Measured to you - draft

(A lot of lines here were meant to be in italics -Wednesday’s inner monologue, qoutes, ect- but tbh i was too lazy to re-edit it. So this may read a bit weird. meant as a continuation to the flesh desires, you’ll probably be confused if you don’t read that first.”)

 “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of My pasture!” says the Lord. - Jeremiah 23

Wednesday feels the eyes of God burn into the back of her neck.

Repentance cannot save her, worship will not wash away the sin she has committed.

For all her transgressions, the Lord will surely have her head. In blood she will pay. In eternal suffering and damnation, thrown to the wolves to be dragged through flame and brimstone. Her punishment will be gory.

Wednesday is going to hell.

And she is almost angry. At the world, at her God, at herself. How could she let it come to this? How could God let it come to this? If by his will, she is a shepherd — if this is her purpose, bestowed by him, how could she stray so far?

Why bring her into my lap? Wednesday worries. Why gift me this lamb, God?

I am not strong enough. To keep my eyes from straying, from scripture, to her beauty. My mouth — from worship, to praises into her skin. My hands — from prayer, to her body.

Enid is no siren, no succubus. She did not coil her tail around Wednesday’s knee, did not sing lust into her ear.

She fell to her knees in prayer. She was broken, crying, pleading for forgiveness at her feet. “It’s so wrong, Father.” Enid had whispered, sinking to the floor, sobbing into Wednesday’s lap.

And Wednesday is so weak for her.

Enid, her weeping lamb. Muttering in hushed, shameful tones of the pleasure Wednesday had given her, without even being present.

Enid, Enid, Enid. Touching herself to rupture, Wednesday’s name, spent and bloodied on her tongue, in secrecy, within the confines of her room.

A princess in a castle, Wednesday imagines hazily. fucking herself raw to the thought of her Knight.

But Wednesday is no Knight.

Wednesday is only human, she is only flesh.

And how could she possibly resist?

—

Enid fumbles with Wednesday’s belt, attempting to slip the leather from its buckle. She is shaking, clumsy in her eagerness to disrobe her.

Wednesday’s hands are balled up tight — knuckles white, trembling in restraint at her sides. She feels sweat drip down her neck, feels hell fire licking at her heels.

Tell her to stop. A voice calls.

We can’t, we shouldn’t Enid. I’ve already desecrated your body, I cannot allow you to dirty your fingers with mine-

“You’re nervous.” Enid says, cutting through her spiral.

Wednesday, in all her authority, in all her self-assurance and unwavering fortitude, crumbles, and looks away. She averts her gaze, opting to stare at the floor, the wall—

Anywhere but the crushing cerulean of Enid’s eyes.

“How so?”

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Enid’s eyebrows knit in worry. She releases the buckle, smoothing her palms over Wednesday’s hips, the leather band still tight around her waist.

She can see right through me. The thought strikes fear into the lowest part of Wednesday’s gut. Her innards twist uncomfortably, writhing in the pain of being completely and utterly seen.

Goddamn it.

Wednesday’s head tips back, mindlessly tracing over the details in the ceiling.

“It’s nothing.” It’s sin.

“Father…” so much sin.

“Enid.” Insatiable greed, gnawing gluttony.

…

“He’ll forgive us, won’t he?” Enid’s voice is so small. Meek, the softest of honey, paired with a sour tinge of fear.

“You, i’m sure, he has already forgiven.” Wednesday frowns, the small indentation of a dimple carved into her cheek. “I, on the other hand…”

“I fear I’ve spilt blood, doing this.” She adds grimly.

Enid tilts her head, confusion twinging at her brow. “I’m unharmed …. for the most part.” She smiles, fingertips rising to flutter against the skin of her throat. Redness, threatening to bruise. The rosary, Wednesday recalls.

She detests the way her cunt clenches at the memory, grimacing as her entrance oozes arousal into her panties.

Wednesday’s feet shuffle uncomfortably, the floorboards creaking under her shifting weight. “Yes, well. It may be more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“…”

“…father?”

Perhaps now, is a bad time to begin discussing the gravity of their shared sin. While Wednesday is shirtless, breasts exposed to the sweet air of Enid’s sleeping quarters. Oh, and Enid. Naked; the full expanse of her sacred, delicate skin, bare under Wednesday’s wolfish eye.

Her mouth floods with saliva, tongue watering.

