Phoebe has continued to sin by associating with Echos. With this being yet another offense on her record, the Order has to take drastic measures to punish the usually warm, graceful, vibrant, and devout Acolyte.
Pairing: Rover x Phoebe
Tags/Warnings: Roleplay, Punishment kink, Spanking, Fingering, Religious themes, Consensual D/S dynamic, Orgasm Denial/Control, Light degradation
~~~~~~~~~~~
"You were with them again, weren't you?"
The voice in the darkness caused Phoebe to jump as she spun around. Tonight, like many other nights, she had ventured out of the city to where she could meet with her Echo friends. Despite the fact that she had been told repeatedly not to associate so closely with them—well, how could she not?
"O-oh, I didn't see you there," she stammered, her back pressed against the door.
She looked at the man standing in the center of the room, barely illuminated by the moonlight. His posture was straight, his voice authoritative, his gaze judgmental.
"W-what are you doing here at this hour?"
"Answer the question, Acolyte."
His response was sharp, leaving no room for negotiation. Phoebe winced slightly, her fingers moving to clasp together in front of her as her eyes fell to the ground. It was a habit more than anything else.
"I…" she began, her voice small. "I wasn't with them for long. Just a moment to see how they were doing. They've been unsettled lately, so I just thought…"
"You just thought? Perhaps that is the issue. You continue to think rather than follow doctrine."
Phoebe's head bent forward, the wide brim of her hat masking the shame that crept upon her features. His words weren't anything that she hadn't heard before. It was like the internalized shame she had was creeping out to be spoken aloud.
The man shifted, his strong arms crossing over his chest as he stared at Phoebe.
"Echos are a gift from the Sentinel. They are not your friends. Yet time and time again, you disobey your instructions not to grow attached to them. Or perhaps it's that you think you know better than the Order, is that it?"
"Of course not…"
She could feel the weight of his gaze on her despite not looking up to meet his stare. It was only the two of them in this room and there was nowhere for her to hide or shy away. Her hands, still neatly clasped in front of her, twitched with the urge to fidget.
"…I just…I think that I can abide my duty and remain close to my friends."
He let out a huff of air, as if amused by the very notion. "Is that what you think? Then I assume you are willing to accept the penalty for such repeated transgressions?"
Phoebe bit her bottom lip, her fingers curling into the front of her white dress. Hearing those words come from him of all people…It felt foreign and yet excited her all the same. Phoebe gave a small nod of her head.
"I am."
"Look at me when you say it."
Those words sent a shameful shiver down Phoebe's spine. Her stocking-covered thighs pressed together, her tacet mark displayed in the open, as she tried to subdue the subtle excitement that ran through her. The anticipation built in her stomach at what she knew was going to come next.
She raised her head to look at him. His visage remained barely illuminated by the light from the window and yet she could practically feel him staring into her soul. Did he see the corruption? Or was she still faithful?
Phoebe swallowed thickly, her bottom lip glistening slightly as her lips parted.
"I am willing to accept my punishment," she said, her voice low.
"Good. Then step out of your boots and come here."
Her feet moved without hesitation. A lifetime of devotion and servitude had trained her well. Though her faithfulness had never quite been required in this context. She pulled off one boot, stepping out of it then did the same to the other. She placed them neatly against the wall before making her way over towards him.
The floor beneath her feet was cool, grounding, but each step closer to him made her pulse rise. The closer she came, the more she felt it: that tension twisting in her gut, that awful, delicious shame that clung to her like a second robe. When she reached him, she paused.
"Strip."
Phoebe felt the heat in her stomach. For a moment, she hesitated, her cheeks flushing crimson at the knowledge that this would be his first time seeing her in such a state. She swallowed down the moment of anxiety, mustering her courage as she first took off her wide-brimmed hat, setting it aside on the floor. She pulled off her black gloves, one finger at a time, before moving to her blue Order of the Deep sash. All the while, she could feel his gaze drinking her in.
Sinfully, she couldn't help but wonder if he liked what he saw. She may not be as…well-endowed as Ms. Zani. She wasn't as eloquent and in control of her sexuality as Carlotta. But…she hoped he still liked what he saw.
As her white dress pooled to the ground, leaving her in only her white stockings and black bra, she noticed a bulge growing in his black slacks, and her cheeks burned even brighter.
"Kneel," he said, his voice cool and low.
