Ch.372Episode 14 – One Religion, One Faith, Two Saints

When dry leaves are set ablaze, the fire burns uncontrollably.

Fire is dangerous. But why exactly is fire dangerous?

Fire, which illuminates darkness and provides warmth, brings comfort and gratitude by its mere existence, and sometimes bewitches attention with its deadly beauty. One becomes like a moth that throws itself into the flames, blinded by beauty despite knowing it means certain death.

Perhaps this is why, across both Eastern and Western cultures, fire simultaneously symbolizes what keeps us alive—home, life, and passion—while also representing punishment, suffering, and pain.

Though perceptions of fire may differ somewhat across cultures, there’s no dispute about fire’s great utility.

It’s just that when misused, it becomes extremely dangerous.

Episode 14 – One Religion, One Faith, Two Saints

“Haah, ughk, hnngh…!”

With the illusion of intense pain like a burn, moans of pleasure escaped Veronica’s lips.

Whenever flesh met flesh, then parted, only to meet again, unrestrained groans filled the cathedral bedroom. With the sound of furniture knocking together, a statue of an archangel—holding a spear in one hand while trampling a demon’s neck—wobbled precariously as if about to fall. Only then did the saint bite her plump lower lip, but…

“Hek, haak, ahg… ah!”

She couldn’t stop her vocal cords from opening with full force.

Too desperate to be called moans, too sorrowful to be called screams. The sound that was neither one nor the other resembled the howl of a beast.

But Veronica couldn’t help it. Even a saint couldn’t hold back the screams that threatened to burst forth. Especially not with her hands restrained like this.

With both wrists firmly gripped, Veronica knelt on the bed. As if that weren’t enough, she was bent forward with her face pressed into the mattress.

It was a sight that would make nobles from prestigious families blush and condemn as “disgraceful,” and wealthy businessmen who dabble in politics and have influence in local affairs would shake their heads and call it “unseemly.”

Yet those same critics would also squirm without dignity in their own beds—their judgments merely attempts to save face and dispel the heat flushing their cheeks.

Some might say “she’s paying the price for playing with fire,” but such third-party opinions hold no meaning.

After all, Veronica herself wasn’t saying anything at all.

Actually, it wasn’t that she “wouldn’t” speak, but rather that she “couldn’t.”

“Ngh, uh, hnnng…!”

I gripped Veronica’s hips tightly.

As flesh met flesh, sounds like crashing waves began to rise. The noise of thigh muscles and the lower part of her buttocks colliding was loud, and similar sounds emerged when her now-freed wrists left red marks on her pale skin.

“S-stop…! Wait, just pause for a mo—”

Of course, such urgent pleas occasionally escaped Veronica’s lips, but it wasn’t a major concern.

As my hands traveled up her slender waist, they caught on something heavy. An incredibly weighty, voluminous, and elastic mass of flesh. When I gripped it firmly to overflowing, Veronica’s body trembled violently.

She looked like someone having a seizure. When my fingers traced circles, and my slightly raised fingernails tickled her skin, Veronica let out vulgar moans. With her eyes rolling back and her waist arching, there wasn’t a trace of the dignity a saint should possess. But what dignity could one maintain while having one’s breasts grabbed?

After toying with Veronica’s entranced body for quite some time, I firmly gripped her hips with both hands and applied my weight.

Legs intertwined, her full buttocks pressed against my pubic bone. Her upper body shuddered once, and…

“…!”

Veronica, who had been lying face down, suddenly lifted her head.

Her trembling body. My arms tightly embracing her. The bedding, distorted and soaked with bodily fluids, clutched in both hands.

On the carefully selected bedding of the cathedral’s monks, Veronica released half-formed screams into the crumpled sheets. Her still-trembling body, captive to lingering pleasure, repeated mild climaxes.

It was her third climax since sunset.

*

After Veronica made a suggestion that ordinary people would hardly dare imagine, let alone speak aloud…

The situation failed to progress.

To put it precisely, we were beating around the bush, or less elegantly, we weren’t making headway.

Understandably so, as accepting a proposal to do it from “behind” without any mental preparation came with countless concerns.

Moreover, since the one making this suggestion was “the” Veronica, my feelings hardly needed explanation.

