Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13207194.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Fantastic_Beasts_and_Where_to_Find_Them_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Credence_Barebone/Original_Percival_Graves, Credence_Barebone/Percival
      Graves_|_Gellert_Grindelwald
  Character:
      Credence_Barebone, Original_Percival_Graves, Percival_Graves_|_Gellert
      Grindelwald, Chastity_Barebone, Modesty_Barebone, Mary_Lou_Barebone
  Additional Tags:
      Implied/Referenced_Incest, Sibling_Incest, But_This_Won’t_Be_Elaborated
      On_Any_Further_Than_The_First_Chapter, Extremely_Horny_Teenage_Credence,
      Hung_Credence, Credence_And_Graves’_Relationship_Is_A_Little_Sketchy_At
      First, But_Then_They_Realise_They_Love_Each_Other, Credence_Barebone_Gets
      a_Hug, BDSM_elements, Sub_Credence, dom_graves, Feminization, Power_Play,
      shoe_licking, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added, Alternate_Universe_-
      Southern_Gothic, kind_of, Vampire_Graves, inappropriate_use_of_wandless
      magic, Internalized_Homophobia, Mary_Lou_Barebone_is_Her_Own_Warning
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-30 Updated: 2018-02-04 Chapters: 3/? Words: 15479
****** At The Hands Of The Devil ******
by imoldgreg
Summary
     The mysterious Mr Graves is a devilishly handsome vampire, and
     Credence is going through a very messy puberty. What could go wrong
     when the two end up together?
     [slow updates but trying to speed up]
Notes
     This took way too long to write omg
     Been working on this for ages tbf so I hope y’all enjoy :))
     Kind of underage bc Credence is 16, and the only non consensual sex
     is the Chastity/Credence part, which won’t be continued further than
     the first chapter. But anything between Graves n Cre is consensual
***** Chapter 1 *****
Credence could not remember the day the plantation house had been taken over.
It came with acres of land and a large, derelict mansion, with a price so high
it kept many buyers away. The location was no godsend either. The haunting
Barebone church stood within its territory, the ground was sunbaked and arid,
and they were at least five miles out from any civilization. Overall it was a
smart business man's worst nightmare.
The church was Credence’s home, and it had been since he was a little boy. It
was wooden and small, its once bright white and blue paint now dull and
peeling, revealing the dark wood underneath, black with rot. The windows were
either boarded up or smeared with so much desert grime no light could seep
through. Instead the sun had to stream its way in through the many holes in the
roof and walls.
A flock of pigeons nested in the rafters, and large black spiders made their
silken beds all over. Credence was glad that this forlorn chapel could at least
be a good home to someone.
Faded shadowy outlines of ancient pews that had once lined the floor were long
gone, and instead a chipped, splintering table and rickety chair set replaced
them. Everything creaked under the slightest strain.
The graveyard stood out back. It held thick slabs of cracked stone, and large
grey crosses. One tall stone angel stood above the headstones, her arms crossed
over her chest in a mimic of those underground, her mouth open as if she was
frozen in a scream. Her wings had crumbled and cracked off long ago, leaving
jagged stumps protruding uncomfortably from her shoulders.
Credence didn’t know who was buried there, their carved names and dates worn
smooth by time, but now thistles and dry shrubbery thrived among the graves,
along with the huge crows and magpies.
When it was rainy season it was always coated in a thick layer of mist, and
Credence could’ve sworn seeing shadows of the dead reflecting through the
cloud.
Inside the church, Ma had her own room, and his sisters shared a bedroom next
to hers. Credence had a small room of his own down a long narrow corridor,
though 'small' might’ve been an understatement.
In recent years he had been inflicted with a growth spurt that so far hadn’t
come to an end, making his arms and legs grow sinewy and too long for his body,
his hands and feet out of proportion. He no longer fitted in the bed
comfortably, but he never let himself think that.
Such thoughts were selfish and ungrateful.
But he was so very, very grateful for the privacy his room offered. With this
dreadful tallness that had been sprung upon him came other, much more
embarrassing ailments. Hair grew thick and coarse where there had previously
been none, his back took upon more blemishes than just the welts and scars left
by his wrongdoings, and his voice, once soft and easily ignored, now had the
horrible tendency to crack and break into something Credence hardly recognised.
He had always been small, able to hide and curl up. It seemed he wasn’t allowed
to do that anymore.
Credence’s smell changed, his stomach was constantly empty and aching, suddenly
unhappy with the rationed portions of gruel and bread they ate twice a day. He
was beaten more than ever for his gluttony, for his inability to hold back
tears anymore, and for the dreadful unnatural thoughts that had taken over his
mind.
“Lust,” Ma had spat, pausing between hits upon the back of his thighs, “is the
wickedest kind of sin. But lust for those of your own sex is unforgivable,
blasphemous. You may as well let the Devil tear apart your soul which each vile
thought that passes through your cursed mind, my boy.”
Credence hadn’t been able to sit down for weeks after Ma had finished her
punishment. He still didn’t know how she found out about his perverted nature.
It might’ve been the way he looked at the men in town or out in the fields, but
Credence always thought himself as very subtle, especially when with his mother
or sisters.
Maybe she could read his mind.
It scared him. Credence had never even considered being tempted by the desires
of the flesh, especially that of the male sex, but suddenly he was waking up to
sticky sheets every morning, hot flashes of thick arms and sweat slicked torsos
racing through his mind as his ears grew as red as the sinful aching thing
between his legs. That had grown as well, and dragged his lust with it.
He must call out in his sleep, because Ma always caught him.
However it wasn’t just at night in which sin plagued his thoughts and twisted
his body. The need was always there, thrumming in the back of his mind,
suddenly diving down between his legs at any given moment. Credence fought
desperately against the urge to touch himself, but every time it felt like a
losing battle.
Sometimes it would be the men working out on the fields closer to town, their
sleeves rolled up and their shirts unbuttoned, sweat covering their brown skin
in a fine sheen, muscles clear and rippling as they pushed the heavy plough
along. The great beast of a horse that tugged the metal contraption forward
could easily kill a man with those mighty hooves, but the farm workers always
kept it easily under control with a click of the tongue or a pull of the reign.
It both frightened Credence and gave him an odd sense of electrifying thrill to
think of a man having so much control over another living creature. In another,
deeper, more sinful part of his mind, the sight stirred up his insides and sent
him to hide behind a tree or a fence, achingly hard and incredibly ashamed.
Other times it would be the much older, wealthier men who ignored him or pushed
by him when he was sent to town to distribute leaflets. Even the harshest of
contact had him straining in his worn trousers, the cuffs barely grazing his
ankles.
The hardness hurt, and it grew slick and made terrible stains in Credence’s
underwear. When Ma found them stuffed under his bed she had scrubbed his skin
so hard in the bath he thought it might peel off. No matter how many
punishments he was given, his body refused to obey.
Credence felt a stranger in his own skin, trapped by this desperate lustful
monster. It made him roll his hips against his bed, even as he cried and tried
to smother himself with his own pillow. It made him think of awful, perverse
things about other men, what they’d be able to do to him.
He tried to drill it into his head that he hated it, this constant urge for
men. He prayed and prayed, every morning and night, every time he felt the heat
build up again, however he soon had to start praying silently inside his head
while he stood, because kneeling often made the problem worse. Credence had
once accidentally witnessed a woman kneeling before a man once down the side of
a tavern, when it had been very late at night and he had failed to successfully
find his way home in time. At the time he had been repulsed. Now every time he
knelt that was all he could imagine.
Most of the time the unexpected intrusive hardness would go away after what
felt like eternity, and Credence would thank the Lord over and over for
allowing him such restraint, even as Lucifer himself whispered in his ear,
practically begging him to touch himself. There was no joy in this godly
restraint however, and if anything it always made him feel worse, though
Credence did try very hard to feel grateful.
He didn’t know what was happening to his body, but it was dark and it was
sinful and it had been spawned in the depths of hell itself. Ma was right for
beating him so much, for starving him and for scrubbing him. Credence was so
desperate for her to see he was still the obedient, disciplined little boy she
had taken in all those years ago. Back when she had almost loved him.
But now there was a secret. Something Ma didn’t know. Something only him and
his older sister Chastity knew about, like back when they were very little. But
this time Credence wasn’t filled with the raw, giddy excitement that came with
shared secrets between siblings. Nor did the bond between them thicken as their
joint silence against a mutual enemy brought them closer together as it did
when they were young. Now it made him feel sick, and unclean, and Credence
found the bitter feeling of resentment starting to build against his older
sister.
Chastity knew about Credence’s lust, and Chastity had heard him crying at
night, when he would lay awake in hours of pure hot wet need, desperately and
tearfully willing his problem to go away. Chastity started to come in when she
heard him crying.
She was about a year older than Credence, and she had hated him ever since Ma
started to. Credence was stupid for thinking she was coming to his room to
comfort him, to tell him he was alright. She hadn’t done it for years.
Instead she had said that she knew how to solve his problem, how to stop the
ache between his legs.
Credence had looked up at her from his curled fetal position under his rough
sheets, his eyes wide and rabbit-like in the dim flickering candlelight. He
remembered feeling his heart trying to break through his ribs.
She had told him to sit up against the head board of his bed, and he’d done so
without question, if a little slowly. His face burned and silent tears slid
down his face in a consistent stream.
Chastity had touched him, through the fabric of his sleepwear, and Credence's
hips had bucked involuntarily as he let out a pitiful whine.
