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The Meadow: Non-Denominational Church and Community Center. __Everyone is welcome!

So read the sign in front. Pastor Nathanael almost always spotted new faces in the crowd each Sunday, and would greet them at the reception after the service alongside coffee and baked goodies. His followers grew slowly, but they had been steadily rising for years now, and near every pew was full, more or less. He never felt he needed to attract more people too quickly, he just made sure that each new visitor felt welcome, as much a part of the community as anyone else. He was going to run his church his way, no matter where it took him.

Today's words weren't exactly conventional, and all in all Nathanael wasn't a typical priest. He didn't dress like one, he just wore black, casual clothes, and his sermon today was a mix of jokes, pop culture references, and dramatic performance. And much to his delight, he managed to work the phrase "heavenly father facepalm" into it at one point. He made them laugh, he made them cry, but he didn't let the message get muddled in theatrics. It had earned him a loyal crowd, though plenty had been turned away by his unconventionality. Church-goers weren't exactly the type that took traditions lightly, and it was up to them to find a church that suited them best. He wouldn't change just to keep from offending anyone.

He was a very young priest, merely in his mid-twenties, and had a feminine look about him. A slender, curvy whitetail deer, he kept his hair long and smooth, short antlers poking through it not always enough to keep him from being mistaken for a woman. He was pretty, with warm brown eyes and a soft smile, and not exactly typical church leader material. Some took offense to his appearance just as they took offense to his way of speaking, but that was to be expected. Too casual, too young, too 'sexual', whatever that meant. It was who he was, and the message was much more important than rules or expectations.

At the back of the church, there was a new face. She was a lovely striped hyena, overdressed for the casual service in a conservative black dress with a high neckline, with a short gold necklace and her black hair tied back into a tight bun. From afar it was hard to tell, but he thought her eyes might have a bit of violet to them. She was sitting very straight, eyes forward, looking almost militaristic. He appreciated the respect. Sometimes newcomers thought that a casual service meant they could chat in the back or act rude, which wasn't welcomed. She had obviously put a lot of effort into looking nice, perhaps more used to the rigid, dour kinds of churches. He would make sure to greet her after the service and make her feel welcome.

When he arrived downstairs, he shook hands with a few people, offered thanks and blessings, and followed up on various problems people had brought to him. Have you spoken to your son about it? Yes, very good, God bless. Did your boss understand? Excellent, yes, I'm glad you found the courage to speak with him. I'm sorry to hear that Misses Johnston, I will pray for you and your husband. And so on. He was no trained counselor, but his warm nature and leadership skills made many people turn to him with all their griefs, from the most minor to the more severe to the 'should you really be saying that out loud?'. Whether or not he thought he could do much, he always tried to help.

He found her standing by herself near the back of the room, just staring out one of the windows at the community garden. It mildly troubled him that no one had bothered to invite her into their conversations, but no matter, he would take the initiative. Stepping up beside her, he stood at least half a foot shorter than her, not even coming up to her shoulder. He cleared his throat and offered his kindest greeting.

"Welcome to The Meadow, miss. I hope you enjoyed the service today?"

The hyena didn't answer right away. She seemed lost in thought, gazing out the window, and wore a small, contented smirk. She looked down to him and nodded.

"Yes, it was very lovely."

Her accent was exotic and hard to place. A little bit of everywhere, hints of several different regions at once all in the same voice. Had she just arrived to the country? He'd be sure to help her get settled in any way he could.

"May I ask your name? I'm always happy to have new faces join the community."

"Shirazi," she answered, nodding. She paused, and put a finger to her lips, pondering something, and then went on. "A pleasure to meet you, Father."

"You may call me Nate if you like."

She nodded again, and paused a moment before speaking. "Nate, then. I hope I haven't caused offense by coming in uninvited." Her tone spoke of a very strict, disciplined upbringing.

"Of course not! All are welcome here, every Sunday and beyond. I hope you'll feel welcome to return next week."

She looked down at him, that small smile on her lips still there. "That is an invitation I'll be happy to take. I think you'll be seeing a lot more of me soon. For now..."

Nodding towards the door, she gave him a wave and began to take her leave.

"God bless, miss Shirazi," he said with a bow of his head.

He wasn't sure what to make of her words, but he welcomed a friendly face. She seemed perhaps a bit lonely, so he would be sure to offer her support and guidance when she needed it. Though at the same time, as she departed, he noticed a slight tingle crawling along his skin suddenly disappear, not aware of it until it was gone. He didn't think it was his old instincts acting up - he talked freely with wolves and other predators without feeling threatened. No sense dwelling on it though, and he hoped he'd see her next Sunday so that they might talk more.

Nate didn't often have nightmares, and this one didn't feel like a dream. She was there, that quiet hyena who he'd spoken to that day. She was sitting at the back of his church once more, grinning up at him in an unsettling way. The rest of his audience sat well away from her, and there seemed to be a certain aura surrounding her, plunging the back of the room into darkness, blackness writhing around her form like tentacles. Other worshipers glanced nervously in her direction now and then, but seemed to be trying to ignore her. It was hard to really make sense of when he woke, but while he dreamed he felt a distinct presence of evil coming from her, something he could simply sense in his gut, and it made him feel ill and weak, like he might collapse at the podium any moment.

Each time he looked at her, it was harder to tear his gaze away, until finally he was locked into staring at her. It felt like he couldn't even blink. Slowly, she began to rise from her seat, moving to the aisle, walking with a shambling, unnatural gait. He felt himself faltering in his sermon, not finding the words he needed. She lurched forth, shuffling, her back arched, her head tilted to the side, still grinning. And then she lunged at him, his vision filled with her fangs in the last moments before he woke up with a start.

The idea of prophetic dreams was one he took with a grain of salt. Too many religious types would over-interpret what was really just scrambled nonsense and he felt that acting on them pushed the line of religious nuttery. They would show up, ask to speak, and describe in earnest just how deep and meaningful their silly dream was, how clear the signs were, and thank the Lord for opening their eyes. He would politely smile and hope they didn't go on too long. Anything could be called "a sign" if you really wanted it to be.

He sat up rubbing his forehead a moment, steadying himself. The more excitable would take it as a sign to be careful around her, that she might be dangerous. But he knew not to act an alarmist about things. She was a mysterious person, and his imagination had run away with things. If he really wanted to interpret things he could say that people shunned her for no reason and it was his job to make her feel welcome. He'd go with that.

Inspired, he flicked on a lamp and nabbed a bedside notepad to jot down a few ideas for the next week's sermon. Acceptance, welcome to all, that kind of thing. He knew a few verses off the top of his head that would fit, scribbled them down at the bottom, and then went back to bed, clicking the light off. The rest of the night continued in a mostly dreamless darkness and he woke refreshed, ready to face the week.

By the next Sunday he had pieced together a particularly passionate sermon about kindness and generosity. He found himself getting a little preachy, ironically, as he spoke of the importance of accepting all who needed to be loved, not just the people who made it easy. It wasn't as funny as his usual sermons but it was effective, and the usual suspects were all weepy by the end of things, which meant job well done as ever.