Phoebe's knees bent without resistance the cool surface of the floor biting at her knees through the fabric of her tights but she didn't flinch. She bowed her head again, hands folded in front of her lap. The posture of repentance was practically second nature as she waited for further instruction.
"You seem convinced that you can manage both your faith and your friendships. Perhaps you need a reminder of the Order's principles, Acolyte."
He moved a step closer, the weight of his presence looming over her like a judgment passed down from the heavens. His voice was calm and measured when he spoke.
"We will begin with doctrine."
Phoebe's chest tightened. A warm flutter stirred low in her stomach. Her breath caught in her throat, and her fingers curled slightly atop her thighs.
"You will recite the tenets of the Order," he said. "All three. Slowly. Clearly. And you will tell me what each one means."
She lowered her gaze, but the weight behind his words thrilled her. She had imagined this: knelt in silence, chastised for the sins she yearned to confess, all while being watched by the one man who made her want to break the very doctrines she recited. Her knees shifted slightly beneath her, the ache between her legs growing harder to ignore.
"…I understand."
"Louder."
"I understand, sir," Phoebe repeated.
"Then begin. What is our first doctrine?"
Phoebe steadied herself, her breath shallow but controlled. She raised her head, blonde hair framing her features. Her lips parted, dry from the heat in her mouth. She already knew her voice would betray her.
"The first doctrine is salvation."
"...And what is salvation?"
She flinched, her muscles tightening, not from surprise but from need. His interrogation pierced right through her, forcing her to relive every word she had memorized, now twisted into something holy and filthy all at once.
"By the grace of the Sentinel," she began, her voice quiet but laced with tremor, "Their followers must deliver salvation to others. We do not turn from suffering or sin. We labor to save the wicked. And for the unrepentant...we deliver penitence."
She paused; her throat dry. Her nipples strained against her bra, tingling with each inhale. His silence burned. She wanted him to speak. She wanted his judgment, his scorn, his rules. Her thighs pressed together harder. The fabric of her tights offered no relief, only friction and pressure.
"Penitence for the unrepentant. Does that sound familiar, Acolyte?"
Phoebe said nothing, her cheeks flushing a faint crimson as she looked up at him. He stood tall, broad shouldered, firm and unmoving.
"Continue."
She nodded.
"The second tenant is…Ascension."
He moved from in front of her, hands clasped behind his back and circling behind her, his boots heavy against the floor. She could feel her heartbeat in the back of her throat, her pulse quickening slightly but she didn't dare to turn her head to look at him. Instead, she continued. Just the way she had practiced.
"To be saved is to ascend," she recited. "We do not indulge the Sentinel's favor in idle pleasures. We are meant to elevate our spirit through discipline and restraint. Without this...we descend."
"Restraint. Discipline. Two things you have shown little of these days, Acolyte," he said.
She could practically feel him towering behind her, his breath as though it were whispered in her ear. One of his hands moved to rest on her bare shoulder, his fingers fiddling with the strap of her bra.
"Indulging in idle pleasures. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"
Her breath caught again. She was soaked, and she knew it. Her tights clung between her thighs. The fabric was damp now, shameful and telling.
"I—"
Her explanation died in her throat as he squeezed slightly.
"Yes…"
Silence followed as if he were waiting for a proper response from her.
"…Yes, sir."
"Finish it."
She obeyed instantly.
"Unity," she whispered, though not from weakness. Her voice had gone hoarse with want. "We are all brothers and sisters in the Order. We are bound by faith. We must stand together or fall alone. The sea will claim those who drift."
The words finished, but the tension in her body only deepened. She felt stretched thin beneath the weight of her arousal and the ritual she had helped script. She had asked for this. She had longed for this. And yet now, kneeling, aching, trembling with effort, it was far better than anything she had imagined.
He circled from behind her, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.
"Good. Then you will show me your understanding. Through discipline. Through obedience. And if you do well, Acolyte…perhaps you'll earn your salvation. If not, then the sea will swallow you whole. Do you understand?"
Phoebe nodded quickly, her voice catching before it could find the strength to rise. Her lips parted, dry and trembling.
"I understand."
The silence that followed was heavy and full of promise. He said nothing more, instead, he made his way towards the bed with a slow certainty, as if they both knew what was to come next. He sat down, the creak of the frame sounding loud in the room that was quiet save for Phoebe's uneven breathing.