“Shh Credence,” she had whispered, almost motherly, as she brought the
throbbing length out from his trousers.
And Credence had felt everything. He had cried as he felt her hand slide up and
down over his length, hot and red and wet. Then she had put her head down, and
did something that made his stomach twist. Her mouth was on him, and he’d cried
harder.
She’d told him to shut up, and he had.
Instead he cried in spluttering, choked sobs that made him gag, unable to
control the shaking in his hands and thighs. He tried to keep himself quiet,
but then she’d slapped him, and Credence knew he deserved it. If Ma came in
she’d kill them both.
Chastity, his own sister, had continued to suck and swallow at his cock in the
most sinful of ways, until Credence had released. For a moment, he thought he’d
died. Perhaps it would have been better if he had.
It had felt like the hardest, most intense form of white hot pleasure there
was, and it ricocheted through his whole body. His hands were gripping his
sheets so tight they almost ripped. He could hardly see, and his breathing was
laboured. He knew he was drooling. He always did when he wasn’t breathing
properly.
Despite the release, Credence had been sick. Chastity had slapped him again,
harder than before, hard enough to leave a bright red hand mark on his cheek. A
string of drool connected his lower lip to her hand.
He thought the deafening slam of his heart against his ribs might’ve woken Ma
up, but he wouldn’t have heard even if it had, the roar of blood pulsing in his
ears was so loud.
Since then it had only gotten worse.
Every few nights Chastity would come in. She didn’t touch Credence anymore, but
she’d managed to get him used to commands and actions like a well trained dog.
It was all he was really good for.
Usually she would want his face between her legs, and if he licked and suckled
in the right way, she’d praise him.
Sometimes she’d squirt on him, and pull his hair painfully tight. Then she’d
sit down on his cock, and force him down on the bed, straddling his hips, so he
couldn’t get away.
Credence never managed to stop himself crying through the whole thing, but he
managed to keep fairly quiet. The occasional sob or whine would sometimes
escape.
Sometimes Chastity let him get away with it. Sometimes she didn’t.
The pleasure no longer ebbed through the sickening feeling. It felt like Ma was
touching him. Sometimes she’d make him call her that.
Credence didn’t like Chastity anymore. Before there had been an underlying hope
that one day she would realise that she still loved him, and they would be
friends again. But now that was gone. Credence was scared of her. Scared of her
lingering touches, the rewards she gave him the morning after of her own gruel
that she claimed she could not eat, her harsh words and her slaps.
Credence started to smother himself with his pillow whenever he cried.
Sometimes he could make himself pass out into a fitful sleep from lack of clear
air, though whenever he did so the heat seemed to flare up worse than other
nights, and Credence would wake up in a mess, drooling from both his mouth and
his cock.
His length seemed to have decided to grow unnaturally large. Credence had never
properly seen another man’s cock, so he had no idea how to compare his to what
was normal, but he was sure his wasn’t the correct size. Halfway down his thigh
and almost the girth of his wrist couldn’t be the appropriate size, could it?
This opinion, however, became greatly challenged the day Credence turned
sixteen.
Rainy season seemed to have begun early, and it was unnaturally clouded over
considering it was only September. A strong wind had started up, and rain
hammered down on the church. Water poured in through every nook and cranny, and
Chastity and Modesty hurried carrying tin buckets and cast iron pans to catch
the leaks.
It was such a stark contrast from the previous days' weather, which had held
the driest, harshest heatwave in years. Suddenly they had been flung into the
middle of winter.
Ma had been furious her meeting had been moved due to the building storm, and
as a result she’d sent Credence to give flyers out door to door to the houses
out of town, while Modesty and Chastity remained at home, cleaning and
attempting to fix the leaks.
He didn’t bother protesting, though he knew his threadbare jacket would provide
no protection against the vicious onslaught. Barely a minute after he stepped
outside he was soaked to the bone, his teeth chattering in his skull as his
hands turned a painfully cold pink colour.
It was too early in the morning, barely any light shining through the cloud.
There wasn’t a single person on Credence’s slow soggy trek down the lane
besides himself, heading the opposite way from town, towards the hermits and
social outcasts who lived so far out from civilization.
He deliberately avoided visiting the plantation house towering over the church,
deciding to go to it last.
The first house Credence found was abandoned, clearly so, but he attempted
knocking anyway, grateful for the shelter of the porch. He knocked and his hand
burned with pain, and just as expected there was no answer.
It seemed due to the abundance of spiders and dormant flies nestled under the
porch with him that they were keeping shelter too.
He stuffed four soaking pamphlets into the long rusted letterbox, the sodden
paper easily tearing under the pressure. A stack of fifty papers had been
thrusted upon him by his Ma, but he knew for a fact the next two houses were
the only ones within ten miles. There would be no way he could find fifty
individual homes to hand leaflets out to.
Credence considered dumping all the papers here in a soaking lump and just
going home, but Chastity wouldn’t hesitate to punish him for returning so soon.
With his hair sticking to his face and what felt like his very skeleton shaking
with cold, he left the porch of the empty house. His old shoes felt like they
were deliberately funneling the water to surround his feet, and they gave an
unpleasant squelching sound with each step he took.
Looking up ahead at the now mud churned lane, Credence had to stop suddenly. A
large black dog with sharp pointed ears stood just where the path turned round
a corner, seemingly untouched by the rain. It met his eyes with its own
soulless black orbs, its long pointed snout lifted up as if taking his scent.
Credence froze, his breathing slightly laboured. If it wasn’t some hellish
version of a coyote, was it some form of wolf? The ribs showing through its
shiny coat indicated it was clearly hungry enough to eat him if it so desired.
Maybe there was a whole pack of them, ready to tear him limb from limb, where
no one would ever find him?
The sense of pure dread that sank in at the sight of the beast, its tight
muscles bulging beneath the thin layer of skin and sharp ears perked forwards
towards him, told him that this was no normal creature.
Credence looked around wildly for somewhere to hide, for anything to defend
himself with, suddenly feeling so much colder with pure fear, but when his eyes
returned to the dog it had vanished. There wasn’t even a print in the mud where
it had stood.
He tried to gather himself back together, but he still clutched the stack of
leaflets to his chest as some form of shield as he peered round the corner
where the creature had been, hunched over and cautious. Not a trace of it
remained, though he looked as far as he could. All he could hear was the heavy
pounding of the rain. His feet sank into the water logged mud.
Credence clenched his jaw so tight his teeth creaked. 'Come on' he told himself
internally, 'Stop imagining things like a child.’
It still took him a good ten minutes to unlock his limbs and gingerly start his
way down the road again. He felt his legs trembling uncontrollably.
The second house hardly gave him chance to drone his unbearable litany before
the door was heavily shut in his face. If Credence was prone to ill thoughts of
others he would’ve said they’d slammed it, and been very rude in their creative
way of saying “go away”.
He left about ten leaflets in one wet barely distinguishable lump on their door
mat anyway, and went to walk back down the stairs. Due to the slick sheen of
rain water on the polished wood and the coating of mud on his shoes his foot
slipped out from under him, and Credence violently fell back, falling down the
last two steps. It stole the breath from his lungs in shock.
He landed in a very painful heap at the bottom of the stairs, and he yelped out
pathetically in pain. The sound was swallowed up in the heavy rush of the rain.
The welts on his hands which had scabbed over from last night split open
excruciatingly.
Credence wasn’t sure if there were tears on his face or just rain, but he was
aware of the loud sobs ripping from his throat that refused to quieten down. He
must’ve looked like an insolent child, sat crumpled in the mud, soaking wet
from the rain and sobbing openly. Credence heard his voice break again as he
cried.
As he tried to haul himself back up using the wooden banister leading up the
stairs, his hands stung awfully, and he looked up to see at the bottom of the
neat garden path where the jet black beast of a dog had reappeared.
His foot slipped in the mud at the unexpected apparition and Credence ended up
back on the ground, face first this time. It left him winded, blood roaring in
his ears as his face heated furiously. He knew he was drooling as he shakily
returned to his feet, looking like a spangly-legged deer fawn.
This time the hell hound hadn’t vanished. Credence stared, frozen to the spot,
completely captivated by the creature’s fathomless empty gaze. He felt like a
rabbit facing the jaws of the hunt. The leaflets in his grasp were scrunched
and sodden, the ink almost all but melted off due to the rain and mud. The
newly opened cuts on his hands bled into the ruined papers.
“What.. what are you?” Credence stuttered, his throat feeling clogged and
thick, the words tumbling from his lips before he realised what he was saying.
Not surprisingly the dog didn’t answer, but Credence knew it wasn’t just some
lost mutt left out in the rain. It seemed to almost radiate darkness, the water
droplets running off its sleek fur like wax.
“Please?” he whispered softly, his voice cracking with the thickness of his
forgotten tears. His lips were red and swollen, almost bruised, and his eyes
were red, wide like a hare’s.
All he could hear was the increasingly deafening pounding of the heavy rain.
The beast’s eyes bore into his own, and it huffed a small breathy bark from
between its jowls, before turning round smoothly and padding silently down the
road a few feet. Then it stopped, turning its head back to watch Credence
carefully. It wanted him to follow. The gesture was as clear as if the dog had
stood up and shouted it in his face.
So, as if he was under some kind of spell, Credence, possibly rather stupidly,
followed.
It took an unnervingly long time, and Credence became colder and colder as the
freezing rain hammered down on him. He felt as if he’d never be dry again, and
the prospect of warmth back in the church was painfully unrealistic. It left
his mood as low and as miserable as the weather. Following this unnatural beast
might not have been the worst thing he could’ve done, considering his options.