Shirazi was in the middle row this week, looking much more comfortable among the crowd. She had tied her hair back more loosely, in a long, flowing black tail. Her dress was a little shorter as well, her surprisingly muscular arms exposed, and her neck, but it was still far from revealing. He had to admit he found her attractive, not just for the way she looked, but for her mysterious, exotic nature that intrigued him. Given how much trust his followers placed in him, it was very rare that he ever asked anyone on a date or expressed his feelings openly, but he didn't consider it forbidden as long as he was careful not to take advantage of his position.

During the reception, he looked for her, and saw her chatting and laughing with some other members of the church. A sudden cackle pierced through the room, startling him just a little, and he realized that it was her. Despite her stripey appearance, she still had the cackle of her spotted cousins, that loony, rolling giggle that sounded so very unhinged, but she was sitting calmly and having a seemingly pleasant conversation. He wanted to go speak with her, but he was interrupted by a young girl tugging on one of his pant legs.

"Pastor Nate?" the little lioness asked, looking up with wide, blue eyes.

"Yes, dear?" he gave her a smile. Whose daughter was she? He didn't recognize her.

"How come you let her in?"

The girl pointed to Shirazi. Nate looked. The hyena wasn't looking at him until she felt his gaze, and she glanced up to offer a smile before returning to her conversation.

"What do you mean, child?"

"I don't like her."

Nate furrowed his brow. "Why do you say that?"

"She's creepy."

He had to fight off a smirk, and looked over to Shirazi again before answering. She was staring right at him this time, nodding her head when he met her eyes. Okay, that was a little creepy. Still, not like he could tell a child that, especially not after a whole Sunday morning preaching about acceptance.

"I don't think so! I think she's nice. Maybe you should try talking to her?"

"NO!"

The girl backed away a few steps with a look of horror on her face, then just turned and ran off. He leaned his head around the corner to make sure she wouldn't get lost, and leaned back when she was intercepted by Evangeline, the Sunday school teacher. Well, can't fault the girl for being scared of a stranger, even if it was silly. He chanced another glance at Shirazi before he was pulled aside by Troy, a young ocelot who had been having a few problems with his parents lately and needed a chat. Nate led him to the end of the hall for a little more privacy.

By the time they were done talking, most of the people had cleared out. Nate began to tidy up the coffee mugs and plates when an unexpected tap to his shoulder sent a jolt down his spine. He turned sharply, not sure why he had been so startled, and found himself face to bosom with that mysterious hyena.

"Hi Nate!" she said cheerfully, a far cry from her reserved nature of the last week. Her accent seemed to have changed, but he still couldn't place it. Standing this close, he realized how nice she smelled. Sweet, almost candied. "Just wanted to say hello before I say goodbye."

That strange sensation of his skin crawling came creeping back, making him want to squirm on the spot, kick his hooves in the air. There was some weird drive, some unused instinct of his that she tugged at somehow. Whenever she stood close to him his body seemed to pump full of adrenaline, ready to bounce away for his life in typical deer fashion. It left him uncharacteristically dazed a moment before he responded.

"Oh, it's appreciated, Shirazi! Looks like you're finding your place well so far. I'm very glad you chose to come back this week."

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it. Wouldn't miss you."

The way she said that made his cheeks feel warm. Was she flirting with him? Well, she would have to be more obvious about it than that before he risked reciprocating.

"I hope to see you next week, and beyond."

She snickered, quite loudly. It was pure hyena sound, and turned a few heads their way. "Before long you'll start wishing you saw less of me."

"Nonsense. Never enough of my herd."

He smiled to her. She was grinning now, her teeth intimidating but not bothering him. With a pat on his back, she moved past him. "I'll see you soon! Must run! Take care!"

And with that, she was gone, as was the crawling discomfort he felt in her presence. Discomfort, yes, but also a strange sense of attraction. It was beyond just enjoying the way she looked, the way she smelled and spoke. There were mysteries about her, and he felt an odd compulsion to unearth them. He wanted to know everything about her, to the point it clouded his mind and left him thinking of her for the rest of the afternoon. He couldn't name what it was specifically that so enraptured him about her, but he knew he felt it, and he needed to know more.

Over evening tea, he stopped to consider whether this was growing past interest and into obsession. But no, he was as mortal as anyone else, and it was only natural for him to grow attracted to someone. Maybe this little spark was God showing him she was right for him. Not that he'd phrase it that way. Nibbling his lip, he said a quiet prayer that he be shown the way with this new follower of his, that he avoid from acting anything but righteous in his attempts to get to know her better. And with that, it was in God's hands, and he could relax a little.

Heat radiated from her body as he held her close, their lips pressed tightly together as he buried himself in against her thick fur, kissing her deeply. Her tongue entered his mouth, grinding on his own, stealing the taste right off of it, letting drool drip down their muzzles. One of her hands drifted down to his rump, and she squeezed, groped, and finally just hefted him up against her. She was bigger, stronger, her perfectly curvaceous form tight and rigid with strength. He was pressed against a wall now, her tongue down his throat. And he was hard, so very hard, rubbing himself against her tight middle, sucking in her sweet breath as she kissed him so deeply as if to devour him.

His hooves in the air, he was entirely at her mercy as held onto him, letting him rub against her, pinning him ever so tightly between the wall and herself. Her sweet, warm, inviting self. Yes. He had wanted this so badly. It almost hurt how aroused he was. She began to press him towards the floor, her weight soon atop him, pinning him. His hips, straddled by her gorgeous thighs. Her striped backside soon seated right atop his pulsing deerhood. He could only whimper. Where he was during the day a leader, a pillar of the community, with her, he was helpless. He was hers to take, to use as she saw fit. Her palms planted on his shoulders, she held him down flat, breaking the kiss and looming close, huffing in his face with a hot, sweet scent to her breath. Shifting, ready to take him, ready to ride him, while he could only lie there, heaving and hard, ready for her, for all she could give.

When he woke, his blankets were in disarray and he was sweating. A glance at the clock gave him a time of 3:06 am, to be exact. The dream left him with a lingering haze, one he couldn't blink away as he sat up slowly. Only to feel his hard shaft bump against his middle, still painfully engorged. Snorting at that feeling, he reached down and gripped it, pretty much automatically, pursing his lips when he felt just how immensely turned on he was by that nocturnal fantasy. He was going to have to take care of this if he was going to get back to sleep, no way around that. Just waiting a few moments had him squirming, thumping his hooves against the bed a few times.

There was nothing wrong with masturbation, even as a priest. Nate had always insisted by that. He did take care not to think about anything too sinful - never about people he knew, but rather he would make up images of partners in his head, people who never really existed and thus wouldn't be wronged by his thoughts about them. As he began slowly stroking his tapered shaft, he began to project into his mind the image of a lovely, imaginary female. Female tonight, though it wasn't always. Someone big, strong, someone who knew what was going to happen and could guide his every movement.

His strokes began to pick up in speed as he settled on an imaginary snow leopard for his current little fantasy, thinking of her soft fur, her powerful arms holding him. Pre began to drip messily over his fingers as he worked, grunting. He'd never felt himself just so -wet- before. In his mind, she was riding him now, overpowering him as her hips thumped into his. He was deep within her warm depths, feeling them pulse and quiver around him. His hand stroked up and down wildly, flinging some of that pre onto his chest. He thought about her breasts bouncing, her butt giving a satisfying jiggle as it thumped down on his thighs, her tail lifted high the air, swinging back and forth as she worked him over.

