Page 106 of Bad for You

I force him to bend over the altar. Once again, he tries to fight, so I thrust my knife into his uninjured hand, impaling him. He is buckled, unable to bear weight on his wounded leg. But he is forced to stay upright.

Looking at the pillar candle on the altar, I have a wonderful idea.

Yanking down his trousers, I grab the candle and don’t give him a chance to beg or brace for what comes as I ram the lit end straight into his ass.

He cries raucously. Blood coats the white candle.

Leaning over his shoulder, I whisper into his ear as I force the candle deeper into his channel, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

I begin to fuck him with it, just as crudely as he did to me. I push it so deep inside him that it robs him of air. Only to retract it so I can shove it back in deeper.

“P-please,” he begs, a pathetic heap as I defile him. “Please stop.”

“What was that, Father?” I ask, placing my ear inches from his lips. “You want me to stop?”

“Yes, child. Please. You win.”

I tsk him. “There aren’t any winners, Father Merry. Only victims created by your hand.”

Pulling out the candle, I toss it on the floor.

He sighs in relief.

I step back and look at my handiwork.

He’s a bleeding mess, but it still isn’t enough. It never will be.

Peering up at the large wooden crucifix on a stand behind the altar, I wonder if perhaps God has spoken because I’m about to outdo myself.

Father Merry sags as I pull out the knife from his hand. I grab him by the back of the neck and shove him.

“Say the Lord’s Prayer,” I order just as he once did to me.

He’s defeated. He doesn’t fight as I strip him naked. The gold crucifix he wears around his neck brings back memories of when he lay on top of me, it swaying before my eyes as he buried himself deep inside me.

I yank it off, wanting to destroy it with the man who wears it.

Kicking down the crucifix, I lay it on the carpet. Father Merry has gone to his happy place, but fuck no. He doesn’t get such clemency.

I slap his cheek, awakening him to the reality of what’s to come. He continues to recite the Lord’s Prayer in hopes that some miracle might occur and he will be saved.

“We’re past saving. It’s time to pay for your sins. Confess your sins, Father. Perhaps the Lord will forgive you and accept you into His kingdom.”

“You’re nothing but a whore,” he pants, his head lolling to the side as spittle runs down his chin. “Just like your mother.”

I wish I could prolong this, but I know soon, someone will come looking for him. And besides, he has robbed enough air as it is.

I begin punching every part of him. He doesn’t stand a chance. I was born for this, raised to fight. He was always going to lose.

He drops to the floor, and I drag him toward the crucifix. He tries a last-ditch attempt to flee, but I press my boot into his stomach, pinning his back to the wood. Bending down, I yank out his arm and stab my knife into his palm, spearing him to one side of the crucifix.

He turns his neck to look at the knife, understanding how his life will end. “No.”

“Oh yes,” I correct with a smile. “You always thought yourself to be God, so it seems fitting you die with your beloved Lord close by.”

Thinking on my feet, I reach for a smaller gold crucifix off the altar and drive the pointy end into his other hand, crucifying him.

I position his feet so they can rest on the small ledge underneath the Lord’s feet and move the crucifix back to standing behind the altar.

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