Eventually Credence realised he’d been lead back home, but instead of to the
church he found himself just outside the porch of the plantation house. The dog
had once again dissolved into absence.
The manor house was immense, more-so up close. It towered over his small run
down church, its gapingly jagged porch and huge old fashioned windows leering
over like a face contorted with fury.
The splintered white washed wooden boards that made up the walls were bright as
if freshly painted, though the general sense of 'long derelict abandonment'
hung over it like a heavy cloud. The rain water that ran down into the grass
and pooled in the mud was a milky white.
The windows were all boarded up, worse than Credence’s home, and the barren
land had become increasingly over grown with dry shrubbery.
The whole thing looked as though it had been seriously scorched by some
dreadful fire that the thin white paint was trying to cover up, though Credence
had no recollection of this event ever taking place.
Suddenly the door was pulled open, and Credence cowered where he stood at the
bottom of the steps out of pure habit. He expected squatters or some crazy
homeless person to chase him away, but he was faced with a beautifully dressed
gentleman, his stature strong and thick as the mighty cart horses in the
fields.
“Are you lost boy?” came a terribly alpha tone, slick with pure masculinity and
devilish charm, and Credence feared his body would betray him at something as
simple as a damn voice.
The gentleman looked so out of place compared to the ruin of the plantation
house, with his rich elegant clothes, dangerously handsome features and sharply
cut hair, neat down to the very last detail. Even his shoes shined so clear
Credence was sure he could see his face in them if he tried. Credence tried
very hard not to imagine himself kneeling before the man.
Dumbly, like a naughty child been caught, Credence shook his head, his fat
lower lip caught by his teeth. He must’ve looked like a beggar; soaking wet,
threadbare clothes clinging to his malnourished form. He shook so bad it almost
looked comical.
His face felt boiling despite the numbing cold, and he knew he was flushed
terribly.
“What’s that in your hand?” the man raised a thick eyebrow, and nodded at the
sodden clump of ruined leaflets clutched in Credence’s boney hands, now almost
blue.
Credence didn’t even consider droning out the Second Salem speech regarding
their cause and 'fight for humanity's moral survival' , but automatically his
arm awkwardly thrust itself out, gripping the majority of two soggy papers.
They were stained a faint inky grey and a dirty looking red. Credence’s hands
still hurt dreadfully from the fall.
The fine gentleman glanced over the papers carelessly, frowning with deep
golden eyes as he looked over Credence with a mix of vague interest and almost-
concern. Credence’s hand remained locked outstretched, and he bit his lip so
hard it bruised.
The rain hit down painfully hard, now combined with sharp hailstones which
created a deafening thudding sound upon every hard surface, and Credence was
sure his shoulders were bleeding.
“I supposed I should let you in. Come, boy, out the storm.”
The man ushered him inside, which was surprisingly lavish and beautifully
furnished compared to the outside. For once in his life Credence felt a rush of
pure cosy warmth as he stepped inside, the door closing heavily behind him.
He peered round the decadent mansion as well as he could with his feet planted
firmly upon on the entrance mat, determined not to move in case he ruined
anything. He wasn’t exactly clean, and this building, despite the outward
façade it gave, was by far the fanciest, most opulent place he’d ever been
allowed inside. And this kind, handsome stranger had taken… pity on him?
Allowed him to enter his luxurious home without question? Surely Credence had
died out in the storm and this was heaven.
“Well don’t just stand there boy, you’re soaked, and dripping all over. Get
undressed, leave your clothes in a pile by the door. You need a bath you
wretched thing,” the gentleman frowned at him in such a way that Credence felt
he was being searched from the inside out. Analysed as if he were a sheet of
numbers.
Obediently, clumsy due to his stiff frozen limbs, he undressed. He peeled away
the ruined clothes, inwardly fretting of the punishment he would most certainly
receive from Ma. He didn’t have any other garments besides an extra shirt.
As he continued to shakily strip himself of cloth, he noticed how rubbery his
skin felt, with it being ice cold and wet.
Credence wondered if he really was dead, and the skin he was feeling was that
of a corpse.
Once he was naked, he saw just how pink and raw his skin actually looked. The
welts covering his body, even the long healed scars, were now an angry red, and
he kept sniffling. The dark curly hair around his cock and trailing up his
stomach to a small patch on his chest was a brilliant contrast to his white
flesh, and Credence noticed for the first time he also had hair growing upon
his legs and arms.
Under the man’s intense and scrutinizing gaze Credence felt his face and neck
burn a dark red. His hands moved jerkily to cover his crotch by default, and he
became highly aware of how unattractive his spindly, underdeveloped frame
actually was, especially in front of the well-built Adonis of a man.
Credence found himself unable to meet his eye, but his naked cock jumped when
thick rough fingers firmly took hold of his chin, lifting his head up to meet
his gaze.
“Good boy, I don’t like those prone to argue,” he began, and Credence’s chest
swelled with pride at the offhand praise, his length starting to harden and
thicken at such approval. A shy smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “Go
upstairs, second door on your right, there should be a hot bath ready for you.
Come down when you’re finished, I’ll be in the drawing room.”
The man held an almost arrogant smirk on his sculpted face as he forced
Credence to return eye contact, and without intending to a soft needy whimper
escaped from his own throat, barely audible, though he was sure the gentleman
had caught it. His flush grew impossibly redder, spreading itself down to his
chest. Credence grasped at his cock desperately, a soft throb starting to pulse
through it.
He’d never felt so humiliated by his own actions before. He prayed the man
wouldn’t notice.
“Y-Yes sir,” he whispered, his eyes growing watery and red as he began to hunch
back in on himself. The idea of the floor opening up and swallowing him whole
seemed like a perfect escape right about now.
“Please, it's Mr Graves, boy, I insist,” the man, Mr Graves, grinned handsomely
before letting go of Credence’s chin, and letting him scurry upstairs.
He’d barely made it to the top of the steps before he was called again back
into the easy clutch of the man's fluidly accented voice.
“Oh and Credence?” Mr Graves stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching his
naked form with the same expression of lazily playful interest a lion may have
to a mouse.
There was something dark in his eyes, something base and animalistic, though
Credence couldn’t identify it.
“Um..Yes Mr Graves?” he squeaked, impossibly timid.
“Do enjoy your bath,” Mr Graves' smirk was anything but innocent as he remained
at the bottom of the stairs, gaze too intense to be considered friendly.
Credence nodded hastily and hurried to the directed room, the unwillingness to
be cold any longer finally taking charge of his engrained politeness, finding
indeed a hot steaming claw footed bath, with a thick haze of steam, smelling of
exotic herbs and rich flowers . All this for him? A stranger in a rich man's
house?
Credence should’ve been scared, terrified even, by Mr Graves’ dark gaze, his
dangerously charming smile. But everything here felt so good, so warm and safe.
He’d never felt safe before. And Mr Graves was so very handsome. And he’d
willingly let Credence into his home, without question, offered him somewhere
warm and allowed him to clean himself.
Surely those were the actions of a saint?
If indeed the childhood tales of the devil guising himself as a beautiful
stranger and luring wicked souls away with gifts and kindness were actually
true, and Mr Graves was Lucifer himself, this seemed a lot nicer than the life
of Puritan ‘goodness’ Credence had been living so far.
As he sank into the perfectly heated water, scented so beautifully, he felt
every muscle uncoil for the first time in sixteen years. It came up to his
neck, and his scars and welts eased painlessly in the warm water.
Credence squirted different coloured soaps into his hands from the many bottles
lined up over the side of the bathtub, each beautifully scented. He rubbed
different smelling bars, each more fragrant than the last, into his palms as
they became a soft foamy lather. Rose petals and tiny purple and blue flowers
floated in the water around him, something Credence hadn’t even taken note of
before he stepped in. A real smile of pure, childlike curiosity and delight
spread over his face. The water seemed to glitter and sparkle, swirling under
his touch. If it wasn’t such a sinful thing to say, Credence would’ve described
it as magical.
He became so relaxed, a feeling that was so foreign to him along with being
able to wash himself completely without Ma's harsh scrubbing brush and ice cold
water, that he didn’t even realise something that should’ve made his gut churn.
He had never told Mr Graves his name.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Credence finds himself in an oddly arousing situation
Chapter Notes
     Finally managed to finish this chapter omg
     Hope you enjoy:))
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“So Credence,” the intimidating gentleman lazing back in his chair idly
addressed the quaking figure at the other end of the table. “How did you find
the bath?”
Credence swallowed, his throat clicking audibly. “P-perfect sir,” he stuttered
his reply, sounding small and terribly quiet.
He hadn’t been lying. The bath had been truly amazing. Credence had stayed in
there for over an hour, and the water remained at a constant perfect
temperature. He had never felt so clean as when he emerged from the tub, his
skin heated and shining wet, smelling of the intoxicating essences that had
been swirling over the bath's surface.
He’d then wrapped a fluffy white towel around himself like a cape, and his eyes
had fallen closed as he unthinkingly nuzzled into the fabric’s softness. It
smelt something akin to childhood, that gentle, homely smell that should’ve
been nostalgic.
It had been impossible to produce coherent thought whilst enrapt within the
bath’s fragrant steam that seemed to cling to him, and once he’d left the
bathroom clothed only in a robe that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, the
same fog refused to leave his mind.