Yes, she was perfect. Almost. As he neared climax, his shaft giving powerful pulses that spat pre all about, the image of his partner shifted in his head. Spots became stripes, the rounded muzzle of a feline became the longer shape of a hyena. It was her atop him now, slamming into his hips, and when he looked up into her eyes, they reflected back with a sinister crimson glow, deep and unholy. She was dark, sinful, tempting. All the things he shouldn't have been attracted to. In his intense lust, somehow she took on such a depraved appearance, one he'd never seen her take, but it appealed to him so strangely much. Closer, closer, wetter, tighter, he was all but ready to go over...

The sound of breaking glass startled him to a tremendous jolt, and his building climax halted on the spot, simmering down as he sat panting and listening. The sound hadn't come from far away. He was a hot mess, his fur all damp with pre from chest to crotch, but his shaft was softening as he felt a brief sensation of fear enter his chest. Was someone in his home? He sat up, bit his lip, and he thought to say a prayer for protection, but he considered his current state not to be very presentable before God. Up on his hooves and back in his underwear, he headed out to investigate. While it was probably nothing, it had sounded like a big crash.

His heart was beating audibly, he realized. It thundered in his ears, pounding away. His arousal was still there in his mind, in his muscles, making them tense, but he had softened now. He probably smelled like sex, really hoping no one he knew had wandered into his home for whatever reason. Creeping down the hallway, he squinted in the darkness as his eyes adjusted, but didn't quite catch the broken glass before he stepped on it. It crunched under his hoof, and he was quite thankful he was a deer in that moment. Crouching, he found a shattered frame, a print of the Lord's Prayer having fallen from it.

And it could have been as simple as that, a good frame lost to whim of a weak nail and nothing more, but as he began to rise to return to bed, something caught his eye. The words weren't what he knew them to be. The prayer wasn't quite right near the end. And it hadn't been vandalized, it was the original words that were wrong, altered from their original form. Had they always been like that? Was it someone's idea of a prank to swap them out at some point?

It read:

Lead us into temptation

Deliver us to evil

For mine is the flesh

He'd walked by that prayer a hundred times or more, and never noticed the words weren't right. It unsettled him that it had apparently been on his wall that way all this time. Maybe he knew the words so well he hadn't even noticed they was wrong, simply assuming they must be right? That was a weak rationalization, but it was all he had for the moment. When he realized he was crouching there in the darkness, he went to click on the hall light.

A few minutes later, he still felt unsettled, somehow violated, as he quietly swept up the glass that had broke. He swept the altered prayer right along with it, intending to dispose of such blasphemy. He didn't want to think about it any more. It was late, and he really should have been sleeping, but his mind was swimming. He'd broken his rule and had begun to fantasize about a real person, and now he was left feeling scared and alone. Was God punishing him? Showing him how it felt when he turned his gaze away from his sin? Guilt welled up in Nate's chest, and he tugged at his hair nervously, pacing the hall once it was swept.

Nate's cell buzzed, back in his bedroom. Not a call, just a text. He hesitated, standing quite still there for a moment, wondering just who might possibly be needing him at this hour. Perhaps an emergency for one of his followers? A death in the family? None of those possibilities were the sort to wait on, and so he was off back to his room to check his phone. What he saw on the screen made him realize someone was probably trying to prank him.

1 New Message

Unknown

666-6666

That wasn't very funny, and poorly timed just as he was standing there worrying he had offended God. He opened the message.

Were you thinking about me? :)

He closed the message. Shaking his head, he set his phone down on his bed, then pushed it away, to the far side. He didn't look at it. His breath was coming heavy, and he didn't move for a few seconds. Then he swivelled on the spot, looking to all the windows, all the possible places a watcher might be peeking through. The blinds were all down, the door was closed. No one could have seen him. Unless they were there in the room with him.

Though the tightness in his chest and his rapid breathing were starting to feel a lot like a panic attack, he was back on his hooves. He checked the closet, under the bed, he even looked in his dresser. Frustrated, it gave him a moment's calm to think that more likely than someone outright breaking in to spy on him, that there might be a camera hidden somewhere. Someone's idea of a joke, or some kind of turnon to watch a priest sleep. He began to tear his room apart looking for anything that might be a recording device, checking every drawer, every shelf, every book. He stood atop his bed and looked in the corners of the ceiling. Pulling up a chair, he even removed the light fixture to check there. Nothing.

His phone buzzed again. He pretended not to hear it for a while, standing there in the middle of his bedroom atop a chair, light fixture in his hands, nearly naked. If someone was playing around with him, they were probably getting a good laugh right now. He knew he was acting strangely, but he had such a sensation of fear and anxiety in his chest it wasn't making for an easy time thinking rationally. Finally, he got down from the chair and went to his phone.

1 New Message

Unknown

666-6666

He opened the message.

Aren't you going to finish?

Staring at it a while, he lingered with one finger raised, hovering above the 'reply' button. He tapped it, and began to type back.

Who is this?

Send. A few seconds passed. His phone rang this time. Same number. Unknown caller. He answered.

When he pressed the phone to his ear, he was in a moment blasted by the most horrifying, piercing laughter he had ever heard. It was a shriek of unholy delight, a writhing cackle that pounded in his ear, resonated to his very core. It filled his body with a feeling of utter terror, panic spreading through his muscles to leave him scrambling on the bed, kicking the air and dropping the phone in his sudden need to get as far away from that terrible, evil sound as fast as possible. But he could still hear it, still hear it wailing from his phone where it lay on the bed, filling the room with its giggling horror.

Hands clasped over his ears, he couldn't shut it out. Every second he heard it made his mind feel like it was turning to mush, made him feel like screaming and gnashing his teeth, a rising sensation of lunacy creeping over him. He was going to lose his mind if he listened to that any longer. It needed to stop. Removing one hand from his ear, he tapped frantically at the phone's screen, trying to hang up, terminate the call before that haunting sound was forever burned into his mind.

It wouldn't work, it would not stop, would not obey his desperate tapping no matter how many times he attempted it. Eventually a tapping finger turned to a pounding fist, and he was hammering at his phone in effort to shut it up. The screen cracked, and then went dark, and still the sound came. He threw it to the floor and began to stomp on it, bits of internal workings tumbling out, smashed and destroyed. Finally, there was silence in the room once more. Nate collapsed.

He clutched at his head, curling up, groaning. It hurt to think about the sound, but he couldn't forget it. It echoed in his ringing ears, made him shake and shiver, and he felt crushing dread. Something was coming for him. He had sinned, and he was to be punished, very soon. Hell awaited.

Nate wasn't sure when exactly he had drifted off, but he woke sore and sprawled out on the floor beside his bed. He welcomed the daylight beneath his blinds, pushing away the darkness. That anxious feeling, that tingling panic in his chest had left, and he felt normal again. The hope that it had all been some terrible nightmare was dashed when he saw the corpse of his phone nearby, the pieces he'd stomped out of it still strewn about.