This is how Jesus must have felt —Wednesday thinks dimly, as her eyes devour Enid’s body. — starving for 40 days and 40 nights, Feet raw against the ground of Judean wilderness. Temptation; a mountain, riddled with Satan’s seduction. How he must have yearned to break bread, drink milk, spill wine. How the earthly desires of flesh must have broiled within his stomach, red-hot under his skin.

This is hunger, unbridled, untethered.

A vulture, to roadkill.

The prettiest, most alluring of corpses. Spilling red, soaking the asphalt. A belly full of virgin blood.

Her stomach growls.

She swallows, and Enid hums.

She traces the buckle of Wednesday’s belt with her eyes. Her fingertips tremble against the silky black of Wednesday trousers, before slinking away, hands gathering in her lap.

“We can stop.” Enid says politely.

Wednesday is offered an out.

Oh, how merciful is her God. The well of his grace, a never ending flood of forgiveness. Even at her most wretched, most sinful, she is offered redemption.

Yes, we should-

“No.” The gift horse is looked in the mouth, and is told to shoo.

“But-“

“I said no.” Wednesday’s fingers thread through golden blonde, gathering the locks and fisting them into a firm grip.

Enid gasps, eyelids twisting shut.

“This is what you wanted. You asked for this, didn’t you?” Wednesday hisses.

You wanted this, you begged for this. cried for it, prayed for it. You deserve this Enid. You deserve it.

Wednesday pulls, coaxing Enid forward into her waist, pushing her face into the apex of her covered thighs.

“Open your mouth. Lick, like the animal you are.” The priest grunts.

Enid, the good girl that she is, listens, and opens up.

Her tongue drags against the crotch of Wednesday’s trousers, tracing the seam of her fly, tasting the metal of her zipper. She wets the fabric, darkening the area with spit.

Wednesday sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, observing the way Enid’s mouth begins to worship her belt, licking and suckling at the buckle.

Wednesday tilts her head, squinting at the display. “Desperate?” She huffs, breath heavy and warm. Enid hums affirmatively, nodding, nuzzling into Wednesday’s crotch.

“Wanna make you feel good, let me?” Enid mumbles. “Let me make you feel good, please?” So sweet, so submissive, Wednesday bites back the urge to moan.

“Take the belt off.” Wednesday says, the grip in Enid’s hair tightening.

“Yes sir.” Enid whispers.

Wednesday short circuits.

Arousal. Sticky, swelling heat.

Wednesday was ruined, before Enid had laid a finger on her, before the idea of reciprocation dared to become a possibility.

Burying her fingers in Enid’s cunt, filling her, stretching her. Feeling her walls lock tight around her digits, watching her cum drip in filthy streams down her wrist.

It was enough to dismantle her, pick her apart, leave her panting and yearning like a dog. Wednesday’s cunt pulses around the word ‘sir’ instinctively, walls trapping the phrase, pushing it deep inside her. She feels herself throb, feels herself ache.

Oh, she needs to get fucked. She needs Enid’s pretty mouth pushed against her, needs to feel those words spoken messily against her cunt. Muffled by slick and cum and everything else Wednesday’s body has to offer her.

She yanks Enid’s head back, fist impossibly tight around her blonde curls. Enid’s jaw falls open in a gasp, one that quickly morphs into a filthy moan.

“Look at me.” Wednesday demands. Enid’s eye’s flutter open, pupils dilated, black discs engulfing the blue of her iris.

Wednesday simply scowls, eyebrows furrowed, digging a vicious shadow of desire over her eyes.

Enid smiles lazily, eye’s lidded, drooped in heat. “Hit a nerve?” She mumbles.

Wednesday grunts. “You’ve hit many.” So, so fucking many.

“Sorry.” But she wasn’t, not really. Enid wasn’t sorry, not in the slightest. It was quite the opposite, actually.

She was smiling, teeth glinting in the warm light. Sharp little canines, like the maw of a wolf. Wednesday resists the urge to pry her mouth open, run her fingertips over those sharp ends. draw blood, fill Enid’s mouth with it, and suck it off her tongue.

…

“Just, hurry up.” Wednesday breathes, fingers unraveling themselves from Enid’s hair, sliding away from her scalp.

“Mm..” Enid obeys.

She pulls at Wednesday’s belt, freeing the leather strap from the buckle. It hangs loose between them, bracketing Enid’s hands as she undoes the button of her trousers. She pulls the zipper down greedily, revealing the simple black cotton of Wednesday’s panties.

Enid leans in, pressing a gentle kisses to Wednesday’s covered mound, tracing her fingers across the taught skin around her pelvis, against the sharp ridge of her hip bone.