Credence didn’t even remember descending the stairs, or when Mr Graves had sat
himself and Credence down at either ends of a large ornate dinner table. He
felt like a deer caught looking down the barrel of a gun, but the worst part
was he wasn’t sure if he minded.
“Perfect,” Mr Graves curled his tongue around the word, his golden eyes burning
into Credence’s own dull ones, an unnerving smirk handsomely twisting his
mouth.
Credence shuddered under the piercing weight of the gaze, the small action
enough to allow the robe to slip off his shoulder. He barely felt it, the
fabric was so light and the house was so warm.
“Are you hungry Credence?” the older man cocked a brow at his bare shoulder,
his stare searing Credence’s skin until he self consciously dragged a hand over
it, realised it was bare, and quickly pulled the robe back up. He fastened it
tighter around himself and ducked his head. He was sweating.
Mr Graves grinned as though he’d just won the county fair. Credence nodded
minutely.
The man crossed his legs and rested his chin regally upon his fingers and his
elbow upon the chair arm. It may as well have been a throne. He lazily made
some vague gesture with his hand, and Credence heard the clattering of pots and
cooking utensils from somewhere nearby, though he had yet to see a single
member of staff that served the man.
Credence wasn’t sure what he supposed to be feeling, but he’d never felt so
small, almost humiliated. There he was, clothed only in a silk robe that wasn’t
even his own, sat in the richest house he’d ever set foot in, being provided
luxury after luxury by a dangerously handsome man, and yet he couldn’t help but
feel stupid, and ugly. Not only did he fail to comprehend why the man was doing
this for him, due to his still numb brain, but he had nothing to offer in
return. Money clearly wasn’t an option. But what else was there to show his
gratification?
He was a gangly, uncomfortably tall boy with big hands and big feet and legs
like a new born foal. His lips were chapped due to the cold weather and his
skin was white and pasty, not to mention his back was a complete mess. His
nails were too long, he hated his face and the worried, dumb struck expression
it seemed stuck with, and his hair was dark and curled all the wrong ways in
its hideous bowl cut. He hunched so far he might have been an old man, and he
never met eye contact, no matter how brief. Credence could hardly talk without
his throat clenching and his heart trying to break through his ribs.
And then there was Mr Graves.
The man oozed confidence, ease dripping off his every precise, calculated
action. His eyes were big and watery, shining a deep golden brown. More than
one heart had been broken by them, Credence was sure. His jaw was sharp and
clean cut, his brows intense but fitting his face perfectly, and his whole
frame seemed perfectly in proportion. His hands were big, with thick fingers,
but they were not awkward or unnatural looking. Everything fitted perfectly
like he was pieced together by the very angels.
Not to mention his house was just as regal, even if it did look a state from
the outside.
The man must’ve confused Credence with some deathly ill traveler, willing to
give him his last meal before he dropped face down into his plate. If that was
the case, Mr Graves must’ve been a very godly man, risking his own health for
that of a sad, unfortunate boy to enjoy his final hours on earth. Credence
would say it was saintly.
He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to like feeling this confusing, degrading way.
At that moment, he couldn’t really decide on anything, even his basic emotions.
Credence was broken out of his thoughts when silver platters of gorgeous
steaming food that Credence could never have even begun to imagine in his
wildest dreams actually floated over and placed themselves neatly on the table
in front of him. It was a veritable banquet fit for royalty, but Credence
couldn’t stop his mouth dropping open and his whole body seize into fits of
engrained tremors.
After years of harsh teachings and pushed upon obsession, his body reacted
before his mind caught up. It was an automatic response he had no control over.
This was magic. Those plates levitating to the table was pure witchcraft, and
Credence had seen it with his own eyes. For years even he himself had only been
half fearing his Ma's brutal fixation upon witches, as there had been no proof
such sorcery existed. But now Credence had seen for himself. Was he about to be
sacrificed for some satanic ritual, and this was all some kind of preparation
for it?
“Witches live among us. Join the Second Salem fight against this devilish
sorcery. America needs a Second Salem,” Mr Graves' sharp voice cut through
Credence’s terror, and he watched with dreaded fascination as one of his
leaflets, now bone dry, unstained and in one piece, was read off by the man,
and as he read, the words seemed to peel away from the paper and hover in mid
air above the table, glowing bright like flames.
“This is very macabre isn’t it?” Mr Graves smirked, the leaflet burning itself
to ash in his grip and the words disintegrating with a lazy flick of his hand.
“Surely Credence, you don’t believe this tripe your mother preaches?”
Credence stayed stock still where he sat, shaking like a leaf clinging to a
branch. He stared, lips parted slightly, terrified at the man, and he actually
began to feel hot tears running down his cheeks as Mr Graves approached him. He
circled round the back of Credence’s chair, his hands sliding over his
shoulders and gripping tight, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his
neck.
“Please d-don’t hurt me,” Credence barely whispered, his throat thick with
fearful tears, closing his eyes tight as Mr Graves came and stood by his side,
moving so fast Credence jumped when he saw him so close, his surprisingly cold
breath at his ear. Credence was sure he was going to be devoured by the man.
Ma was right, he should’ve listened. He was sinful and wicked and ungrateful,
he’d let himself be tempted by his unnatural lust into the clutches of magic,
and now he was going to die because of it. He should’ve listened to her,
should’ve been so much more grateful for the punishments she bestowed upon him.
She had wanted to save him, and he had repaid her with nothing but his useless
miserable existence, burdening her, when she could’ve been out warning people
about this very real threat.
“Credence, if I’d wanted to hurt you I could’ve done it a long time ago,” Mr
Graves whispered, terrifyingly close and deep and seductive, and Credence tried
very hard to find his words anything but comforting. He desperately hoped his
body wouldn’t respond to the lustful tone in the man's voice. “You see my boy,
I’ve been watching you, for longer than I care to admit. At first it was base,
of course. Something to do you know? An interest, a fancy, as I had with many
when I first took residence here. But you, Credence, you’re different.”
Credence found himself staring up into the man’s powerful gaze when he felt two
rough hands cup his face and raise his head. Mr Graves was stood so close, his
hands felt so cold but he smelt so raw and so powerful. He could’ve snapped
Credence’s neck if he wanted to. Credence sucked in a breath, trembling, but no
longer solely through fear.
“I want to offer you something Credence. A once in a lifetime opportunity, a
gift,” the man's face broke into an almost sincere grin as his large thumb
brushed over Credence’s cheekbone. He felt himself lean into the touch and a
shudder run up his spine unintentionally.
Credence couldn’t muster any thoughts or movements other than keeping his eyes
upon the man. He knew he was drooling, and his mouth wasn’t closed properly,
and his eyes were fuzzy with tears. His face must’ve been bright red because he
could feel his skin burning under Mr Graves’ cold hands. The slick tone of the
man, almost gentle, and the sudden soft touch was too much. It was more
painless contact than Credence had received in years, and he completely melted
under the older man’s gaze. It was incredibly overwhelming, but he didn’t want
it to ever stop.
He could feel heat running down his spine, his cock beginning to fill. Credence
could do nothing, completely captivated under the man's touch. His ears were
burning red and he worried his lip between his teeth.
“Look at you. You’re a mess Credence, you’re broken, you don’t know how
powerful you could be. How powerful I could make you. I could make you whole
again, take you away from everything that hurts you, give you the life you
deserve. Do you want this gift Credence?” Mr Graves smiled again, and
Credence’s hands gripped the arm of the chair tight as he found himself pushing
more into the contact like a starved dog.
“Please,” was all he could squeak out, trembling in the man's hands, silent
overwhelmed tears spilling down his cheeks, his lips shining in the warm candle
light.
His words, even if they were nothing but lies, sounded so .. Credence couldn’t
describe it, but he realised now it was all he wanted. If this man could offer
such freedom, such release, Credence would nod along to anything he had to say.
Mr Graves grinned, and his eyes were dark, predatory. He brought Credence
close, so close it might’ve been a hug if his hand had not been latched firmly
onto the back of Credence’s neck. The boy sank into the feeling of being
enclosed by pure masculine brawn and muscle. The food was still steaming hot
and smelling beautiful. Credence’s belly groaned aloud, making him hide his
face into the man's shoulder, his ears a bright red. The hand on his neck
squeezed and Credence’s cock twitched.
“I’ll give you it Credence, I promise, but you have to do something for me ok?”
Mr Graves whispered, and Credence practically melted when he felt the man smile
against his cheek in response to his tiny nod.
“I need you to follow every word I say, understand? I need you to prove to me
you’ll do this, I need you to submit. That’s all, I promise,” he pulled back
and Credence whimpered pitifully, the man sliding his fingers over Credence’s
cheeks, wiping away the overwhelmed tears. “Tell your mother I’m.. mentoring
you. Tell her I’m a business man looking for an apprentice, and you peaked my
interest.”
Credence stared at the man. He didn’t know what to think. His mind was sluggish
and could only comprehend the cold rough hands cradling his face and the deep
brown eyes boring into his skull.
“Can you do that for me Credence?”
“M-Mr Graves I-“
“A yes or no answer boy.”
Dumbly, and in a decision Credence would probably come to regret later, he
nodded.
“Perfect,” Mr Graves grinned handsomely, eagerly, and moved away to sit back
down at the head of the table. He gestured with his hand to the still steaming
food. “Eat, you need it.”
Credence flushed at the comment and ducked his head, the overwhelming force of
the contact lifting off him like a ton of bricks. His cock lay heavily against
his thigh, refusing to soften any further than halfway. He prayed the man
didn’t notice.