“No, Major. What are you saying? Anyone listening would think I’m just causing trouble.”

“You are a troublemaker.”

“That’s informal speech.”

Veronica’s lips parted slightly, and a soft sigh escaped.

“I’m still a saint… well, two saints actually, and I’m older than you, but at the very least you shouldn’t speak informally to me—EEEEK?!”

The sigh flowing from between her distinctly red lips transformed into a scream. It happened in an instant.

It was a scream so undignified it was hard to believe it came from a saint, but I didn’t mind at all. Even someone with superhuman mental fortitude would surely scream if their nipple was being teased.

There was no dramatic reaction. Her waist didn’t arch like a bow as commonly described in illegally scanned adult manga sites, nor did she display the exaggerated gestures or death-like moans of actors from countries where otaku Latin is the native language.

Veronica simply bowed her head and firmly pressed both hands against the back of my head. It was a minor incident that occurred during her reflexive struggle, but it was quite satisfying.

Taking a deep breath, a subtle fragrance wafted from somewhere. A rich aroma like boiling milk. I suddenly wondered what she ate regularly to make her skin smell this way.

“Veronica, did you put on perfume?”

“Hnng… W-what?”

“I asked if you put on perfume.”

“T-take…”

“Hm?”

As silky hair cascaded down, threatening to poke her eyes, the saint with a crimson face whispered urgently.

“Take your mouth off my nipple before you speak…!”

Veronica, who sat unable to either bend or straighten her waist while gripping the back of my head, cried out with a voice full of shame. It was truly an urgent, desperate plea.

Because her feelings resonated so vividly with me, I finally released the pink tip I had been gently biting, and rose from her thighs where I had been resting my head.

“You smell nice.”

“W-why are you smelling that! Are you some kind of pervert…?”

Look who’s talking.

The words almost escaped, but I held them back.

“Why would you say such things then…?”

A disapproving glance followed. Veronica shot me a sidelong glance as if wronged.

Then suddenly, when her gaze lingered on the arms covering her chest, she burst into anger, unaware of the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“Nothing comes out, nothing! No matter how much you suck, nothing comes out!”

I was about to joke that it seemed like something might come out with just a little more effort, but her reaction was so sharp that I had to keep my mouth shut.

“…Ah, yes.”

After Veronica’s somewhat unbelievable proposal, we engaged in passionate relations.

With her body pressed against the wall, one leg raised—a position embarrassing even to show each other.

There were times when I pulled her knees close enough to touch her swaying breasts and pressed down with my weight. Times when she was in the somewhat humiliating position of having both arms restrained, her pelvis raised to the sky, and her head buried down. Times when we moved vigorously while she was perched on a desk, until something seemed to break. And many times when we kissed as if enchanted whenever our eyes met, even in the midst of burning passion.

Of course, if asked to choose the most memorable moment, I would say “when I lay with my head on Veronica’s knee.”

But even sucking on the saint’s breasts couldn’t compare to what was about to unfold.

*

Veronica left, saying she needed some preparation. She asked me to wait just a little while.

True to her word, she promptly returned to the bedroom. In a somewhat awkward posture, suppressing unbearable shame.

I didn’t know where she had been, but what was about to happen was clear. Perhaps she was looking forward to it even more than I was.

There was no hesitation.

As soon as our eyes met, our lips joined. As if it were a promise, a prearranged signal.

Perhaps that was the problem. Being so focused on kissing, I failed to properly observe our surroundings.

Scattered clothes wrapped around ankles like seaweed on a beach could have caused a fall, and the desk that had made cracking sounds during our vigorous movements might suddenly collapse.

No one knows how seemingly minor issues might return as future problems. Who could tell if someone might come investigating the commotion if Veronica fell or if the desk collapsed?

Yes, like that door Veronica had carelessly closed when returning to the bedroom.

“……”

As I stroked Veronica’s hair while holding her in my arms, my gaze turned toward the slightly open door.

And through that tiny gap, I met a pair of blue,

eyes.

Across the thin line separating the bedroom from the hallway, I stared into blue eyes.

Eyes that reminded me of the blue sea in Israel I had once visited.

Very familiar eyes.