He had never experienced an "attack" before, but that much was clear. In his sin, he had briefly turned away from God, and the Devil had been allowed to torment him. He immediately knelt beside his bed to pray for forgiveness, that these unclean thoughts be pushed from his mind forever. He begged and he prayed until tears were streaming down his face, and finally gave his amen. Standing, he brushed at himself, wiped his eyes, and cleared his throat. That felt a lot better.

A shower and a fresh set of clothes, and he felt like himself again. The previous night had been terrifying, but now he felt stronger for it. As he put together a light, herbivorous breakfast - greens, fruit, nuts, yogurt - he noticed several messages waiting for him on his home phone. His cell was smashed to oblivion, but he had another line which he kept reserved for church matters. Anyone who wanted to arrange a meeting during the week could call that number, anytime. There were four messages, all of them new. He sipped some coffee and played the first one.

"Hi Pastor Nathanael! It's Bethany! I'm so happy to tell you that John and I are getting married! We're having the wedding in July, and would be delighted to have you preside over the ceremony! Anyway, call me back! I'm so excited!"

The robotic voice on the machine droned. Five... fifty...five. PM. Three new messages.

He smiled to himself, taking another sip. Such a cute couple, the panther and the zebra. He'd be more than happy to attend. In a moment he'd call them back, but for now he played the second message.

"Hello Pastor Nathanael, this is Victoria. I would like to talk to you about my son. I believe he may have fallen into a sinful life with his new friends and I don't know what do to he won't listen to me..."

The message went on, babbling. Nate knew precisely who her son's new friends were, and the only thing sinful about them was their love of tabletop games. He used to play them himself. As a cleric, obviously. A soft chuckle came to him. Hadn't that moral panic gone away twenty years ago? No matter, he'd call back to arrange to meet her nonetheless.

He was finishing his coffee as he played the third message. No one was speaking, but there was a rattling, grating kind of noise, like something heavy and metal being dragged down a concrete hallway. Softly at first, and then more loudly, there rose a clang, like a massive steel door being slammed shut, rapidly. Over and over. And then the message was over, leaving Nate halfway through his last sip of coffee, wondering exactly what he had just heard.

_Three... oh... six. AM. One new message. _

The anxiety in his chest began to heat up again. Not as strongly as before, but he felt wrong somehow. Felt like he had just been exposed to something evil. He deleted the message before moving on, feeling relieved by that, at least. One more to listen to. Would there be any more unsettling noises on this one? He briefly thought to just ignore it and move on, get out of the house for a while, get somewhere bright and safe. He welcomed solitude, but this morning he was feeling much more alone than usual. Finally, he just bit his lip and pressed play on the last message, clutching his empty coffee mug tightly.

For several seconds, he just heard deep, quivering breathing. He was about to press stop and delete the prank call when he heard a voice.

"Nate?"

It was Shirazi, and she sounded frightened.

"Nate, I don't know if you can hear me, but I've had such a terrible night. I... I think I really need to come see you, as soon as you can. Would that be alright? Please call me back. You already have my number. Something is-"

There was a similar metallic clang to that of the previous message, a moment's silence, and then the robotic voice of the machine droned out _six... six... teen. AM. End of messages. _

He sat back, and took a breath. She obviously needed his help. Maybe helping her would redeem his sins of the previous night. He picked up the phone and prepared to dial, but then stopped, and frowned.

You already have my number.

He didn't, as far as he knew. He checked through his wallet, just to make sure he hadn't written it down at some point. Nope, nothing there. Scrolling through the recent callers displayed the names and numbers of both Bethany and Victoria, and then simply "Unknown Name Unknown Number."

Finally, he just dialed a number which would connect him to whoever the most recent caller was. A robotic voice began to say the number for him. .

Dialing.... six... six... six... six.... six... six... six

Nate froze. He pulled the phone away from his ear and just stared at it a while. It was ringing on the other end. It kept ringing. He felt like hanging up, until he heard her voice distantly coming from the speaker.

"Hello?"

He didn't say anything.

"Hello?" Shirazi said again, sounding distressed.

He remained silent.

"Nate?"

He wasn't sure what compelled him to answer when she correctly guessed it was him, but he brought the receiver back to his mouth.

"Shirazi? Yes, it's me. You wanted to speak to me?"

Though he felt such tightness in his chest, he avoided letting it creep into his voice. As far as she could tell, he was his usual priestly self.

"I did... I do. It's very important. Are you free today?"

"I'm free all day so far. Would you like to come over?"

"Yes. Yes I would. Is right now okay? I'm nearby."

"Of course, Shirazi. The address is..."

Before he could finish, there was a click and the call was over. He'd never given her his address, but he supposed it was safe to assume she had found out from another member of the church. Now he just had to wait. He didn't get up. For five minutes he just sat and waited, feeling his heart pumping hard. He wasn't sure if he was afraid of her specifically, or something else. Three strong knocks came to his door, the doorbell ignored.

The strange anxiety he was carrying with him made it almost painful to get up, but he went to the door anyway, opening it up. There she was, the source of his confusing feelings, his guilt and his shame. She was dressed in a long white skirt that reached her ankles, along with an elegant white and gold blouse and matching scarf. A pair of heels made her even taller than usual, towering over him. Her hair was down, glimmering in the morning sun. She held her hands behind her back, standing high and proud. In that moment, she looked rather like an angel, he thought. Just needed wings.

"May I come in?" she asked, softly. She still sounded distressed.

"Of course. Right this way." He led her to the living room, taking a seat in one of his big chairs and offering her the other. The room was set up to facilitate conversation, with all the chairs facing one another surrounding an oak coffee table.

"Would you like anything to drink?" he asked.

"No thank you." She took her seat, and took a deep breath, puffing her chest out with it. He looked away.

"Alright. So what's been troubling you, Shirazi? You seem very upset."

She dipped her head, looking about, pursing her lips, thinking.

"I'm not even sure how to say this. It's going to sound... crazy. I can't trust anyone with this but you."

Looking up, she met his eyes, and he thought he saw tears in them.

"Go on. You can trust me with anything. I'm here to help, not judge."

She nodded, and took another deep breath. "Pastor Nate... I think a demon may be trying to enter my life. Enter me."

His heart sank. That was a serious statement. And said to the wrong person, it would end up labelling her a lunatic. Perhaps she had issues with mental health. Or perhaps she was right.

"What makes you say that?"

She clutched at her head. "I don't know for sure. But I can feel it inside. Someone whispering in my mind, trying to take over my thoughts. Pastor Nate, I'm very frightened. I don't know what she wants to make me do."

To say he wasn't frightened too would be a lie, but he needed to be the face of safety and calm for her in this time of trouble. He leaned forward in his chair and held out his hands.

"May I pray for you?"

She nodded, and dipped her head, pressing her hands together. He laid his palms on her shoulders.

"Father God, we pray to you to ask for protection from the darkness. Cast out this demon and let this woman return to a happy life, praising you each day. Under your watch, no demon can touch us, for you are the Lord..."

She interrupted him, pulling his hands off of her shoulders. Abruptly rising, she began to back away from him, arms wrapped around herself.

"Oh, Nate, I am so sorry. I have to go, this isn't... this isn't right. It's telling me things. It's telling me I should... hurt you. I am so sorry, so sorry..."

