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Price puts on a false wise smile for others, but you’ve always seen past it. Even when you were just a little thing, you’d been wary of him. Yet, it wasn’t until you’d been betrothed and married off to him did you ever see the real sharpness of his teeth.
Behind the well-groomed exterior of Father John Price is a monster. Mutton chops betrayed his true face to you, if only because the thick of his hair reminded you so much of stories your mother used to tell you as child, to keep you from wandering into the woods. Werewolf stories, about beasts who could wear a man's skin.
And when you later discovered his immense amount of thick body hair, it did nothing but convince you he is in-actually a wolf trapped in a man’s skin.
The wolf puts on a good act though.
He’s a man of power and stature in your community. A brilliant speaker and a leader of men. He keeps the people together, working as a unit instead of one of those towns where resentment is allowed to boil between neighbors. Through peaceful times and storms, John Price is a man who can be relied on. He’s got a strong network, men who do just about anything he says, and are efficient about it to.
Those men, each one of them intimidating, are always at his side. Leaders in their own right, even if they always defer to Price above all others. Before you turned of age you’d hoped to leave this town, so you did your best not to remember their names. One liked to smile, but you never met them. One wore his hair like a punk and made you dream of a life outside your town. Though the one who always wore black clothes and skulls… he scared you.
That one made you wonder if Father Price should be involved in the church if he knows men who hold themselves like that one—though everyone insisted on calling the both of them “good men.” The best kind of men. You thought everyone lost their minds, saying things like that.
When Father Price expressed interest in you, the whole town thought it was a fine partnership, even if the difference in age between the two of you could be bridged by two generations. Your mother particularly had been thrilled, worried your whole life you’d run off to the city and ruin yourself.
Not her baby. Her baby got married on her eighteenth birthday to the town preacher. Marrying up, she said with pride.
Trapped, you called it bitterly, though only under your breath.
When you became his bride, you fought at first. Were a bitter brat at every turn, defying his expectations totally (though not making him crave you any less). But Price was not dissuaded. He would have a godly, obedient wife, and he would mold you into that woman if he had to.
It’s taken longer than he’d expected to break you in. But on second thought, he should assumed that the precious innocent piety you possessed, the thing he’d fallen for you over, had to have come from some kind of brilliant inner strength. He didn’t want to rip that from you, of course not, but he needed you to know that what he did was for your own good, and you’d only been receptive to that lesson one way.
The room.
The room was your special place. A dark place of solitude, where you could spend some time with God, thinking about the consequences of your actions. He’d had it made just for you, and it suited his purposes perfectly. And now it’s you’d served your punishment and it was time to get you out of there. He’s piled the tray full of your favorite things, and set it by the bedroom door so that when you’d run into his arms you don’t spill all your precious things.
He gets the key out, making a show of it so he knows you can hear him on the other side of the door. The jingle never fails to get you excited. Your resistance will be long gone by now, the only thing left of you is his precious little toy. He’s not sure why you resist it so, a different woman would be on her belly to please him, knowing the kind of life he provides. The traditional husband for a traditional woman.
The thought of you round with his children makes a smile tease at his lips. Yes, one day. One day when you’re good enough to let walk around amongst the congregation again, he’ll make sure you're around with his children for years, so they all know who you belong to. This gig as a priest might have started just as a cover, but he’s sure liked making the most of it.
But for now, you’ve earned a smaller reward for being so well behaved.
“Hunny.” He calls out.
“John!” You cry, voice purging emotion. The sweetest sound in the world is your excitement, especially when it’s because you’re excited to see him. “Oh John, I missed you!”
When the door opens, you run up into his arms. There’s a smile teasing his lips as he savors the affection. He’s made sure to feed you so you’re the perfect size for him, and he loves the weight of you in his arms. Perfect. His perfect girl.
“You did so good this time, princess. I’m so proud of you”
“umhm.” You nod. “Please, don’t make me stay in the room again, John. I’ve been so good.”
“I’ll think about it.”