Slowly, gingerly, he picked up the knife and fork on the table, and began to
eat. He tried his very hardest to be polite, to remember the manners he’d been
taught.
Hopefully without succumbing to the sin of pride, Credence had always thought
himself a well mannered boy, but under Mr Graves' intense stare he felt as
though everything he was doing was wrong.
The man himself wasn’t eating. In fact there wasn’t any food near him, besides
a glass of something dark and red. Credence thought it could be red wine, and
he remembered having some in church.
“You don’t eat much in company of others, do you Credence?” Mr Graves smirked
as he spoke, watching Credence with a scrutinizing eye as he raised the wine
glass to his lips. Credence froze. He wasn’t sure if the man was being cruel or
simply observational.
When the boy slowly shook his head and his jaw locked at the embarrassing
comment, the older man clicked his tongue softly, as if he was trying to
comfort a dog. Credence felt himself blinking rapidly, and he quietly out his
cutlery down, suddenly unable to continue his meal.
“Come here,” Mr Graves commanded, leaning his chin on his hand and raising an
eyebrow. The dominant smirk wouldn’t leave his face. If anything it grew
larger, and should’ve made Credence feel uneasy, but instead it made his
stomach twist in an embarrassingly familiar way.
“Bring your food.”
He stood, his joints locking only for a moment as he made his way over to Mr
Graves, holding the plate. He took uncertain steps, his legs shaking. Credence
hoped the man wasn’t angry at him for not eating properly.
Mr Graves calmly took the plate, everything in his movements controlled and
purposeful, but decidedly not angry, and he briefly glanced down at the space
next to his fine shoes expectantly. At first Credence just stared, unsure of
what he wanted, but as the realisation dawned upon him his face flooded red all
over again. He minutely shook his head, tears threatening to fall again. He
couldn’t sit on the floor, eat his food off his lap like an animal. Despite
Credence being poor and from little money, he’d never had to sit on the ground,
eating at somebody’s feet. He wondered if it was punishment for not having the
proper dinner etiquette that Mr Graves expected, but the man's face appeared
more firmly comforting than eager to discipline.
“I-I’m sorry sir,” he whispered, barely audible, but Mr Graves snapped his
fingers loudly in the direction of the ground, making him jump.
“Sit.”
Credence sat. He didn’t know what else to do. The polished wood boards of the
floor hurt his knees, and his hands were shaking badly. He wasn’t sure if he
was crying or not, but he couldn’t look up at the man above him. He’d never
felt so small, though he knew physically he was anything but.
Mr Graves gripped the back of his neck and squeezed gently, and Credence found
his breathing stuttering at the gesture of control, but his shoulders
surprisingly dropped their tension, and lowered. His lips were bright red and
swollen from being bitten so much, his eyes were watery and pleading, and he
knew his ears were red. Still, he shyly let the man's strong hand guide his
head up until he was gazing up at him, his back forcibly straightened as he was
lead. Credence made a soft, inhuman sound at the action.
The tip of Mr Graves’ shoe, perfectly shined and expensive, just touched
Credence’s knee. He kept his hands folded in his lap. His breathing was shaky
and uneven, tears in his eyes, though not threatening to fall.
He watched anxiously as the man speared some food onto the fork Credence had
been using, and to his horror brought it down to his lips. He couldn’t be hand
fed by the man. He couldn’t.
Credence didn’t understand. He wasn’t used to this kind of punishment, if
that’s even what it was. It was incredibly humiliating, but the man's face was
calm and controlled, showing no hint that this was to punish Credence. The
worst part was Credence's body responded to the confusing situation, his cock
achingly hard, making a tent in the fabric of the robe. Mr Graves didn’t say
anything, just held his gaze intensely.
Credence shyly took the food from the fork, seeing no other way out, chewing
uncomfortably under the man's stare. Despite his embarrassment he couldn’t deny
the food was heavenly. Credence couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any
food other than the anaemic homemade bread or gruel Ma and Chastity made.
Mr Graves continued to feed him from his spot at his feet, and when he’d
finished he flicked his hand, and the plates and dishes and cutlery vanished
suddenly.
Credence watched with wide eyes, but didn’t say anything. So far it didn’t seem
as though Mr Graves was going to use his magic to hurt him, and Credence was
struggling to picture the kind of satanic magical destruction that Ma had
always described. If anything magic seemed convenient.
“Here boy,” Mr Graves muttered under his breath, and took hold of Credence’s
chin gently. He brought the boy’s face closer, wiping the corners of his mouth
gently with a napkin that seemed to be controlled by an invisible hand before
it crumpled up in the air and vanished as well.
“Thank you sir,” Credence spoke, quietly and slightly shaken, but finally
louder than a whisper.
“You should be getting back soon Credence, your sisters will be wondering where
you are,” the older man spoke as he ran a hand through Credence’s hair, guiding
the boy to rest his chin on his thigh. The boy sighed pleasurably through his
nose. “But I want to show you something first, to make sure you’ll come back.”
“I-I’ll come back sir,” Credence glanced up at him a he spoke, a lazy feeling
of arousal coursing through him as he was petted. His length was throbbing, the
softness of the silk wet with precum, feeling deliciously smooth as it slid off
over his cock, exposing it to the warm air. He hummed in response, but pulled
away slightly when the man reached for his own trousers. He undid his belt.
Credence flinched at the noise of the buckle.
Mr Graves slid his hand to the back of Credence’s neck again, squeezing firmly,
and Credence set his jaw. It fell open again when he saw the man's bare cock,
slowly growing to hardness as he lazily rubbed his large hand along the shaft.
From this small distance Credence could see every thick vein, the slight
redness of the tip, the hint of dark wiry hair hidden beneath the fabric of his
trousers which had not been removed.
Credence’s mind went numb. He’d never been faced with something like this
before, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, what was expected of him. He
looked up uncertainly at Mr Graves, starting to feel the heat of his arousal,
the smell of it, with his face so close.
“Mr Graves..I-I don’t ..” he stuttered, holding onto the older man's leg for
support, staring at the massive length in front of him. Credence didn’t
understand how it could be so big. His own was dwarfed in comparison, though
throbbing eagerly at the sight.
Mr Graves put a finger to his lips, and then, still stroking himself with one
hand, he used the other to do some kind of gesture in the air. At first nothing
happened, and Credence wondered if there was some magic going on around him
that he couldn’t see, but then he felt it.
It felt like a hand, but almost unbearably tight, and dripping wet, hotter than
anything he’d felt before. It slid up and down his own dick fast and
unrelenting, and Credence gasped brokenly and clutched at Mr Graves’ leg,
digging his nails in. The man stopped doing the gesture and slid his hand back
into Credence’s hair, but the feeling didn’t stop. He pressed Credence’s head
closer to his prick.
“I want you to do something for me Credence, understand?” the older man watched
the boy intently, his eyes dark and voice a little rougher.
The feeling on his cock was overwhelming. Credence could do nothing but
desperately try not to let the needy sounds building up in his throat spill out
as his hips rocked forward of their own accord. He clutched the man's leg so
tight he was sure there would be bruises. When the man gripped his throat he
keened, a humiliatingly high pitched sound, and nodded unthinkingly. Credence
had never felt so.. good.
Mr Graves kept rubbing himself, right next to Credence’s face, but made no move
to bring him any closer or have him touch it. He tried very hard not to feel
disappointed.
“Come back tomorrow, at the same time, around dinner time. But I want you to
wear something for me, underneath your clothes,” Mr Graves kept his grip on the
boy's throat, just enough pressure to make breathing a little more difficult.
He forced him to meet eye contact again.
This time Credence couldn’t answer. His eyes were glazed and his chin was slick
with drool. He moaned in a restricted sort of way, mouth open but the sounds
cut off and breathy. Even when he was so far gone he had his body under strict
oppression. Mr Graves thought of how delicious it would be to unravel that
harsh self control.
“Credence,” he said, a little firmer, squeezing the boy's throat tight as he
vanished the unbearable pleasure from the boy's flushed cock. Credence whined
an inhumanly high sound, gasping whorishly.
He nodded desperately in response, grinding his hips uncontrollably up against
Mr Graves’ calf, the silken robe laying open so his bare thighs were revealed
and his impressive looking prick rubbed against the fabric of the man's fine
suit leg.
“A-anything Mr Graves,” Credence begged quietly, his voice breaking sweetly as
he spoke.
“Take something of your older sister’s, some kind of slip, something pretty. I
know she has something like that. Wear it under your normal clothes, then when
it’s time, come back here.”
Before Credence could object or even process what he’d just been asked to do,
the man flicked his hand and the intense tightness on his cock was back, only
this time Credence found the head of Mr Graves' prick against his lips.
He should’ve been scared, or horrified at the man’s actions towards him, but
Credence wasn’t in his right mind. Sat at Mr Graves’ feet, being pleasured by
some incomprehensible magical force with a hand round his throat, he’d entered
a very sinful part of his subconscious.
Without thinking about the wickedness of his actions or thoughts, Credence took
the man's cock into his mouth.
Copying what Chastity did to him, he lapped at the head like a dog, suckling,
then he moved his head down only a little way, and sucked hard. He suddenly
realised how eager he was to make the man feel good.
At the time he hadn’t really been expecting much of a response from the man, he
hadn’t exactly had lots of practice sucking dick, but Mr Graves groaned and
pushed his hips up a little, sliding his hand into Credence’s hair and gripping
tight. He felt pressure on the back of his head where the man was pushing his
head down further, and Credence choked around the thick length in his mouth.