He held out his hands to her, but in truth he was relieved when he saw her leave the way she came. It took him a minute to rise from his seat, and he went to the window to look for her, but she was gone already. No sign of her anywhere, and he hadn't heard a vehicle drive up. She was fast.

It soon occurred to him that he had let her walk out of his home despite suffering what appeared to be some sort of breakdown. He couldn't just let her wander the streets in that state, as much as she frightened him. Could she truly be possessed, or was she just very sick? Either way, he rushed over to the landline and began to dial the unsettling number.

Six-six-six....

He waited for it to ring, but it didn't. Instead, a recording.

We're sorry, your call could not be completed as dialed. Please check the number and-

He hung up. He couldn't have possibly dialed that number wrong, so he just tried again.

We're sorry-

Click. Hmm. He couldn't just let her go out on her own like that. He thought back to the previous Sunday, to Shirazi sitting there with some of the other members, chatting away. He tried to remember who some of them were. Mary, she was one of them. He knew her number by heart, and dialed it.

"Hi." It was a small boy's voice, her son Jude.

"Hey Jude! It's Pastor Nate. Is your mom around?"

"Uh. Uh huh."

Pause.

"... Could you get her for me by any chance?"

A thud came over the speaker as the boy put the phone down heavily. Nate waited. Finally, Mary's voice.

"Mm, Nathanael?"

"Hi Mary. I'm terribly sorry to bother you like this. I was just looking to get in touch with the family of a new member of our church, and thought you might be able to help."

"Who's this about?" Mary sounded a bit frazzled, and Nate could hear the voices of three of her four children in the background.

"Her name is Shirazi. A striped hyena."

Mary hmmed. "No, I don't know who you're talking about."

"You're sure? I saw you two talking last Sunday. Forgive me if this is a bad time."

"Oh, it's alright, Pastor. You've certainly earned a phonecall by now for all you've done for me. But I'm sorry, I don't recall talking to any hyenas recently, striped or not."

"I see. Well, thank you for your time anyway, I'll let you go! God bless."

"Alright, see you Sunday."

Click.

He stopped and tried to think about who else he saw talking to her. It had only been a glance, really. But thinking on it a moment, he recalled Vincent's face there. He didn't know that number by heart, but he found it in his book soon enough.

The young horse lived alone and was usually a quiet fellow. He'd talked to Nate directly only once before, and mostly kept to the background of conversations. Still, it was worth a try. The phone rang several times before a sleepy voice answered.

"Hello?" said Vincent. He sounded like he'd been asleep, and Nate suddenly remembered it was still morning.

"Oh, Vincent? I'm so sorry if I woke you up. It's Nathanael."

"Pastor? Uh, okay, what's up?"

"Hey, I was just trying to get a hold of the family of a new member of our church, and thought you might be able to help. Do you remember a striped hyena from last week? Shirazi?"

There was a silence on the other end.

"Vincent?"

"Can't help you, bye."

Click. Vincent hung up on him, barely even finishing his own sentence first. Nate was briefly annoyed, and then just shrugged and put the phone back down. Can't blame the young guy for being upset he'd been woken up, he supposed. But that left him short of options. Was she dangerous? To herself or others? Did he need to call the police to look out for her? Such a thing could be considered a breaking of trust, making public something she had told him in private. But she had no friends, no family that he knew of, no one he could ask to keep an eye on her.

As he was trying to think of more options, his phone rang. Unknown caller, said the display. He answered right away despite the tension he felt.

"Hello, Pastor Nathanael speaking."

"Nate? Hi!" It was Shirazi's voice. She sounded a lot better.

"Shirazi? Oh, I'm very glad to hear from you, I was quite worried..."

"Don't worry! Just wanted to call to let you know I'm fine. I'm sorry if I scared you. Things have just been a little strange for me lately, you know? Thank you so much for your help today. I won't forget it. See you soon?"

She was speaking rather quickly, and he worried that this cheery, chatty side of her was just another manifestation of illness. Pretending nothing was wrong was never good. But, there wasn't a lot he could do for her anymore but pray.

"If you say so, I won't doubt you. I hope you're well, and do feel free to call me anytime you need some help. I never mind. God-"

Click.

"-bless."

Whether he believed her or not, he wasn't quite sure. She had been visibly distressed and had rushed out rather quickly, but he could only wait. If she called him again, he would answer, but for now he tried to just push it out of his mind, right along with the troubling night he'd had. There was plenty to distract himself with, and he set to work returning some phone calls and giving prayer to those who needed it.

By the time he had settled into his big, comfy chair over dinner, soothed by some calming classical music he had spinning on his old record player, he had nearly forgotten about the strange night. He sat back and slowly nibbled his greens, sighing and stretching out his hooves in the recliner, which with his diminutive form was much too big for him, nearly enveloping him when he sat in it. When he was done eating he began to flip through his Bible.

He played a game with himself sometimes, closing his eyes and opening to his random page. Whatever verse his finger ended up on, he had to try to imagine spending an entire Sunday on it. Often the results required some pretty big stretches of the imagination to make it remotely relevant, especially when he ended up in the "who begat who" section. On the third flip, he found two pages stuck together. The old book was well-worn and the pages were plenty tattered, but he didn't recall spilling anything on it. Ever so carefully, he began to pry them apart, trying not to rip them in the process.

A smell came from the pages, one that made him a little warm in the cheeks. It smelled like sex, simply put. A hot, somewhat musky scent, coming from whatever sticky something it was that stuck those pages together. It blasted his nose and made him lean away. Not for any unpleasantness to it, but for just how potent it was. As much as he tried to think of alternate reasons for it, it really was seeming like someone had done... something to his Bible, and recently too.

As he considered that sticky mess, a scream pierced the stillness of the night air, drowning out his music and leaving him jolted and tense. He held onto the arm of his chair a moment, digging his fingers in, starting to breathe heavily. That had most definitely come from inside his house.

Closing his eyes, he said a prayer for protection, and clutched his Bible to his chest, standing up. Slowly he began to creep towards the source of the sound, down his hall and towards his bedroom. He didn't hear anything else. His bedroom door was closed, and he placed his hand on the knob, turning, slowly. Behind him, he heard someone begin to sob.

"Help..."

It was a female voice, not one he recognized. It was coming from the basement, a room he rarely visited. Just a few boxes of storage down there and little else. Whimpering sobs and faint gasps begging him for help were all he heard. Whoever it was, she needed his help.

"My faith is my shield..." he murmured to himself, a few times. In all his years as a priest, in all the strange things he had witnessed, he had never felt such true horror as he did now. He clutched his Bible to his chest a little tighter, and began the trek back down the hallway to the basement door.

It took a few tugs to get it open, the hinges a bit rusty. It gave a heavy creak as it opened, surely alerting whoever was down there to his presence. No sense trying to be sneaky. He called down the stairs.

"Are you alright down there? Can you hear me? I'm coming to help, don't worry!"

He pulled the cord for the light, but it didn't work. There already seemed to be a light down there, an ominous red glow that was enough to help him find his way down. His hooves clicked on the wooden stairs. The sobbing had stopped, and all was silent but for his each tentative step. He realized his knees were buckling with fear. A docile cervine like him wasn't meant to feel this threatened. Instinct told him to run away, far away as fast as he could. Especially when he smelled blood.

