R-18: SISTER, SIN WITH ME

She shouldn’t still be in the chapel. Not this late. Not alone. But Sister Eliana's guilt is a cage, and she kept locking herself back inside it.

The white of her habit clung to her skin, damp with sweat and midnight heat. She was kneeling in front of the altar, again, praying so hard her voice trembled. Her eyes shut tight, hands clenched in prayer, rosary beads digging into her fingers until they left bruises.

“Deliver me from temptation,” she whispered. “Deliver me from evil.”

Sister Eliana's words moved silently across her lips like ghosts, asking forgiveness for thoughts she hadn’t even acted on yet.

Thoughts of him.

𝘏𝘪𝘮.

The one no one dared name.

The one her mother superior told her not to dream about. The one whose name was purged from every holy book in the convent library.

Sister Eliana begged God to take the thoughts away.

He didn’t.

---

The first time he appeared, she thought it was a trick of the candlelight. The second time, she thought it was her soul breaking.

Now, she knows better.

---

He emerges from shadow like he belongs in it—tall, deathly still, cloaked, horns curled like an insult. His eyes glowed red, like they’d burned too long in every hell she feared.

“Still praying, Sister?” Lucifer's voice is low. Velvety. Cruel in its restraint. “Even after all your cries go unanswered?”

Sister Eliana didn't turn around. Doesn’t need to.

“I rebuke you,” she says.

It sounds pathetic, even to her own ears.

His laugh is soft, almost affectionate. “No, you don't. You're still on your knees—but not for Him.”

---

The silence swells between them. Her hands grip her rosary tighter. The beads leave indentations in her palm.

Lucifer steps closer. One slow, deliberate footfall at a time.

“I know what you think about when the candles are low,” he murmurs. “When your hands slip beneath your robes. When you cry for forgiveness afterward, thinking no one saw.”

Sister Eliana turns finally. Her face is flushed, her eyes wide with fear and something worse—curiosity. Hunger.

“This is holy ground,” she breathes.

“So was Heaven,” he says darkly. “I walked there once too. Now look what I’ve become.”

Sister Eliana swallows hard.

Her breath stutters, and her gaze drops—not in shame, but as if it’s too dangerous to keep looking at him. His presence warps the air, makes the flame of every candle tremble like it too is afraid to witness this.

Or thrilled to.

Lucifer moves closer. The hem of his cloak whispers against the stone, and the rosary slips slightly in her grasp.

He notices.

“You think clutching that will save you?” he asks. “It’s just wood and silver. Pretty symbols for a god who doesn’t answer.”

Sister Eliana shivers. “You're lying.”

“Am I?” His voice is silk dipped in ash. “Then where is He, little lamb? Why does He leave you here every night, with no warmth but guilt and no company but me?”

Lucifer kneels. Not in worship—never that. But he brings himself to her level, crouching before the altar like a mockery of a penitent man. His eyes, dark as pitch, fathomless as blasphemy—bore into her.

“What do you want from me?” she whispers.

His lips curl. “Everything.”

His hand finally touches her, lightly, the way a moth touches flame. His thumb drags over her cheek, slow and reverent. The touch burns, not with fire, but with recognition.

“I want the thoughts you bite down. The moans you smother with pillows. The way your breath hitches when you arch in bed alone.”

Lucifer stands slowly, gaze never leaving her face. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Her skin still hums where he touched her.

“I’ll go,” he says, and it’s a lie dressed as mercy.

Because he’s not retreating. He’s seeding himself.

Into her bones. Into the empty space where her faith used to live.

“I don’t need to stay,” he adds, walking backward into the shadow that seems to welcome him like a long-lost lover. “You’ll think of me anyway.”

And then he’s gone.

---

Sister Eliana prayed too loud tonight.

He heard it. Every word. Every desperate, pleading whisper beneath flickering candles, beneath shaking breath, beneath that thin white veil she thought could protect her.

But protection is for those God still claims. Not for those who kept thinking of the Devil with their knees pressed to holy stone and their lips parted in silent, shame-drenched longing.

She thought of him again the next night.

And the next.

Even when she didn’t return to the chapel, she carried the weight of his presence in her chest like a smoldering coal she couldn’t spit out. His voice curled around her spine in the silence. His touch, that single, featherlight graze—haunted her like a sacrament gone rotten.

She tried fasting. More prayer. Confession.

But what was she supposed to confess?

That she wanted to know what his mouth would feel like? That she wasn’t sure if she feared damnation… or desired it?

By the fourth night, Sister Eliana stopped asking God to make it stop.

And on the fifth, she returned.

The chapel was darker than usual, as if the walls themselves had learned to breathe with her. The candles hadn’t been lit and yet there was light. Dim, red-edged, seeping through the corners like an omen.

Lucifer was already there.

Not waiting.

Expecting.

He stood with his back to the altar, hands folded neatly behind him, as if this desecration was his throne. As if he belonged.