His eyes watered and he couldn’t breath, but the intense wet heat on his prick
didn’t relent, so he pressed his tongue against the thick veins on the
underside of the man's cock and let him guide his head.
Mr Graves used him expertly, clearly a man of experience, the head of his prick
going to the back of Credence’s throat and beyond repeatedly. Credence gagged
and cried around the girth of the man, but he did his best to breath through
his nose and keep sucking hard. When he moaned around the man, Mr Graves made
deep, guttural sounds in response, and it spurred him on eagerly.
It didn’t take long for Credence to release, and he must’ve done something
right because only seconds later Mr Graves followed, clearly not expecting it
so soon and letting out a vulnerable moan of pleasure. He knew pride was a sin,
but at that moment Credence couldn’t help feeling extremely pleased with
himself.
The boy pulled off his length, unsure what to do with the thick salty substance
in his mouth. It dribbled down his shining chin, and Mr Graves held Credence’s
jaw until he opened his mouth. The older man seemed pleased at how Credence
cupped his spend on his tongue, and to show this he spat into Credence’s mouth.
“Swallow,” he commanded.
Credence swallowed.
“Good boy.”
Credence ducked his head at the praise, rubbing his throat where the man's hand
had been. His cheeks flushed again as he felt himself smile at the offhand
compliment, and he wiped his chin with the sleeve of the robe, tucking himself
away decently again. Mr Graves caressed his hair gently, putting his own dick
away and looking not at all like a man who had just been down Credence’s
throat.
“Now my boy, you made a mess of my shoe, and I can’t have that,” the older man
addressed him easily, his voice relaxed and an almost fond smile on his face as
he watched him, scratching behind his ear gently.
Credence reached for the napkin settled on the table, but Mr Graves took hold
of his wrist and removed the cloth from his grip, shaking his head but
retaining the smile. Credence looked down shyly at the spend on the older man's
shoe. He didn’t need to be told what to do.
This time he didn’t feel the embarrassment. He leant down, crouching close to
Mr Graves’ shoe, and he slid his tongue over the leather. It was harder than
Credence expected it to be, and incredibly smooth. He kept licking until it was
clean, and shiny with spit. He sat back up on his knees, shuffling now he was
coming back to his senses. His legs felt stiff and numb from the hard wood
floor.
“Stand up Credence, your clothes are dry and clean by the door. Go get changed
and I’ll see you out.”
It was a sudden end to their activities, but Credence obeyed, though his knees
cracked when he stood and he whimpered in pain due to the numbed stiffness that
had settled in his legs. The balls of his bare feet prickled with pins and
needles.
He walked over to where Mr Graves had instructed, and slid out of the robe,
dressing quickly. The sense of everything being real hadn’t yet quite hit him.
It seemed to be a permanent air about the house, with every window boarded up
and only soft flickering candlelight light from magnificent chandeliers to
offer any sort of illumination.
“Now don’t forget what I asked of you,” Mr Graves straightened Credence’s
jacket out when he’d finished dressing, and opened the front door without
touching it.
Credence nodded blankly, blinking when he opened the door. The storm had
settled down to a blustery drizzle, the clouds above dark and overcast. A faint
glow of golden sun attempted to glimmer through the grey sky. Trees had been
blown down during the sudden storm and now lay corpse like over the path.
Credence shivered as a particularly cold gust of wind aimed itself right
through the door. It went through his previously warmed bones as if they were
cotton.
When he stepped through the threshold the door shut behind him, and Credence
stood, staring out at the mud churned path. The field opposite was water
logged, vast brown coloured lakes appearing upon the previously ploughed earth.
His mouth tasted salty and his lips felt swollen. His cheeks were tacky from
tears. He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t just dreamt it all, standing in the light
rain without any real physical proof. Looking back at the manor house, it
looked positively abandoned. Credence wondered if he tried to open the door he
would find nothing but a tattered shell of a long since emptied building. From
the outside there was no indication of the fine gentleman within.
He felt cold, and strange, and he figured he must’ve been gone longer than he
should have, so he started walking back in the direction of the church. He
didn’t look back at the house.
His brain could once again think clearly, no longer overwhelmed or possibly
charmed, but he realised he actually didn’t know what he should be thinking.
Surely disgusted, horrified with the actions that had taken place, but instead
everything seemed terribly casual. It didn’t even feel real, things like that
didn’t happen to people like him.
Maybe he really had died, just for a few hours, and then came back. If Mr
Graves had resurrected him then that made him akin to God. The man was realer
than anything the priests had drilled into his head over the years, and clearly
held more power.
It might’ve been blasphemous to think such things, and he knew he should not
make idols, but if Mr Graves was divine, was more than an idol, was some kind
of.. incarnation, Credence had just found something worth worshipping.
Chapter End Notes
     Kudos and comments always appreciated :D
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     This took way too long, but hey we got there in the end :)
It was the middle of the night. Crickets buzzed and chirped noisily outside,
though the heat of the previous week had vanished. Ma had even agreed to light
a fire the night had grown so bleak. A lone coyote howled miserably outside.
The storm had passed, but a cutting breeze fed through the gaps in the church,
chilling its inhabitants to the bone. Credence’s thin sheets and scratchy
nightshirt did nothing to ease the shudders that wracked his whole body.
His teeth chattered loudly, the sound absorbed into the pitch blackness. The
fire had long since been put out, and the children weren’t to be trusted with
candles in their room.
Credence wasn’t sure what time it was, he’d never been taught specific numbers,
only general terms such as midnight, noon and morning. He assumed it was long
after midnight had passed however, and the night had entered a much darker,
much more sinister time. He’d never seen so much nothingness, never realised
how suffocating it was, how oppressive.
Nothing could penetrate the pure blackness, even the silvery slits of moonlight
leaking through the cracks in the walls and ceiling seemed to dim as they
entered the church.
He thought of Mr Graves. How mysterious the man was, living in such a strangely
decadent house with such fine clothes. Credence didn’t know how long the man
had actually lived in the ranch house – he’d never seen anyone coming or going
from it.
Credence’s memory of the day’s events were hazy and dream like, but he could
recall Mr Graves’ instruction to put on one of Chastity’s slips under his
clothes and return for dinner. His face burned just at the thought of doing
such a wicked thing. Ma would kill him if she caught him.
Had it even been real? Credence thought about what he’d done, how disgusting
he’d been. His icy fingers came up to press at his throat gingerly. It was a
little rough, and his voice had been hoarse when he arrived back. He swallowed.
He hoped very much that he’d hallucinated the whole ordeal. Maybe then he would
receive forgiveness.
Still, despite the ambiguity regarding the day’s events, Credence couldn’t deny
a direct order. The words burned themselves into his ears, his eyes. It was all
he could think about. But did Chastity even have a slip of Mr Graves’
description? If he was referring to a night gown then they certainly weren’t
pretty, merely practical, homemade by Ma. And if Mr Graves had been referring
to her underwear…
Credence's face burned, even with no one there to hear his thoughts. Surely her
underwear would be in a similar condition to his, most certainly not
attractive, more uncomfortable than not, and full of holes and bad stitching.
He sighed heavily into the night, his breath forming a moonlight induced silver
cloud against the black. There was no way he could retrieve this mystery slip
tonight. The house was so old and creaky everyone would hear him if he so much
as breathed out of the threshold of his bedroom.
Credence shuddered in the cold and tugged his sheet around him tighter. He
couldn’t feel his feet, and it hurt to breath through his nose. Wickedly,
Credence found himself longing to back in the solid warmth of Mr Graves’ manor.
He wondered what would happen when he turned up wearing the slip under his
clothes.
Something terrible crossed Credence’s mind at that, a deep, very purposefully
hidden desire that made his unruly cock start to swell against his leg. Would
Mr Graves treat him like a girl? As much as that should make Credence feel
repulsed and angry at the question of his masculinity, it made his hips roll
without guidance against the bed. His breathing grew shaky as his prick grew to
full hardness, sinful fantasies racing through his head.
Usually he would be able to get ahold of himself, push down the fantasies and
be able to replace them with something horrible, enough to eventually calm him
down. But tonight seemed to be the opposite of the usual sort.
Instead, Credence’s imagination stretched into awful scenarios; dressing in
delicate, soft silks with effeminate patterns dancing over them, his ungainly
too-big limbs suddenly smaller, lighter, makeup finding its way onto his own
distasteful visage to artfully sculpt him into something.. pretty. How Credence
ached to be called pretty, to feel pretty. He wished his hair could be as long
as his younger sister Modesty’s, that men on the street would look at him the
same way they looked at Chastity.
Credence should’ve felt sick at his own twisted mind, but it only made his cock
harder, aching against the sheets, his hips attempting to roll despite his
silent pleas for them not to. His eyes leaked messy tears onto his pillow, and
his lips were wet. He twisted his hands into the sheets, breathing in shaky
shallow huffs.
The moon suddenly seemed to figure out how to penetrate the darkness, and
strong slits of silver emptied themselves into Credence’s tiny bedroom, half
illuminating it with a strange silver light. That was when things began to
change in a way that should’ve made Credence quake with fear. Instead however,
it made him quake in a very different way.
Credence wasn’t sure how to describe what was actually happening. At first he
thought all his tossing and turning had gotten him tangled up in the sheets,
there seemed to be so much of them all of a sudden, the material no longer
scratchy but soft, the cold starting to no longer bother him as his skin
heated.
