Pulp Fiction Prayer Novels & Stories

Unfortunately for him, the Confradia has decided that it is time to end his existence. That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to show Mr. Treadwell the error of his ways before he meets his maker. I’m called Priest, which is ironic because I’m done with sick bastards like him when they all pray for a final absolution. I’d like to think that the old bible adage, an eye for an eye, is an adequate form of punishment. And that’s what Mr. Treadwell is receiving tonight.

Despite trying to look presentable, the dark circles under his eyes showed his exhaustion. He approached me with flowers and dropped to one knee, his eyes showing a sincerity I'd never seen before. "Rachel, I've been thinking a lot. I was terrible before. I didn't see Sophie for who she really was. The company's fired her, and I'll never contact her again. "From now on, it'll just be you. We can have a beautiful baby, and I'll love and protect you both forever... Rachel, I know I was wrong. Can you forgive me?"

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!”

“When you’re inside me… it’s like prayer.” The words twisted something deep in his chest. Guilt and lust mixed together. He lined up and slammed into her in one brutal thrust. Sophia cried out, gripping the edge of the table. “Yes, Father! Fuck me!” Elias didn’t hold back. He pounded her hard, hips slapping against her ass, the wet sound of her cunt taking every thick inch filling the small room. He reached around and rubbed her clit fast while he fucked her. “Deus, propitius esto mihi peccatori,” he growled in Latin, reciting the old prayer while he railed her. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

And then I hear it — the unmistakable sound of a zipper. He’s touching himself. On the other side of the confession screen, a priest is touching himself while I finger my pussy. “Are you hard, Father?” I ask, my breath shaking, my fingers working my clit faster. “Are you stroking your cock in your own confession booth right now because of me?” A sound comes through the screen that’s half prayer and half profanity. “God forgive me,” he chokes, and I can hear the wet rhythm of his hand on himself, fast and desperate. “This is — I can’t —”

He cursed stepping out of the kitchen with a Plate of pasta and meatball Collins pouted"Only if you're cherry, my blossom,"He stated ,eyes closed and hands hugging himself "i won't mind." Morgan looked at him frantically, then flipped his head."You're lost,pray you get saved." "Amen."He chorus and joined his palm together in prayer "You head that Mary and Jesus.please save me and save this grumpy old tw....Ahhh!the fuck man,you wanna fucking kill me with this your iron made hand?,Oh please spare me,am too fragile. "

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the air as I continued to fire, pouring all my anger and strength into each shot, determined to make sure Russo was dead. As I finally stopped firing, my hands began to shake uncontrollably, and the gun slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor. I stumbled back to Ava's lifeless body, cradling her in my arms once more. "My Ava! Oh, my Ava!" I wailed, tears streaming down my face like a river. My mind was a blank, my head spinning with grief and shock. I felt myself becoming dizzy, my vision blurring as I looked up at the night sky, tears-filled eyes screaming silently. Another anguished scream tore through my lips and then everything went black.

like a broken litany. We stay locked together, trembling, until the first hint of dawn threatens at the windows. Only then do I lift off him, drop to my knees one last time, and lick him clean with slow, penitent strokes. When I stand, I press my cum-slick lips to his ear one final time: “Your sins are forgiven, Father. Go in peace.” I slip out of the booth, leaving him slumped in the chair, shirt open, cock still out, eyes wide with awe and terror and something that looks a lot like salvation.

The priest's kind eyes met mine, his understanding and comprehension evident. He led me to a quiet, silent corner, away from prying eyes and eager ears. With closed eyes, he raised his hands up, invoking the divine energy that flowed through him. His voice resonated with the solemnity of his prayers, words weaving a protective shield around me. As the priest's prayers echoed through the hallowed space, I felt a surge of strength coursing through my veins. A renewed sense of purpose filled my being, bolstering my resolve to have my way in whatever I was doing in my life at all costs. With a final, heartfelt amen, the priest concluded the prayer.

It would be the last, he promised himself. Hillary had been ashamed of her behavior. Maybe he could just give her the promotion he had thought she was going to ask for before she had assaulted him so sweetly. Shame was the best silencer, he deduced a few moments later. He said a silent prayer then that the shame she felt for crossing boundaries would be enough to silence her. He took another drink to help with the confusion and shock he was feeling as well as the throbbing in his groin… ******