Coming to the bottom of the stairs, his breath caught in his throat, and he went rigid as a statue, unable to move as he took in the sight before his eyes.

"Lord guide me..." he whispered.

Drawn in blood all along the basement floor was a large, red pentagram, a lit candle at every point of the star. He could tell it was blood by the scent. Scattered about the symbol were various tools, weapons. A long, curved dagger. A pair of hedge trimmers. A meat hook. A syringe. There was no one in sight, not in the darkest corners of the basement, just that dark symbol, an unholy ritual in progress.

Shaking, he began to run back up the stairs. Evil was present in his home, and he could pray all he liked, but he couldn't do this one alone. He needed to call the police. Rushing, he tripped up the stairs and lost his Bible, watching it tumble over the side of the steps and straight down to the basement floor. Wincing, he looked back down to that evil place down there, felt his heart thumping hard just to lay eyes on it, and finally he just tore his gaze away and continued back up the stairs.

He thanked God that his landline still worked. So this wasn't a horror movie after all. He fumbled but managed to dial the emergency number. It was ringing.

"Emergency services, how may-"

"Police, I need police. Please." He was gasping for breath, he realized, hyperventilating. A brief pause and a click as the operator transferred his call.

"What is your emergency, sir?"

"There is someone in my home. I think. I'm not sure if they're still here, but I heard something and I found... I feel I am in great danger. My address is..."

He stopped, hearing the call crackle and break up. The voice on the other end became garbled and unclear, but he could still guess what she was saying. He shouted his address into the receiver, and got static in return. He said it again for good measure, and then the call dropped, and the dial tone replaced the static. Nate dropped the phone and looked towards the open basement door, the dim candlelight just faintly visible flickering on the opposite wall.

Running, hiding, those were all options, but instead he just dropped to his knees and began to pray. He begged forgiveness for all his sins, he asked for protection and promised that he would be a better servant than he had always been, that he would give himself entirely to God. He prayed until tears ran from his eyes. It wasn't clear to him just how long he was kneeling there on the kitchen floor, his eyes shut tight, his head down, his hands together, but finally a powerful grip came to his shoulder, making him cry out.

"Pastor Nathanael?"

He swivelled his head, finding himself looking at a thickly-built smilodon. He'd seen her at the service a few times, but she wasn't a regular.

"Officer Niemi?" It was then that he realized he was surrounded by police officers. The cat there, two others sweeping the upper floors, their hands on their holstered sidearms, announcing their presence as they searched the home.

"Yeah. We're here. It's alright." She offered him her hand. "What did you find that got you so upset?"

"The basement." His voice was hoarse. He'd been shouting that prayer, though hadn't noticed until he stopped.

"Alright, let's have a look. Stay close to me."

Freya had never struck him as the religious sort, but she had always treated him with a lot of respect, and he was very glad it was her that answered his call. He rose and stood by her as she led the way towards the basement door. She tried the light, and then clicked on her flashlight. He kept close, but he didn't want to go back down there. He didn't want to see it again.

When she got far enough down the stairs to see it, she stopped sharply.

"Fuck. Sorry," she cursed, then promptly apologized.

"Is there anyone down there?"

"No one. But I don't think it's safe for you here tonight, Pastor. Whoever set this up obviously has access to your home. Do you have anywhere you could stay tonight?"

He considered. Being in her presence stopped his shaking, and his head felt much more clear. "There's the church, perhaps. I have a few cots there, not normally for myself."

"Alright, we'll escort you there, and I'll get some guys sitting in an unmarked car in the parking lot tonight, watching the doors. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, that will be fine. There's one more thing, officer."

"What?"

"I may have imagined it, I suppose. But I was pretty sure I heard someone calling for help down there. You'll... look for her, won't you?"

"Of course. We'll do a full sweep, here and around. Probably have to rope this place off a while, but we'll talk about that tomorrow. I want you somewhere safe for now, alright?"

His heart felt a little warmer with how strongly she insisted on that. He didn't know she cared about him so much.

"Alright."

She led him outside, and into the back of a patrol vehicle. He saw several people gathered to watch on the other side of the street. People leaning out of their doorways to look. And they saw the priest, being placed into a police car right outside his home. For no reason, a sudden sensation of guilt burned into him. He thought perhaps he might have been the one to draw up that horrible ritual in the basement. And that voice, begging for help, but vanishing when he showed himself. Dear God... had he hurt someone without knowing it?

The thoughts plagued him as the car pulled out and drove off, its sirens silent. He didn't say anything until they got there, stewing in his own imagined guilt, weighing the possibility that he might have done something without remembering. Eventually the two officers in front pulled into the parking lot and let him out. He thanked and blessed them, then took their offer of a two-way radio.

"Keep that close. Anything happens, just press this here and we'll come in. Got it?"

"Yessir. Thank you again."

At night, the church was like a whole different building. It creaked and complained with every step. It was an ancient thing, truly. Fixed up, patched, renovated several times, but the foundation it was built on was older than his late grandfather. There weren't many lights inside, counting on the many windows to keep the place bright for the service, and he clicked them all on as he went, bathing the silent church in a dim glow. He kept the radio on his hip, and paced about, checking on everything, unable to settle down.

He still felt the presence of something evil nearby. It was impossible to explain just what that felt like, but it was a looming sense of danger, of hostility that his body simply knew was there. He moved into the main hall, and went to his podium, opening the large Bible that sat there. Raising his voice, he began to read out loud, his voice echoing in the empty darkness. That sounded good. He liked that. If evil was present, at least he was probably annoying it.

The hour grew late and rain began to fall. The sound of it pattering atop the old ceiling was like a symphony, a whole legion of tiny drummers playing upon their little instruments. He basked in it for a while. It was past his usual bedtime, but he felt a strange abundance of energy. Moving down from his podium, he bounced on his hooves, striding up and down the aisles of pews.

"This is my domain, my holy place!" he shouted to the shadows, in his most commanding, priestly of voices. "No evil may enter here uninvited, no-"

His radio gave a burst of static. He fumbled for it, and then raised it and held down the button to talk.

"Officers? Are you there?"

Static.

"I can't hear what you're saying. Um, over."

The static stopped, and all was quiet but for the rain on the roof and windows. Then, a voice. A wretched, vile voice like a hundred different creatures screaming in unison all at once. The mere sound of it made his knees shake.

"But.... you... did...invite me. ."

And then, that laughter. That shrieking, horrible laughter that burned his ears and hurt his very soul to listen to. It poured from the radio, and no matter what button he pressed, it would not stop. Gritting his teeth, he pried open a compartment and ripped the batteries out. Still it howled with wicked cackling, the sound echoing off the walls of his church, making the air dark and thick with evil. Finally he just tossed the radio away, gasping for air.

The sound wasn't coming from just the radio anymore. It was all around him. Coming from every angle, every wall, every corner. The creature was everywhere. He was surrounded by the forces of darkness. Dropping to one knee, he clutched at his head, and he tried to think of proper prayer, but he couldn't find the words. Finally the sound began to fade, began to quiet down to a soft snicker, and in that moment it sounded less dark, less horrifying. And it was coming from across the room.