Wednesday shudders under the attention, sighing deep through her nose.

“No teasing.” Wednesday says sharply, pushing Enid away. Wednesday’s belted trousers and panties are shoved down, stretched against her mid thigh.

Enid sighs, whimpering, as Wednesday’s messy, wet cunt is presented to her. Her heat is dripping, borderline drooling, clit swollen, the walls of her channel pulsating, desperate to get fucked full.

“Well?” Wednesday says, cupping the back of Enid’s head, petting her gently. “Go on, then.”

Enid breathes, a tremor in her lungs. She steadies herself, and leans forward.

A kiss is pressed against Wednesday’s clit, a thin layer of wetness coating Enid’s pink lips. Wednesday’s breath catches, hand resting on the crown of Enid’s head.

One kiss after another, Enid’s tongue darts out to taste her. Nervous, little kitten licks, that’s all they are. Truly, the underwhelming performance of someone so inexperienced-

Wednesday’s lungs collapse, as Enid’s tongue flattens against her cunt, licking a long, wide stripe against her. From her fluttering entrance, to her pulsing bud, she is lavished.

Enid’s mouth pleasures her cunt brutally. In quick, violent succession — more efficiently than Wednesday’s own fingers ever could.

That glorious bundle of nerves, that little swell of flesh, is suckled between Enid’s lips in the most delicious way.

Much to her dismay, Wednesday quickly crumbles. She whimpers. Broken, fleeting sounds. Pitched and breathy, as if Enid has reached within her and plucked the strings of her vocal cords. how unsightly of her.

Enid breaks away, strings of slick sticking to her chin. “You’re sensitive.” She breathes.

I’m not. Wednesday wants to say, you’re simply fucking me like you haven’t eaten in days. But the words hook and catch within her throat, sputtering breaths reeled from her instead.

Enid softens, rubbing soothing patterns into Wednesday’s thighs. “Too much?”

“No, it’s-“ it’s just enough, it’s just right. You’re so good, so good. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Keep going.”

Wednesday nearly buckles when Enid begins servicing her again, shuffling on unsteady feet. Embarrassingly enough, she’s quite vocal. She was never one to scream, to spew curses into the air as her hips bucked into her own hand. But here, with Enid underneath her, she can’t seem to help it.

“Enid, oh- Enid…” she pleads. For what,

she isn’t sure. Perhaps, a piece of cloth, or a strip of leather. To stuff her mouth full, to muffle the sick depravity slipping from her lips.

“God, what a good fucking mouth. You’ve hidden this from me, all this time?” She sneers, cruel and breathless.

How dare you. How dare you shy away, and keep your dark little secrets for yourself.

Enid moans — and Wednesday shivers, hips bucking. She ruts, humping against the flat, slick pink of Enid’s tongue.

“That’s it, let me use you, sweet girl.” She husks, a whimpering edge cutting through her words.

her brain has melted, leaking in pathetic currents from her cunt, spilling between her thighs, funneling into Enid’s starving mouth.

And Enid drinks her in, swallows her whole -

Feasts on her sensitive flesh, like a ravenous little creature.

Wednesday is whining and puffing, when two fingers press against the beginnings of her hole. Desperate, yet polite circles are massaged into her entrance, pleading - begging to slip inside and destroy her from the inside out.

Wednesday breathes a sound of need, it’s whiney, slutty and so, so, so eager.

But Enid is so oddly well-mannered, while asking permission to finger-fuck Wednesday into oblivion. No matter how Wednesday whimpers, stutters, attempts to grinds herself down onto Enid’s fingers, Enid remains unmoving. Offering, but not pushing. Requesting, but not forcing. Content to sit idly, until Wednesday uses her mouth to ask for it. properly.

All the while, Enid laps at her cunt sloppily. The filthy noises of eating, and muffled moaning, — all pressed against her folds, echoing sinfully against such holy walls.

“I-“ a hard, messy suck. “hnnn….Enid, fuck. Don’t tease.”

She’ll kill herself before the word ‘please’ sullies her tongue.

Enid moans, vibrations humming through her slick heat.

Her suicide note will be addressed to Enid, scrawled in all her shameful blood.

“…please.”

Enid separates, syrupy arousal coating her mouth and chin.

“Tell me if it hurts,” she’s panting, flushed. warm breath fanning over Wednesday’s skin, cheeks rosy and damp with sweat. “Okay?”

