More like bend over him, sweating from the exertion of not vomiting from the disgusting sight of his rotting body.
One would think a man so ill would die, but even wheezing between each breath, the vile creature managed to rise to the challenge of breeding his papal whore.
The guards collected me upon the cardinal’s order. It had been weeks since they had been required to drag me.
And there he was, supine on his bed. Naked, hairy, oozing and foul.
The old man watched as I was stripped to my skin, manhandled and carried already spread wide so the waiting youth might stuff the old man’s member in my dry slit. I dared just this once to look the geezer in the eye.
I hope he saw every last ounce of my hatred.
The pope had the audacity to smile. Yellow teeth in pale gums, a thick lolling tongue furred white from illness. A wracking cough shook him, a bit of spittle launched to land on my lips in the parody of a kiss. I ignored it, knowing my arm would not be set free from those who had already begun jacking me up and down his shaft to wipe myself clean.
For the first time, a wizened hand rose, setting itself over my womb as if in blessing.
Unlike the last weeks of my limp use, this jolted me. The jerk of my hips set him moaning, eyes rolling back as his bones answered with a lurch of their own. And then, while he was still inside me, I heard it.
The exhalation of a corpse’s final death rattle.
Not all the room noticed, not with so many eyes on my tits and cunt. But the youth charged with plumping the Pope’s cock before it invaded my body gave a cry.
Beluni pressed forward, told them to continue as they were.
Fucking me upon a corpse.
He pressed his ears to the Pope’s slack lips, moved a moment later to listen to his chest. What he found moved him to shout., “Milk the last drops of his precious seed out of him, NOW!”
That command was not for me; it was for the youth. The same youth whose hand Belini caught and forced toward my sex.
I thought I was past weeping, but as I felt another reach down where my body was mashed down against the pelvis of the dead, tears fell fresh. The wrinkled sack under the softening cock was kneaded; a grip starting at the base of the pope’s cock and squeezing upward drawing out fluid I felt drench my insides.
It smelled of piss.
All near must have noticed, but they cheered all the same to see it weep out from where I was plugged with softening male flesh.
I was made to lay for an hour, to hold in his seed, by a corpse that already reeked of the grave.
Desecrated, I knew in those moments that I would fling my body from the first bridge I found.
Cardinal Beluni, Satan himself, knew my thoughts and put me under watch from that moment forward. Never once was I left alone. And when my courses never arrived and my stomach began to revolt at easy smells, I was deemed blessed.
At a private lunch between the two of us, Beluni took my hand, kissing my fingers as he said, “You carry Christ in your womb. Put the babe in harm’s way, and I will see your whole family crucified.”
It wasn’t a threat, not when his eyes were soft and full of adoration. It was a promise.
I married the Doge of Venice a week later. I laid with him already full of another man’s child. And yes, when free of the regular presence of the doge’s cardinal cousin again, I began to pray.
It was an act of desperation.
For as my belly grew, I knew the terrible truth.
The babe was a girl…
Just like me, my mother, and her mother before her.
The End
Craving more? The Wren’s Song Series is a dark, sinister Omegaverse Reverse Harem tale for those with twisted tastes and a love for complete power exchange.