Nate stood, shakily, leaning on his podium and gazing down the pews, as he did every Sunday. He had an audience of one.

"Shirazi?"

The hyena stood, holding her arms out. She was barely dressed, a set of red and black lingerie hiding very little, clinging to her body. He could see all her curves, all her stripes. A savage grin on her face was far more toothy than he remembered, as if she had layers of fangs upon fangs. Her eyes glowed a burning red, providing a little extra light in the room. She was snickering softly as she moved into the aisle, began slowly approaching him.

Every step she took sent convulsions of terror into his body. But he would not give in.

"This is a holy place, demon. I will not have you harming my friend. Release her." He sounded surprisingly confident for how scared he was.

The demon in Shirazi stopped. She tilted her head to the side, and just continued softly laughing.

"Nate. Naaaate. Please. You haven't figured it out yet?"

He was silent.

"Nate, I'm not actually going to hurt you. It's been a lot of fun screwing with you but I'm actually starting to feel bad now."

He really didn't know what to say. He was speaking to a demon. That much was clear. They were real.

"See, my original plan was just to rape you. I thought it'd be pretty funny. But you've been so interesting. I think I actually want to be friends."

She held out her hand.

"Won't you come down from there?"

He finally found some words.

"What have you done with Shirazi?"

The demon giggled, almost girlishly. "I am her, silly. There never was anyone but me, right here. You've invited a real, live demon into your church, into your home..."

That made him fall silent again.

"You've been a total sweetheart, by the way. All that worrying about me you were doing? Adorable!"

She came right up to his podium, looking up at him behind it. She tucked her hands behind her back and just grinned, her tail slowly swishing.

"Are you going to come down from there now, darling?"

"...No."

"Well then I'm coming up there."

Nate remained frozen as she came up the three steps to stand beside him. Bigger, stronger, taller. He flinched when she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, but he didn't move. She pressed herself close to him, and wetly dragged her tongue along his cheek. It was a long, forked thing, totally black, and left his fur warm and dripping. Her fur felt so good against him as she held him.

"I know you've wanted me," she said into his ear as she licked at his face. Her breath was sweet and warm, so very enticing. "I've wanted you."

She began nibbling on his neck. Her teeth were terribly sharp, but she wasn't hurting him. It felt good.

"Right here. Right where you normally stand."

A palm to his back had him bent forward a little, braced against his podium. She groped his rump, squeezing deeply into the muscles.

"Such a pretty ass. You look like a girl from behind, you know that? A sweet, soft, fuckable doe."

It was strange, he didn't feel afraid anymore. He knew she was evil, he knew he was probably in terrible danger. But his body wanted this. He was growing hard. And fast.

"I want to make you mine. My sweet, innocent little buck. Has no idea of all the dark things that lurk around him, that watch him sleep. But I can keep you safe."

She was growing hard too. He realized this as he felt a thick sheath rubbing against his lower back, his tail, his rear. It was filling out and firming up, and soon he felt the smear of pre marking his clothing. It smelled rich and hot, and just a slight sniff made him want to turn around and suck it from her. Every drop. He didn't bother to be surprised she had a cock. Of course she did. Nor did he wonder where her clothes went. They were just gone.

Her hands dipped into his pants, and he let out a whimper as she squeezed his shaft so firmly. It made him jerk towards her grip, already making her hand wet with pre. He remember that he never had finished off the previous night, having woken up so very excited, so very in need of release. Now it was all coming back. Mopping up some of his pre with her hand, she pulled it back out and began to slurp over her fingers noisily, softly chuckling as she did so.

"I made you wet," she teased, starting to unfasten his pants.

She tossed his belt over her shoulder, she yanked them down. She even tore his underwear right from his hips, throwing the shredded garment away.

"Oh, that won't do at all. We need to get you wearing something girlier down there, darling."

He wasn't saying anything, just taking it all in. There was fear, there was excitement. He was aroused beyond all measure. Dripping, throbbing so hard it made his legs shake. His eyes were closed, as he focused on the way her naked fur felt against his. The sweet, decadent way she smelled. The sound of her voice, giggling and teasing him. So unhinged, so dangerous. And yet, he trusted her, for some reason. His instincts were screaming that he was in danger, pure mortal danger - or perhaps beyond mortal danger at this point. But he wanted her to take him, to hold him just so, and use him for all she wanted. He wanted-

She dug her fingers into his hair, and clutched at it, right atop his head, tugging possessively. Her tongue flicked against his ear as she whispered into it.

"I'm going to defile you."

Took the words right out of his mouth. He waited. His short tail raised. His cock hard. Naked there, standing before his empty church. About to be fucked in his holy place. Her dick was smooth, thick, wet. It felt lubed up, and spat pre between his cheeks as she began to sink it sweetly under his tail. Her free hand took generous gropes of his feminine butt, those smooth curves perfect for a demonic beast like her to pound against.

She felt big, too big to comfortably fit inside him, but she was spreading him out nonetheless. Slickly, loudly, soaking him in her pre, in her sweet, mind-dulling scent. He let a whimper spill from his lips, and she bit him on the side of the throat. It hurt. But it was a nice hurt.

Before he could whimper again, he felt something wet and warm pressing against his lips. It smelled nice. Like concentrated wet sex. And it tasted nice too. He thought it was her cock at first, but no, that was busy shoving into him, inch after inch buried in his doe-like hind end. He felt her hot pre gushing into her, feeling like she was already cumming in him. Whatever it was against it lips, it twisted and writhed like a snake, slimy to the touch as it rubbed against him, and then it just began sliding down his throat whether he was ready or not. He choked a moment, and then found the slick tentacle quite comfortable to suck on, still breathing fine despite how stuffed he soon was.

Then she was fucking him. He felt the hot tap of her oversized nuts against his ass, he felt her grip him all the tighter, bulging his throat with that tentacle that plunged in and out of his muzzle, pumping creamy loads of her juices down his gullet. He felt them warming his belly as she began to slam into him. Wobbling on his hooves, his weight almost entirely supported by her unnatural strength, it was hard to even tell what was going on anymore. What she was doing to him, what she even -was-, standing behind him like that, he didn't know, he didn't care.

The sensations swirling through his mind were beyond what he could even handle. The slick sounds of splattering juices, of pre pouring down his thighs, marking his fur. Of that musky slime dripping off that throat-fucking tentacle, running down his chin, all over his front. The dull thud of her hips spanking his ass, of her balls thumping into him, rubbing against his own. He could even hear his own pre hitting the floor. It was shooting out of him. He was getting it on the carpet. On his podium. Even on the Bible that rested atop it. He didn't open his eyes, but he could hear the patter of their collective juices on the pages, mimicking the raindrops tapping against the rooftop. This was blasphemy. This was wrong.

But the pleasure. It was surging through him, from the base of his tail to deep inside of him where her cock was pounding. From his balls, all the way up to the tip of his cock as he gushed, giving more pre than he usually gave cum. His chest all the way down to his hooves. Even his throat, his lips with that tentacle taking advantage of him like that. All of him, every last inch, felt pleasure beyond anything meant for a mortal. It hit him like lightning, and he felt his body simply shutting down, his mind going blank.