“Just fuck me.” She bites, tone clipped.

Enid can only nod, a force stronger than religion pulling her to shut her mouth and obey.

A single fingertip, soaked and slick with arousal, breaches her entrance. Inch by inch, filling her so delicately.

Enid’s fingers are thicker, longer — foreign. Wednesday, admittedly, has never had anyone else, has never experienced anything other than herself.

She’s never needed it, never craved it.

Damn this girl, she’ll never escape her.

They’re tied now, by sin and soiled linen. Self-devouring flesh, no longer virgin pure.

Enid’s finger bottoms out, the ridges of her knuckles scraping sweetly against her nerves.

“Good, that was good,” Enid murmurs, nuzzling into the soft swell below her navel.

Wednesday’s can only breathe, shuddery and pitiful.

Enid’s finger pulls from her cunt, torturously slow. The skin gleaming with wetness. Wednesday groans inwardly. She’s no porcelain doll, she can handle a proper fucking. This cosseting simply won’t do.

She opens her mouth in protest — as Enid pumps her finger deep inside her cunt.

She pulsates against the digit. Grousing be damned, she’ll take what Enid gives her and nothing more.

“You’re so tight,” Enid breathes, “And warm.” She sounds absolutely ruined, broken-in and pliant, existing only to serve at Wednesday’s feet.

Wednesday shouldn’t enjoy this, shouldn’t find such pleasure in Enid succumbing to submission. She shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t-

Enid tilts her head up, tresses of blonde curling at her shoulders. Her eyes — glossed over, hooded and dilated, finding refuge in Wednesday’s own.

“God, is this what you felt?” Enid whimpers, as she pumps her finger again. “While your fingers were inside of me?”

“Yes.” Wednesday breathes, and she realizes; she’s just as ruined as Enid is. Just as wrecked, just as pathetic.

Enid is panting as she continues. “He’ll never forgive me.” Enid’s finger finds a steady rhythm. It pushes deep, curls against that spot — the one Wednesday can barely reach on her own. “For doing this to you.”

She curls her finger again, and again, and again — grinding into the area relentlessly.

Wednesday keens, high and pitiful.

“For making you cum.”

It is spoken with such intensity, Wednesday nearly swallows her own tongue.

Wednesday feels the fear in Enid’s voice more than she hears it. It cracks in time with rhythm of her fingers. It trembles in her lungs, slick-soaked breath puffing from kiss-swollen lips.

—

Punishment. Cruelty in the name of divinity. Any saint worth their salt is more than familiar with the subject.

‘For if we sin wilfully after that we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins,

 But a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall devour the adversaries.’

The penalty of sin, the consequences in all its burning inevitably, red-iron branded onto softest parts of their brains.

An indelible mark, inescapable.

Fear & guilt, fundamental.

‘Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise Him’

‘Jesus stripped, abused, violated - Just for you.’

How dare I be lead astray?

For Enid, this is death. This is mutiny, of the highest order.

This is the Inferno’s mouth opening beneath her feet, to swallow her whole.

And the farther they go, the deeper their circle.

Every pump of Enid’s fingers into Wednesday’s cunt, is another nail into her palms. Every twinge of arousal, fluttering in her deepest, most sacred parts, soiling her from the inside out — is a feather plucked from her wings.

So Enid shivers, she can barely restrain herself. Her fear, her guilt, her disappointment, coalescing intolerably. Gathering in her throat, threatening to suffocate her with it’s weight—

But it’s not enough to stop her.

It will never be enough to keep her traitorous fingers from Wednesday’s skin.

Wednesday knows this, knows it better than scripture or the seams of her fingers.

She’s afflicted in the same damn way.

The feeling is incredibly mutual.

—

Wednesday moans, and Enid sighs.

Enid’s unoccupied hand follows a shaky path towards her own neglected cunt, slipping through her slick-ruined folds.

The pads of her fingers find her swollen clit, swiping over the bud, before rubbing vicious little circles into herself.

“Oh, oh god.” Enid whimpers, “so good, so good.”

“Are you - fuck - are you touching yourself?” Wednesday husks.

“Can’t help it- you’re so pretty.” Enid moans, doubling her pace, on both Wednesday and herself. “sound so pretty.”

The burning fire of frustration stokes low in her gut.

this isn’t enough.

Wednesday yearns to be filled.

Gouged through like stab-wound. Craves the twisting of the knife.

The stretch.

She can take another, she will take another.

‘Take heed and beware of covetousness’