Then, as if they were a separate entity in their own right, the sheets began to
twist around his wrists, tight enough to prevent any movement but not enough to
cut into his skin. They pulled them above his head so his elbows were resting
on his pillow.
Credence breathed heavily, already laying on his front, but pulling his hips up
until his back curved and his behind stuck up in the air as the now living
sheets physically dragged him up. The freezing air hit his skin but Credence
felt as though he might burn up, starting to sweat.
He couldn’t understand what was happening. Maybe it was a dream. Whatever it
was he didn’t fight.
The sheets wound themselves over his legs, parting them, and tugged up his
sleep shirt until his chest was exposed. They acted almost like hands, suddenly
given an infinite amount of material to work with. Credence let out a shaky
whimper as his nipples rubbed against the sheet below, oversensitive due to his
throbbing prick.
Once Credence had been fully restrained by this unnatural sheet-creature,
everything stopped for a few seconds. His breathing grew loud in the silence,
every limb coiled tight and trembling. For a single heart-stopping moment
Credence feared he might be left like this until Ma or his sister’s uncovered
him.
When he felt his hole fill with a sudden warm, slick liquid he yelped. Tears
fell hot and heavy down his cheeks, feeling the strange thing leaking down his
thighs and over his balls, dripping down his shaft, making it jump eagerly.
Credence whimpered pitifully, like an animal caught in a trap.
When he felt something blunt and all too real nudging at his hole he jerked
suddenly, craning his neck behind him to try and see what was going on. Surely
someone couldn’t have sneaked into his room without anyone knowing?
There was no one, but the feeling didn’t stop and it breached his entrance
easily with the copious amount of slick dripping from him. Credence pushed his
face into the pillow to muffle the small pathetic noises that kept spilling
from his mouth.
It burned a little, but Credence suspected whatever satanic forces were at play
made sure to ease the stretch. The thing filled him completely, and it didn’t
stop.
Credence’s eyes grew wide and the air was pushed from his lungs as his back
arched further to accommodate the immense length entering him in one slick
push. When it finally stopped Credence felt impaled.
His heart fluttered in his chest and his cock was rock hard, flushed deep and
physically throbbing. He couldn’t stop his ragged breathing. Credence’s whole
body trembled.
Then the invisible length began to move, and Credence thought he’d touched
heaven.
It dragged slowly at first, Credence’s tight hole gripping onto every inch,
then it pushed back in with an embarrassing wet noise that made the boy flush.
It kept up the painfully slow pace, and Credence realised how badly he wanted
it to move faster, impale him harder. His breathing was loud and shaky, mixed
with desperate, high moans. Ma was going to hear him, but Credence didn’t care.
His pillow was wet with tears and drool, he knew he couldn’t be an attractive
sight. Especially not splayed out like this, so embarrassingly exposed and
venerable.
Credence pulled at the bindings on his wrists and legs, but they held tight.
When he rocked forwards as the length pushed so deep inside him it made no
difference, he couldn’t escape the intensity of the feeling.
Then it began it gain in speed, his hole making desperate wet sounds that
filled the room, slick dripping down his legs making his skin feel hot where it
touched. Credence moaned almost girlishly, his voice breaking from high to low
at each thrust.
The length brushed something inside of him at each push, making him jolt and
moan, growing more and more sensitive each time. It moved so fast and so hard,
thrusting without mercy, pushing so deep Credence could hardly breathe.
His legs shook and his bed creaked. Credence couldn’t even register where he
was, his whole body was on fire with sensation, the massive thing inside of him
pounding relentlessly. The noises he made were not such a boy should make and
far too loud, and the needy way he pushed back onto the feeling, desperate for
more despite being completely filled, was unforgivable.
Credence could feel something building, the same feeling as when Mr Graves had
touched him using his magic, but this was much more intense. Credence’s moans
and whines and cries grew louder, higher in pitch. His eyes rolled back into
his skull and he pushed his chest and face into the bed further, curving his
spine as far as he could to push back.
When he released his mind when blank. It felt white hot, and his ears rang. His
whole body went tense as he spilled far too much seed all over the sheets
below. He panted like a dog, little uncontrollable whimpers escaping at each
drag of air.
The length inside of him slowly pulled out, Credence’s hips dropping to the bed
as it did so. The sheet bindings that had held so tightly suddenly gave and
seemed to shrink back to their original size and texture.
Credence stayed in a crumpled heap on the bed, laying in the mess he had made,
breathing heavy, his body trembling. His release was warm and thick under his
skin. His hole still leaked copious amounts of slick.
He’d never slept so deeply and so comfortably as he had that night. It was a
dreamless sleep, one so refreshing he might’ve woken up in a different life
after. Unfortunately he remained in the one he had lived for sixteen years.
Ma had been furious that he had overslept, usually able to rely on his body
clock to wake him up as the sun first began to rise. Any sense of relaxed
euphoria brought on by last night was swiftly ripped away as the belt came down
heavy upon his back, still tacky from laying in his release all night. Luckily
Ma didn’t notice the stain on the sheets.
In further punishment while Ma and his sisters left for town to preach,
Credence was given the task of cleaning the church, a job which usually would
be shared between the three adoptive siblings in the form of their daily
chores.
Credence silently thanked God for his mother’s decision, as a freezing drizzle
of rain had just started up, the sky a blinding white with thick clouds
obscuring the sun. It felt strange to pray after what had occurred last night,
but already Credence was unsure if it had even happened. It had been very
unrealistic, moving sheets and invisible lengths, how could he even consider it
was anything but a dream?
As he cleaned his back burned. The welts had made it extremely painful to get
dressed after Ma's punishment, and now his shirt was sticking to the blood and
pulling at the sensitive skin with each movement.
His sisters had been made to watch, but unlike Modesty Chastity had not cried.
Credence knew very well how ill she thought of him, how she agreed that he did
indeed deserve his punishments, and probably much worse. As much as Credence
didn’t want to believe her he knew she was right.
By the time Credence had finished the grueling job he was sweating, his clothes
sticking to him uncomfortably and pulling at the wounds decorating his back. He
wasn’t strong, and even in his recent hideous growth spurt he had been
unsuccessful in gaining much muscle mass like the men in the fields, despite
his chores being far more physical than his sisters'. Credence tended the
church's feeble crops, trying his best to have them survive despite the land
being completely inhospitable to any form of vegetation they attempted to grow.
He chopped wood, he cleaned, had to repair the decrepit church when even Ma
agreed that they couldn’t carry on residing here in the condition that it was
in. Of course there were more, but Credence knew he shouldn’t be ungrateful for
the work his Ma gave him, and decided to shut up.
He shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, rubbing away the sweat on his
forehead with the back of his wrist. His shirt collar and small tie were too
tight around his neck, but he refrained from removing them.
The few rooms that were in the confines of the church were clean; floors swept,
surfaces wiped clean and corners dusted. Credence knew he shouldn’t feel such
pride in his work, but he couldn’t stop the satisfaction creeping over him as
he surveyed each room.
When he caught sight of himself in the old mirror above the fireplace he
winced. Blood stained the back of his shirt in thick smeared stripes where the
belt wounds were, no doubt agitated by the movement. Credence looked down at
his hands, realising the few day old scabs of previous punishments had split
again, and his hands were sticky from the red fluid they had oozed. While he
was focused cleaning Credence hadn’t even registered the pain from either.
Credence turned and picked up the bucket of dirty water he had been using to
scrub the floors with, placing it on the table in the main hall of the church.
The water was cold and the homemade soap was greasy and smelt foul, but he
cleaned his hands regardless.
He then took the bucket to the porch, throwing the water out onto the leafless
bushes beside it before leaving the bucket by the door and drying his hands on
his trousers, careful not to agitate the cuts again. When he looked up a large
black dog had appeared on the steps of the porch, dangerously close, its
pointed snout barely a few inches away from Credence’s face.
The boy staggered back with shock, his hand flying to the door handle to pull
it close to him, barring the gap between the frame and the door which lead into
the church.
The dog watched him with shining dark eyes, its oily black fur untouched by the
rain. Credence had never seen it so close, and the sense of dread that seemed
to be a permanent aura surrounding the beast laid heavy over Credence’s gut. He
felt like he might throw up.
The dog fixed him with its unnatural stare for far too long, before slinking
past Credence’s legs like a shadow, and silently walking into the house.
Credence trembled, closing the door and watching the huge black form survey the
church, sniffing at furniture and the floor, raising its nose to the air.
It was completely blasphemous to have such an ungodly creature in a church,
Credence knew it in his gut. The dog was not from this world, he was more than
sure.
It looked at him, its long slender neck craning to watch Credence again, before
huffing a heavy sound through its jowls that sounded like something heavy
dropping onto sand. Once it seemed satisfied that it had Credence’s attention,
the dog then padded upstairs, completely silent.
Credence followed slowly, suddenly chilled and wishing for his jacket. He
absentmindedly unrolled his sleeves, his breathing shaky. He was sure the dog
was going to kill him.
The door to his mother’s room was closed and firmly locked, as always, and his
own remained shut. The door to his sisters’ room stood ajar however and
Credence peeked inside timidly, his heart pounding against his chest and blood
roaring in his ears.