You slump into him in relief. He’s said no before, teased you with freedom just to lock you up again, and leave you there for days and days. You won’t spend who-knows how long, high on the drugs he feeds you and the hallucinations that come from being isolated in the dark for too long, crying for the comfort of his arms.
“Now hunny, are you going to thank me for giving you all these pretty things?”
You look and see his gifts nearby. Your favorite blanket, your favorite snacks, a book, some hot coco. All on a tray. Immediately, you get bashful.
“Say thank you to your sir.” He reminds you in a soft, gentle voice.
“Thank you, sir.” You repeat quietly.
“Good girl.” He rubs your back, another gentle reward. “Let’s get this and take it into the other room, pretty thing. Don’t want you thinking I’mma shut the door on you again.”
You go a little stiff at the threat, but once he leads you into the living room and gets your pretty things all set up around you, you’re as soft as a lamb. His attention turns warm, then hot, as the show you’ve picked plays in the background and you relax back into the “real world.” But your eyes linger too long on the petty comforts and the TV. He knows you missed him more than anything else, so he’ll give you one chance to prove it before deciding if you’ve been released too early after all. One change to remember your priorities.
“Hunny.” He says softly, just to get your attention.
Your head snaps to him. He just smiles, just waiting to see what you’ll do. You don’t disappoint him, you rarely do, and when you do you always make up for it. Immediately your toys are discarded and you shuffle your way closer to him.
“I missed you, sir.” You say, low and cute.
“I missed you too, hun.” He returns, “You're going to behave for me so we don’t have to be apart so long again.”
You nod slowly. “I won’t ever talk back again, sir. You know best. Always.”
“That right, hunny, that’s right.” He is so, so pleased. “And you were so good in there. No screaming. So obedient. I think you’ve earned a reward.”
He can see the urge to disagree with him in your eyes. After a punishment you have a tendency to speak poorly of yourself. You’ll say you don’t say you don’t deserve a reward, or you’ll contradict him. Not this time. Though you’ve got a bit of your check between your teeth to keep quiet, you just wait and listen.
Truly, his good girl.
“I’m going to let you sit on my face, and you’re going to take my tongue like good, pretty, girls do.”
“Yes, sir.” And the bashful sound of your voice makes him rock hard.
John shifts, so his back is on the sofa cushions, and you crawl up his lap, across his chest, and slowly press your thighs to either side of his ears. He makes a grumbling kind of satisfied moan as your pussy presses against his nose. He’s addicted to the scent of you by now, can never have enough.
You find face-sitting awkward. You feel too heavy and no matter where you put yourself, you are always insecure about how you sit and how he holds you. But John grabs you tight and keeps you still. This isn’t really your reward, it’s his for training you so well. Not to say he won’t make sure you feel good, but you know better than to think that he does anything out of pure altruism.
He eats you like a man starved, wolfish desperate licks at your slit. Even though this isn’t your favorite, when he forces that big tongue of his between your folds you shutter and plead for more. Your fingers find the top of his head, holding him there with a timid grip—not even daring to show the smallest sliver of defiance or threat of dominance, but he never thinks you’re trying to force him there. He just loves the feeling of your nails on his scalp, wishing you’d scratch harder and show him how good he makes you feel.
What he lives for is the moment your voice breaks. When he fucks your little tight hole on his tongue and attacks your sensitive nub with the meat of his thumb, fast thrumming motions which make your thighs quake. You can’t hide when you cum for him. Your moan collapsing in on itself as you uselessly try to squeeze your legs together in some vain attempt to get him to slow down. It only makes him hunger for more, until his face is wet from your slickness betraying your deepest, most depraved truths. Something only he knows, because he did this to you.
By now you need him. Need him to stimulate you past the boundaries of normal. You want him to suck your clit and fuck you with two of his huge fingers, making you undo another two or three times. Until the voices that tell you this isn’t right are finally drowned out by the white noise of overstimulation. Only then do you ever find peace.
He knows this, probably more than you realize, but he never punishes you for such thoughts. He wants you to want him. Afterall, it’s never been his goal to break your spirit. Only… shape it. All you need to remember is that you’re his good girl.
And as long as you behave, the rewards never have to end.