“You came back,” he said, not smug, but sure.

She took a step forward.

Then another.

Each movement forward felt like peeling skin from bone, exposing parts of her no one, not even God, had been allowed to see. But he had seen them. He had touched them, with words, with a glance, with that one maddening graze.

And now she stood in front of him, no prayers on her lips. No rosary in her hand. No excuses.

Just want.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Sister Eliana said, barely audible.

“But you are.”

Lucifer's gaze dipped over her, slow, deliberate, predatory. Not cruel, not yet. Just… knowing. His eyes dragged across the white fabric clinging to her body, still damp with humidity and her own heat.

“You’ve been sweating,” he murmured. “Even your shame is beautiful.”

Lucifer stepped closer. She didn’t move away.

His hand reached up and gently, almost lazily, brushed the edge of her veil back from her face. She shuddered, not because she feared him, but because of how gentle he was. Like she might break. Like he wanted her to.

“Tell me no,” he said suddenly. “If that’s what you want. Say the word, and I’ll vanish.”

Sister Eliana looked up at him, lips parted.

But nothing came out.

She was trembling now, but it wasn’t from fear. Her thighs pressed together beneath the robes, slick already from nothing but anticipation. Her pulse pounded in her throat—guilt, hunger, defiance, all twisted together in one filthy prayer.

“I don’t want you to go,” Sister Eliana whispered.

His smile was slow. Dangerous.

And then he touched her.

One hand slid beneath the layers of her habit and found her waist, the other came up to cradle her jaw. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, letting the heat of his skin sear through the cloth.

His mouth met hers—no hesitation, no question. The kiss was hard. Possessive. Like he was claiming what had already been his the moment she moaned his name in a dream.

Sister Eliana gasped into his mouth as his hand slid down her side, gathering the fabric of her robe until he could reach the bare skin of her thigh.

“You wore nothing underneath,” Lucifer murmured, lips dragging down her jaw to her throat. “Holy little liar.”

“I didn’t… I couldn’t,” she panted. “I wanted you to…”

“To what?” His breath was hot against her collarbone. “Say it.”

Sister Eliana bit her lip.

“To touch me.”

He growled softly, more felt than heard, and dropped to his knees before her. Lucifer, knelt between the legs of a virgin nun—and looked up at her like she was his heaven, pushing the cloth of her habit higher and higher until she was bare before him, open and vulnerable.

And wet. Soaked.

Lucifer looked up at her, eyes flickering red with something primal.

“You pray like you want forgiveness,” he said. “But your body begs for ruin.”

Then he buried his mouth between her thighs. He feasted like he was starving.

Sister Eliana choked on a cry, one hand flying to the altar rail for balance, the other covering her mouth.

Lucifer’s mouth was relentless. His tongue circled her clit in lazy, deliberate patterns, alternating between gentle licks and sucking pressure that made her knees threaten to collapse. Every moan was music to him. Every twitch of her hips a hymn.

He ran two fingers through her folds, then shoved them inside without warning.

“Oh!” Sister Eliana cried, gripping the altar.

She rocked against his mouth, every pulse of her hips a betrayal to the vow she once took. Her moans echoed off the stone walls, sharp and gasping. No candles lit this time. Just the red glow and the slick, wet sound of his tongue working her over like he was trying to undo her completely.

And maybe he was.

Sister Eliana came with a sob, loud, shaking, uncontrollable, grinding against his face with the desperation of someone who was never touched.

Lucifer stood when she slumped against the altar, legs weak, breathing ragged.

But he wasn’t done.

“Turn around,” Lucifer said. “Bend over the altar.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s—”

Lucifer grinned. “Blasphemous? That’s the point.”

Sister Eliana hesitated for half a second. Then she did it.

Hands braced on the edge of the altar. Her body offered. Her soul somewhere between trembling reverence and absolute surrender.

Lucifer stepped behind her, pulled the rest of her robe up, and pressed the head of his cock at her entrance. Thick, flushed, glistening at the tip.

“You want this,” he said. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“You want me.”

She nodded, breathless.

“I need to hear you.”

“Yes. Please. I want you. I want this.”

"Your innocence is mine to take." He whispered it into her ear as he slid inside—slow, devastating, inevitable.

Sister Eliana's breath caught the moment he sank fully inside her.

Tight. Hot. Unfamiliar. She gasped, nails digging into the altar, the shock of him stretching her burning deeper than any penance she’d ever known.

“God,” she gasped.

He stilled. Not out of mercy, but to feel it. All of it. Her tight heat clenching around him. Her ragged breathing. The way her body trembled beneath the weight of what she’d just surrendered.

Her virginity.

“Holy little thing,” Lucifer growled against the nape of her neck. “You gave it to me.” Not a question. A coronation. “You could’ve kept praying. You could’ve run.”