"Come here."
Phoebe's limbs moved before her mind could catch up. Her knees lifted from the floor, legs stiff from kneeling, rising from the floor in a fluid motion that masked the heat pooling between her thighs. She said nothing, her feet crossing the floor in obedient silence. In her ears, though, she could hear the rushing of her blood.
"Now, over my lap," he instructed her.
She obeyed without a word, easing herself over his lap. Her breath shook as she adjusted her limbs, palms braced against the sheets, stocking-covered legs bent over his knee. Her pale skin was flushed from neck to thighs. The stretch across her abdomen left her hips elevated, her ass fully presented, a vulnerable position that made heart race.
"This is not meant for your pleasure," he said, his hand settled on her lower back.
"Yes, sir," Phoebe whispered, anticipation coiling in her gut.
A sharp smack echoed through the room. Her body jolted against his lap, a sudden burn spreading across the soft curve of her ass. She bit her lip to keep her reaction contained but even then, a soft moan managed to slip out.
"One," she gasped, her cheeks hot.
He paused, just long enough to let the sting settle before bringing his palm down again. Her skin burned where he struck her. Her muscles tensed, breath catching in her throat.
"Two," Phoebe managed.
Between the next two strikes, his hand drifted lower. His fingers pressed firmly between her thighs, sliding against the soaked fabric of her tights. Phoebe let out a quiet gasp, her hips bucking instinctively into his touch. Before she could revel in the sensation, though, he withdrew his fingers as if they hadn't been there.
"Focus," he chided.
"Yes, sir," she breathed, her voice high with need as she tried not to grind against his lap.
The third spank landed squarely across both cheeks and this time she couldn't hold back the clear, desperate moan that broke through her counting.
"Three…"
To her surprise he didn't verbally reprimand her for it. Instead, another strike followed, harder this time. Her thighs quivered in response. The shame of being wet, of knowing she was growing with every blow, burned just as much as the spanking itself.
"Four…" her voice cracked an octave higher.
Again, his hand dipped between her thighs. He pressed against her swollen slit, the soaked material offering little resistance. A sharp breath left her as his fingers slid up and down once as if he were testing and tempting her.
"You're dripping."
Phoebe buried her face into the bedspread, humiliated yet aroused, her voice muffled when she answered.
"I know…"
His hand returned to her ass, another sharp smack making her arch. She whimpered; the punishment now tangled with the anticipation of his touch. Phoebe hated how much she wanted him to do it again.
"Five."
She squirmed now, unable to stop herself. Her hips began to move, rocking against the firm muscle of his thigh. She ground herself with quiet desperation, her tights constricting against her skin only serving to heighten the sensation. Her clit throbbed where it pressed between the friction of fabric and flesh.
Her breath was broken, panting in short bursts. She tried to keep the rhythm of her count in her head but the ache between her legs overrode everything.
The next strike came, harder than the last. She cried out again, anticipating it.
"Rover!"
Phoebe froze; her eyes widened immediately as her cheeks flushed.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them.
"What did you just say?"
Phoebe's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her thighs trembled, caught between the instinct to apologize and the desperate urge to be touched again.
"You were told to count."
His hand gripped the waistband of her tights. In one swift motion, he yanked them down, dragging the damp fabric over her hips and down her thighs. Her breath caught as the cool night air hit her skin; her reddened ass exposed.
"I'm sorry—" Phoebe started, but it was no use.
She couldn't hide it anymore. Not the arousal soaking her. Not the trembling in her legs nor the way she arched slightly in response, practically welcoming what came next. She was completely exposed to him.
"You don't want discipline. You want indulgence. You want to sin, Acolyte. Isn't that right?"
His fingers slipped between her thighs, no longer barricaded by the flimsy material of her tights. Two thick digits slid inside of her dripping slit, stretching her out. Phoebe gasped in response, her hands fisting the bedsheets. He was merciless; his wrist snapping as he thrust his fingers deep, curling them inside of her like he was searching for her repentance and not finding it.
Her mouth was agape, moans falling freely from her lips now. Her hips moved again, desperate to feel more as they pushed back into his palm.
"This is what you want," he growled, his breath against Phoebe's ear as he leaned forward. "Not purity or doctrine. You want to be used. You want to be fucked."
Phoebe let out a raw, strangled sound at that.