It the blur of musky, noisy sex, he felt a climax begin to scream out of him. It wasn't just his cock, his balls, his tight, squeezing ass. Every part of him felt like it was cumming. He felt tingles and convulsions in his fingers, in his throat, in his belly. Muffled though he was, he still had to shout, letting out a throat-wrecking cry of bliss as finally he went over the top, reaching that perfect peak, that summit of pleasure. And it didn't stop. As he began to splatter his surroundings with creamy deer cum, he stayed right at climax, right at the top. Eventually he fell back entirely against her, feeling her hold him, move him, aim him at things she wanted him to cum on. His cock spurted forth so powerfully he was worried it might explode, and he was soon hosing down all in front of him with his seemingly infinite spray. His eyes rolled back in his head, he felt himself fainting from the sheer shock of pleasure, but not before he heard the splat of cum on the pews before him. All along the floor, on the seats. She wielded him like a weapon, ensuring that every drip gushing from him was made to mark his gathering place, his church.

And through it all, she filled him. From both ends, her cock throbbing powerfully, jerking forth as demon seed began to fill his body. It shot into him deeper than he had ever felt cum, until he could outright feel it sloshing in his stomach. Joining it was more cum sprayed right out of that tentacle, shot straight down his throat, outright bulging with the load being pumped down into him. Before long he felt himself bloating, feeling heavy, his belly tight. And then he felt himself outright stretching to an obscene size, his gut rounding out like he was pregnant, leaving him with a bouncing, heavy bulge of pure demon cum sloshing around inside of him. Engorged, fattened, soaked, and utterly destroyed, only then did she stop cumming.

He was completely limp, but for his shaft. He couldn't move a single muscle. His tongue was hanging from his lips as she sharply retracted the tentacle from him, slipping it out of sight. He couldn't even properly close his eyes, seeing nothing more than a blur as they lingered half-open. For a moment he wondered if he was dead. If she had gone ahead and fucked him to death. But he could still feel her body against hers. She released his hair and just wrapped two strong arms around him, pulling him close to her chest and leaving his head pillowed between her breasts. She went to the floor with him, laying them both on their sides in a steaming puddle of sex.

A hand on his belly now, rubbing it. At first he wished she wouldn't, feeling so very bloated that the slightest touch threatened to burst him. But he felt soothed soon enough as she massaged away his discomfort. Her tongue, overly long and unnaturally flexible, patted and slurped here and there over his face. She rubbed against him and kept him close, her cock eventually pulled from inside of him with a great splash of cum pouring out along with it, releasing some of the pressure on his stuffed form. When he found his voice, he managed a faint whimper, and then just set to gasping heavily, his body trying to catch up and process all that had just happened to it.

The way she squeezed and rubbed at him felt so strangely affectionate. And he had to admit he felt that way towards her. His mind still wasn't quite recovered, but he found himself thinking of the terrible mess they'd made, of the unforgivable blasphemy he'd just committed. His voice quivered, but he eventually managed to speak between gasps.

"... Am I going to hell now?"

She cackled, though it didn't sound as frightening now. "Oh, Nate. Innocent little deer. It doesn't work that way."

Moving over top of him, got in front of him so he was left gazing at her demonic features as they cuddled up together, breathing her sweet breath.

"So you're not here to destroy me for being holy?"

"Not really. I was just curious what a place like this was like. And then I got all fixated on you, and your lovely, incorruptible soul..."

She ran a finger down his throat and chest, making him shiver.

"You know, I could take it for you. Keep it safe inside me."

He actually laughed briefly. "You'll forgive me if I doubt the good intentions of a demon who asks for my soul."

She flashed him a grin. "At least I asked! I could just take it. But I like you. You're sweet and genuine. I'd enjoy keeping you close. I feel you'd learn a lot in the process. We're not really evil, you know."

A pause, and she shifted her eyes. "I mean, we can be, sometimes, when we feel like it... but angels are dickheads sometimes too. It's all pretty complicated."

He thought for a moment. Sweet relaxation was flowing all over his body, making him feel contented and satisfied in every way. The weight of her cum inside him ensured he stayed right where he was, but it felt much less a burden now, comfortable. He was safe, pleased, and relieved of every tension he'd built up over the past few days. Or even his whole lifetime. He felt something taking control of him, a powerful force that he couldn't possibly resist, only growing stronger and stronger the more she spoke, the more she offered knowledge beyond what any mortal was supposed to know.

Curiosity.

"And what if I say yes?"

An excited giggle leapt from her throat. "Oh, take your time! I've already left my mark on you, I'll know where to find you."

He smiled to her. "You know, I never felt like I'd want to be friends with a demon before, but I think I'm going to enjoy getting to know you, Shirazi."

"Oh you will. That I promise. Now rest up, preacher man. I'll take care of the mess."

She rubbed him and cuddled him and kept him comfy and content, safely snuggled into the bosom of a cackling demon. A creature of hell and a devout priest, nakedly cuddled up together in the middle of his church. So many thing he knew, so many things he took for fact had been turned on their heads tonight, and he couldn't even really fully comprehend it. But he knew that being close to her felt good, felt soothing and safe, and he hoped he could spend a lot more time with her soon.

When he woke, she was gone, having tucked him under a blanket adorned with a pentagram. She probably thought that was funny. He was going to have to learn to roll with a demon's sense of humour if they were going to grow close. The church was clean and fresh-smelling, though he still caught a slight hint of demon in the air, making him tingle a little even in that small dose.

Sitting up, he felt different. His swollen gut had flattened out once more, and he smelled like her, enticingly so. But more than that, he felt stronger. Faster. His eyes sharper. His hair longer, silkier. His fur so smooth he couldn't stop rubbing at himself once he started. Even his rump felt thicker, juicier. And his cock was bigger, along with his balls. Everything about him that made him attractive had been pumped up a little, making him a little more feminine, a little more sexual. Just a small taste of her power, he supposed. A little bit of corruption.

He welcomed it. She wanted to keep him, he realized. She wanted to claim his immortal soul and keep him by her side for as long as eternity lasted. It was frightening to think about. But also flattering. Such a powerful, whimsical beast she was, able to orchestrate such nightmares and horror just for her own amusement, and she wanted him. Already, his mind was brimming with new knowledge, new ways of thinking, the mark she left upon him changing every part of him a little. But he was still himself, still Nate, and as he sat up and stretched, getting comfortable in his newly enhanced shape, he didn't feel like he'd start living his life any differently.

Finding some of his clothes, the ones she hadn't ripped apart anyway, he got himself dressed again and headed to his office to find a notepad and pen. He began jotting down some ideas for the next Sunday's sermon. Being confronted by one of his worst fears and ending up with a new friend had filled him with a surge of confidence, a surge of happiness that even the things he was most afraid of weren't so bad after all. He only hoped he could possibly get the new joy he had into words. Tapping his pen against the pad a few times, he thought, and then something struck him, a devious and wild sort of thought that he knew was crazy. It was probably the worst idea he could imagine, the sort of thing that could leave him without his followers, without all he had built up over all these years. But some part of him was just too curious to find out what would happen.

At the bottom he wrote:

_Guest speaker: Shirazi? _