“I-it hurts,” she whispered, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“I know,” he murmured, mouth against her shoulder. “It’s supposed to. You’re breaking yourself for me. Offering yourself. It should leave a mark.”

“F-fuck—!” The word shocked her. She’d never said it aloud before. Certainly never moaned it while being taken from behind on a sacred altar with her habit bunched around her waist and her virgin blood trickling down her thigh.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, so she could feel every sinful inch. Every inch that had no right to be inside something once so pure. The drag of him was too much, too deep, stretching her in ways her body was never supposed to know. Not here. Not like this.

And yet, her body welcomed it. Welcomed him.

Her moans were soft at first, bitten off by shame. But he didn’t let her hide. One hand slipped up to her throat, just resting there—not choking, not threatening, just claiming. His other hand gripped her hip, guiding her back onto him with every thrust until she was meeting him, chasing it, filthy and unrepentant.

“Lucifer—ah, please—”

“You were made for me,” he said. “A nun with a cunt this greedy.”

Sister Eliana nodded, unable to speak. Her face flushed, mouth parted, eyes fluttering as her body began to move on instinct, raw, frantic, needy.

The pain faded.

The shame followed.

And all that was left was need.

He fucked her slow, then faster, each thrust deliberate, deep enough to echo in her bones. His fingers slid between her legs, circling her clit, teasing her toward something terrifying.

“Such a pretty little hole,” he groaned. “So fucking tight.”

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please—deeper—please—”

“You like this,” he grunted. “Fucked like a blasphemy. Dripping down your thighs while begging.”

“Yes—yes—God forgive me—I love it—”

Lucifer laughed, low and sharp. “There is no forgiveness here.”

She shattered.

Sister Eliana's orgasm ripped through her like a hymn sung backward, loud, aching, wild. Her legs shook, body spasming as she cried out, no longer caring who heard.

And still, he didn’t stop.

Lucifer stayed behind her, hands gripping her hips like he was holding onto salvation. He leaned over her back, bare chest pressed to her slick spine, and whispered against the shell of her ear.

“Say it, Eliana. Say you want more.”

Her head lolled forward, sweat dripping from her temple onto the altar’s cracked stone. She was trembling, gasping—but still she moaned, still she pushed her hips back against him, already aching for another.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want it—I want you.”

Lucifer groaned, deep and low, as he pulled almost all the way out—just the tip resting against her soaked entrance—before slamming back in with unholy precision.

The cry she let out was obscene.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice like velvet dragging over sin. “Let your God hear how you beg for the Devil’s cock.”

Sister Eliana moaned louder, the words hitting her like a second climax. Her rosary beads, still wrapped around her wrist, clinked against the altar each time he thrust into her—loud, wet, relentless.

Her body rocked with each snap of his hips, thighs shaking, her cunt slick and stretched, gripping him like she was made for it.

“Lucifer—fuck—please—”

“Say it again,” he growled, one hand sliding up her back, between her shoulders, pressing her chest harder to the altar. “Say my name like a prayer.”

“Lucifer,” she gasped, louder this time. “Lucifer—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

He groaned, fucking her harder, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the chapel like blasphemy turned into percussion. Her moans were music. Her trembling legs, divine offerings.

“You love this,” he growled. “Bent over His altar, ruined by the one He cast out.”

“Yes—yes, I love it,” she cried, desperate and delirious. “I want to burn for this—I’d burn for you.”

Lucifer groaned, deep and primal, as her walls clenched around him like salvation wrapped in sin. His thrusts turned erratic, harder, desperate—as if her body was dragging the climax from him inch by wicked inch.

“Fuck—Eliana,” he gasped, voice strained, forehead pressing to the sweat-damp skin of her back.

Her name broke from his mouth like prayer and profanity all at once.

His grip on her hips tightened, fingertips bruising as he drove into her with brutal, punishing thrusts, chasing the edge like a sinner chasing absolution. Her moans—high, breathless, broken—only pushed him further.

And then—he shattered.

Lucifer came with a guttural groan that sounded like thunder cracking through stained glass. His entire body stiffened as he emptied into her in long, hot pulses, hips jerking forward uncontrollably. The feeling was violent, electric—like the fall from Heaven all over again, only this time, he chose it.

He stayed buried deep, breath stuttering, chest heaving against her trembling back. A low, feral noise escaped him as he gave one last shallow thrust, more possessive than sexual—marking her, claiming her, filling her.

The chapel was silent save for their mingled, ragged breathing—sacred and obscene.

And then, softly, lips brushing her spine, he whispered with reverence:

“I’d fall a thousand times… if it meant coming inside you like that.”

When he pulled out, she stayed slumped over the altar, trembling, broken open in ways no God could heal. Her inner thighs were slick, her virgin blood smeared like war paint across desecrated stone.

Lucifer leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“You’re not His anymore.”

Then he kissed the nape of her neck like a benediction and vanished into shadow.