"Say it," he demanded.
She hesitated, briefly overwhelmed by what had come before it and what was happening now.
"I—I want it.."
"Say it properly."
"B-by the Sentinel—I want to be fucked, Rover. Please, please—"
"Good, Acolyte."
He gave Phoebe what she wanted. He fucked her deeper with his fingers. The sound of it was obscene, slick and wet, every thrust echoing lewdly in the otherwise quiet room. The mess between her thighs was coating his hand, dripping onto his wrist. Each movement made her walls tighten around him, fluttering desperately as if her body never wanted to let go.
Her cheeks only burned brighter as she tried to muffle the obscene sounds coming out of her mouth.
Now and then, he would withdraw his fingers, providing a swift spank across her backside before stuffing her with his digits before she could register the act. It was relentless in a way that made her head spin. Her hips had stopped trying to meet his, instead simply being used by him. Whether it was for punishment or pleasure no longer mattered. Only the feeling of his relentless pace and the sensations building rapidly in her abdomen as her muscles tightened.
"Please," Phoebe moaned, feeling delirious. "Please, I—"
Her body seized, thighs trembling violently before she could finish the sentence.
A cry broke from her lips, her head falling forward as her back arched. Phoebe clenched around his fingers, her orgasm rolling through her with blinding intensity. Her vision went white, a brilliant haze blooming behind her eyes. The release didn't feel physical so much as it did spiritual. Like she was ascending to another plane entirely.
"Ah~! Rover!"
She came, gushing over his fingers; soaking his hand, dripping past the heel of his palm and onto his lap. Staining his clothing with the evidence of her sin. Her pussy clenched again and again in as relentless waves of release tore through her.
When it was finally over, her limbs gave out.
She collapsed against him, breath ragged, body slack with the weight of what she'd just experienced. Her tights were tangled around her knees, and still she made no effort to fix herself. She lay across his lap, boneless and warm, chest rising and falling with shaky breaths.
For a moment, Phoebe wondered if she had actually died. Her ears were ringing and her thoughts were incoherent.
Rover's voice was the first thing that began to draw her back. It was soft and familiar but distant as if spoken across a distance.
"…Phoebe…"
Her lashes fluttered. For a moment, she didn't respond. She still felt far away, floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.
"…Phoebe…"
She stirred slightly, her brow furrowing. Her cheek pressed into his thigh as she turned onto her side to look up at him. There he was, not a disciplinarian of the Order but her dear friend, looking at her with soft eyes and a look that was between amused and concerned.
"Hm? What?"
Her voice was still slightly dazed.
Rover exhaled a chuckle, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her cheek. Relief showed faintly in his eyes even as a smile curved on his features.
"You alright?"
"Mmhm…" Phoebe nodded slowly, her lips parting in a breathless smile.
"Good…"
He studied her expression for a moment longer, as if making sure she was truly okay before continuing, "So? How'd I do? Did the script come to life the way you imagined?"
Phoebe's blush returned, a soft pink spreading across her cheeks. She looked away for just a moment, the memory that this—all of this tonight—had been planned according to her wishes briefly coming back to her. When she looked back at him, it was with a lazy, dreamy smile.
"Oh Rover, it was…" she paused, choosing her words, "…It was everything I imagined. Thank you. Truly."
Rover gave her a familiar, lopsided grin as his hand reached for his, giving a soft but affectionate squeeze.
"You're welcome, Phoebe. I'm just glad I could help."
A beat passed between them. Phoebe bit her bottom lip, her eyes darting away in a nervous flicker, her pink cheeks darkening.
"Maybe…If you're not too busy, I mean…Can you help me with another one? Someday?"
When she looked at him again, it was with a sheepish expression that struggled to meet his gaze. Rover could only raise his eyebrow, holding back a laugh, wondering how, after all of that, Phoebe could still be so shy. Then again, he supposed that was just a part of her. His head tilted to the side slightly.
"I think I can make time."
Phoebe's eyes brightened, as if being accepted for her unusual interests was a gift from the Sentinel itself.
"That's great! I'll get to work on it right away," she shifted, a soft moan leaving her as she brushed against his body, "Or—maybe after I've recovered."
This time Rover couldn't hold back his laugh as he looked down at her, stroking her cheek.
"Don't worry, Phoebe. We've got plenty of time."