto the bed and pins my hands above my head. I gasp in awe as his massive, powerful body becomes apparent. As a priest, his presence was large but soft. Now, he is like a predator who has trapped his prey. He is formidable, hot, and all-encompassing. 

“Keep still,” he snarls. He removes his hand slowly from my wrists. When he is sure I won’t move, he takes off his shirt. Wisps of fur rise from his arms and shoulders, shifting with the ink blots of his skin. He strokes his hand down my torso and tugs at my panties. He pulls them down and lets them dangle from an ankle. 

Grabbing my lower back, he pulls me up so my legs are hanging off his shoulders and my ass rests on his collarbone. His long tongue slithers from his mouth. The glossy black tendril licks against my slit and I tremble.

“Be not afraid,” Bricassart snarls.

“I’m excited,” I moan. “Hurry, taste me.”

His tongue plunges inside, writhing and squirming while he snarls and slurps. He sounds like a rabid beast feasting on his first meal in weeks. I feel ravished and overwhelmed. His fingers dig hard into my flesh, while his tongue pulls from me a deep and powerful swell. I come on his tongue, and his dark laugh sends a shiver up my spine.

“I love the taste of blood.” He lays me back down upon the bed. “Does that frighten you at all?”

I’m still swimming in a sea of endorphins, and specks of light flicker before my eyes. “No,” I breathe. “As long as it’s mine.”

Bricassart moans and he drags his hands down my body. “Ingrid,” he moans. “Let me inside you again,” he pleads. “Let me come within your walls as if I were yours.”

I sit up, my arms shaking as I try to support my weight. He leans down, kissing me as he takes me into his arms. This is dangerous. This is wrong. We are quickly approaching a flame. As I take him inside me, I say a prayer that we will be forgiven. His cock rocks inside me and as he leans over, his hair falls around us like a curtain. It reminds me of the tight walls of the confessional booth.