Prayer From Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

“Bones of saints. Fingers of martyrs. Tongues of virgins. Sealed in 1893 after a scandal the Church buried deeper than the dead. Now it’s mine.” He entered me slow, thick, and bare. No condom. No hesitation. Just heat, stretch, and fullness. I arched, cried out, and the rope biting my wrists, the velvet slick beneath me. He fucked me like a prayer—deep, deliberate, and each thrust a syllable of Latin I didn’t know but felt in my bones: “Dominus vobiscum… et cum spiritu tuo…” The cameras rolled. The candles burned lower, wax dripping onto the stone like tears of the damned.

There is a force, he felt it and was ready to direct it, but where exactly to apply it? Spots of color danced in front of closed eyes, brilliant whirlwinds swirled, twisted together and again scattered spiral ribbons. The Sanctifier had absolutely no idea where to start. Therefore, out of many years of habit, he moved his lips, pronouncing the first words " Pater noster ". Prayer made it possible to focus and see goals. Here they are, two atheists. Lorenzo wondered how he could ever have doubted their belonging to another world. Obviously, there is a glow (“Aura,” he recalled a term from some treatise) over there of a different shade. Quite a bit different, but clearly the same!

Alex frowned while they were making fun of him. "Please stop all this. I'm in no mood for jokes." He mumbled. "I can see you are ready. Are you ready for this, Alex?" The old man who appeared from his room. "I guess so." He muttered. "Okay, let's head out to conquer your enemy." He gestured at the door. "Wait, let me pray for him." Alex rolled his eyes upon hearing his mom's request. "Pray?" The old man scoffed. "You can pray for him while you all are seated here in your respective ways as he faces his enemy. He has prayed, and I have also prayed to the gods on his behalf today, and I know our prayers have been answered. That's all we need to triumph." He added.

"...and lead us not into temptation.." "But deliver us from evil," Father Francis responded looking up briefly at her. Her eyes had rolled upward into their sockets. Blinking. She hissed and draw away from them. He willed his mind and returned to the prayer at hand. After a while, Father Lazarus grabbed the Roman Ritual copies. He handed the other copies to Father Francis and they began again. "Save your servant," prayed Father Lazarus, standing this time reading from the Ritual. "Who trusts in you, my God," answered Father Francis.

“By the coming of the Holy—. Spirit, the Advocate—. On the day of judgment—.” The droning invocations continue, switching to “We beg you to hear us,” and after about ten of those, I’m actually praying for whatever this is to kill me. Between the smoke and the pain and the repeated monotone chants everything in the room is drifting in a murky haze. “God, by your name save me, and by your might defend my cause—.” “God, hear my prayer; hearken to the words of my mouth.” “Let the enemy have no power over him—.”

Even my lips felt raw from repeating desperate prayers over and over, begging for some kind of absolution. Yes, I was doing penance. Please, Lord, forgive me. It had been an hour since I’d woken up from that hot—no, sinful dream. Our Father, who art in heaven… please forgive me. I squeezed my eyes shut, chanting every prayer I knew, adding a few ad-libs for good measure. It was the dead of night, yet here I was, kneeling against a wall like some medieval flagellant, begging for mercy like a sinner in a confessional.

It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “Say a prayer for me,” he told them, his voice rough. “While I fuck you.” Hannah mumbled against Rebecca’s pussy, “In… in nomine Patris… oh God, yes… et Filii… fuck me deeper!” Rebecca whimpered, “Et Spiritus Sancti… I’m going to cum, Father!”

He fucked me raw against the altar with deep and punishing strokes that made my tits bounce and my moans break into sobs of pleasure. “In nomine Patris,” he grunted, rutting into me harder. “et Filii… et Spiritus Sancti.” Each prayer was punctuated by a savage thrust. “This is divine pleasure, Sophia. Feel how perfectly your little pussy was meant to take my shaft.” He reached around and rubbed my clit in fast and circular motion. My legs shook as I came hard within minutes, screaming his title as I clenched around him greedily, milking his thick shaft. But he didn’t stop.

"You chose compassion over cruelty and faith over fear, even though faith didn't come naturally to you." "Faith." He laughed without humor. "I can't imagine having faith in anything except violence and money, those are the only gods that actually answer prayers." "You didn't have faith in God." I stopped at the front pew. "You had faith in people's ability to be better than their worst moments, and that faith is what made you a good priest even when you didn't believe you deserved to be one." He reached the altar and ran his hand across the stone surface, his fingers finding grooves and marks that only someone familiar would know to look for. "There's something carved here, initials or symbo

"If I were you, I'm going to start now a prayer." "Then you lead the prayer, Mom." "Basil Zafeiriou!" Irish yelled at his name. "Oops. mommy is angry, Daddy." Bethena covered her eyes with her tiny hands. "Okay, okay I'm going now to make a prayer for us. Let's hold each other hands," he ordered, holding now the hand of his daughter and beloved wife while their eyes are closed. "Dear Lord, I really don't know how to pray but I will try my best for my wife, daughter and everyone who are with us right now. There's no more lot of say and I will just thank you for giving this day for us. Thank you for giving me a reason to change and thank you for giving these angels with me. I maybe did bad thi