The dog was stood on its hind legs, alarmingly taller than Credence when it did
so, its front paws braced on the battered chest of drawers containing his
sisters’ clothes, the top drawer somehow opened. The beast's snout dug into the
girls' undergarments, seemingly searching for something, and Credence watched
horrified. He shook where he stood, his eyes wide. With such a mess being
created in the drawer they were sure to notice and blame him, and his vision
became slightly blurry with frightened tears as he thought of how terrible his
punishment from his mother would be for being such a disgusting pervert.
There came the soft crinkling of tissue paper, and the dog slowly removed its
large head from the drawer. A small parcel of delicate white tissue paper
wrapped in a light pink ribbon lay hanging from its huge mouth, but it seemed
to be holding it with the utmost care as it returned to all fours and laid its
prize on Chastity’s bed. The dog's beady eyes found Credence’s hunched figure
again, burning holes into his skin as it stood motionless.
Credence stared at the parcel. The Barebones were not a wealthy family, and
they certainly didn’t buy from shops that wrapped things in fancy tissue paper
and pretty ribbons. Where had this come from?
He moved over to the bed gingerly, removing the delicate silk garment from the
crisp wrapping. A small note fell out onto the bed, but Credence couldn’t read,
relying only on memorising hymns and passages from the Bible from Ma's
teachings.
The slip was… beautiful. It was lighter than anything Credence had felt, and
softer too, feeling like water as he ran his hand over it. The pale white silk
caught the light beautifully, each fold of elegant material shimmering like
precious stones. The subtle white embroidery enhanced the curves that it would
undoubtedly cling to when worn, and Credence felt his cheeks heat up a little
at the low cut of the top, and how high the skirt was. Credence doubted it
would fully cover the rear.
“What are you doing?” Chastity’s stern voice resonated through him like a wave.
Credence jumped at the sudden interruption, gripping the slip tightly to his
chest as though he could hide it. He hunched further in on himself, trembling
again. He didn’t turn around to face the door. The dog had vanished.
“Credence? What have you got?” his older sister moved to the still open drawer
containing her underwear, the anger clear in her voice, but it also shook
slightly, an octave too high.
When Credence didn’t answer she took hold of his elbow in a painful grip and
turned him around, glaring at him, her face faltering when she saw what he had
in his shaking hands. She slapped him, hard.
“How dare you go in my private drawer, have you gone mad? You’re such a pervert
Credence,” she hissed, taking hold of his wrists and trying to pry them away
from the slip.
Credence’s eyes were wet, a few silent tears falling. His cheek was red with a
clear hand mark burning into his pale skin. For the first time in far too long
he met Chastity’s furious gaze, keeping a tight hold on the garment.
“Where’d you get this?” he mumbled quietly, his voice soft and high, unable to
break at such a quiet tone.
Chastity stopped tugging at his wrists, looking round to make sure no one was
at the door. Credence saw her hands shaking too. Her face was a mask of fear
and struggling calm.
“Credence it doesn’t matter, just give it to me. It’s not even mine!” she
whispered, squeezing his bicep in a tight hold and holding her other hand out
expectantly, her mouth a thin line.
For once the threat of telling their mother remained unsaid. They would both be
punished if Chastity told Ma that Credence went in her underwear drawer, as
Credence could show her the slip and the note he could not read.
“Where’d you get this?” Credence repeated, yanking his arm away abruptly when
her grip felt like it was bruising, surprising his sister with such a sudden
movement.
“A man gave it to me, a few weeks ago when we were in town delivering leaflets,
when we stayed out too late til it was dark. He said I was pretty, and he
wanted to see me again, so he bought me this to wear for when he did, but,” she
paused, clearly ashamed of how swept up she had been with a man's flattering
attention, watching Credence carefully as she spoke. “I haven’t seen him
since.”
Credence had a strange suspicion he knew who the man was.
“What did he look like?”
Chastity shot him a mistrustful glare, her brows knitting together as she began
to neaten up her underwear drawer again.
“Why do you care?”
Credence frowned back and shrugged, folding the slip but ignoring Chastity’s
outstretched hand when she attempted to reach for it to put it back.
“Credence,” she gave him a warning, setting her jaw in frustration.
“You haven’t seen him since, so you won’t be needing it,” he walked to the
door, opening it and checking the hall was clear. Seeing that it was he started
towards his room.
“What are you doing with it?” Chastity watched him, hiding the tissue paper and
ribbon back in her drawer, closing it with an irritated jolt.
Credence ignored her, shutting the door of his own room and crouching down onto
the floor, reaching his arm under the bed. He found the loose floorboard and
pulled it off, reaching inside the small cubby hole where he kept a dusty
wooden box, pulling it out onto his lap.
The box contained forbidden items that otherwise would’ve been destroyed by his
mother long ago; the neatly folded note that had been left with him as a week
old baby on Mary Lou's doorstep back when she owned a successful church-and-
orphanage in the city, the strange tarnished coins of some unknown currency a
man had dropped into Credence’s collection jar after one of his Ma's sermons,
and the collection of buttons and feathers a boy had once given him in return
for an extra helping of soup and bread, for which he’d received a terrible
punishment.
Credence folded the slip up as small as it would go, tucking it away in the box
before replacing the lid and slotting it back under the floorboards, sliding
the loose board back into place. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to put it on
and escape to Mr Graves' manor house, with Ma having no obvious plan for him to
leave the church today.
Upon exiting his room and going downstairs to help with the preparation of
lunch, Ma scolded him for taking his jacket off and looking improperly dressed.
Credence slipped it back on as quickly as he could without agitating his back.
Chastity was chopping an aneamic-looking cabbage angrily, not bothering to
acknowledge Credence’s presence.
“After lunch I expect you all to undress quickly so I can bathe you without
hassle. Although it’s not Sunday yet the vicar wants to have us for dinner, so
I need you all to look your best. He’s thinking of letting us take over the
church in town permanently,he can no longer afford to run it himself,” Ma
announced, petting Modesty’s hair as she set the table with Credence.
Lunch passed wordlessly, the watery cabbage soup and rock hard bread made for
an unsatisfactory meal, but no one complained. Then Credence was sent outside
to bring in the tin tub that they used for a bath, positioning it by the fire,
which Chastity lit. They filled the bath using water from the tank that
collected rain water, and a chunk of the fatty soap was sliced and dropped into
the tub.
Modesty was first, the water clearly freezing as her skin broke out in
goosebumps, her lips turning blue as she trembled. Ma scrubbed at the young
girl with the soap and the harsh scrubbing brush, pushing her head under
momentarily to wet her hair before letting her out, wrapping her in a thin
cloth to dry her.
Modesty shivered uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as she dried herself
thoroughly and crept upstairs to her room to find her church clothes. Although
they usually only wore them on Sunday when it was worship service in town, Ma
had specifically ordered for them to look their best.
Chastity's wash was gentler, being Ma's clear favourite. Credence stood
uncomfortably to the side, his posture awkward as he tried to cover his large
prick and the vast amounts of dark hair that grew not only around it, but down
his legs and arms, even starting to appear on his chest.
His sister on the other hand had completely smooth skin, not even having the
blemishes on her back that Credence did. Being fair haired even the hair over
her sex was light and undoubtedly feminine, nowhere near as offensive to the
eyes as Credence’s stark black curls against his sickly pale skin.
Chastity left the achingly cold confines of the bath and dried herself on the
cloth, looking Credence up and down with a scrutinizing gaze which made him
flush and look down, trying to cover himself more. He wished he wasn’t so tall.
As his older sister made her way upstairs Ma gripped Credence’s wrist and
pulled him over to the bath, making him stumble ungainly into the tub. The bath
was too small for his tall stature, so he ended up with his knees tucked
uncomfortably under his chin. The water was beyond freezing, his skin irritated
by the soap and flushing in a cold uncomfortable rash over his wrists and
thighs.
His mother ignored it, scrubbing painfully hard down onto his skin, taking no
care over his back which made him sob. He choked when Ma gripped the back of
his neck and pushed him under the water, the freezing temperature enveloping
him, invading his nose and mouth, his lungs closing up. For a time Credence
thought Ma was going to drown him.
When she resurfaced him he spluttered and coughed, water streaming from his
nose. His hair clung to his face and he shook all over, his skin prickly with
goosebumps, his teeth chattering. The water was a muddy red colour because of
his back.
“Get out,” Ma commanded sternly, holding the cloth in her hand for him to take.
Credence stood obediently, stepping over the edge of the bath and taking hold
of the towel. His skin was bright red due to the harshness of the scrubbing
brush. Credence wondered if Ma had tried to scrub the wickedness from him.
He froze when she grabbed his cock in a painfully tight grasp. Credence stared
at her, his eyes huge and shocked, trembling from cold.
His mother surveyed his body with a face of disgust, looking at the length in
her hand with distaste. Her touch was harsh and unforgiving, making Credence
wince and let out a little sob.
“How unsightly. You should be ashamed of yourself,” Ma shook her head at his
teenage body, letting go of his prick and wiping her hand on the cloth,
disappointment clear in her face.
“I’m sorry Ma,” Credence whispered, taking the cloth and hurriedly drying
himself, not daring to look at his mother’s face as he quickly disappeared
upstairs to his bedroom.
He got dressed in his Sunday best as swiftly as he could, desperate not to see
his offensive body any longer. His back was going to stain his shirt and ruin
it. Credence knew he’d receive punishment because of it.
When they all congregated downstairs ready to leave Ma could tell he’d been
crying, and told him to wipe that sullen expression off his face – they were
going to dinner, he should be grateful.
As they made their way down the porch and onto the road, Ma's umbrella only
sheltering her and Chastity so Credence and Modesty trailed wetly behind,
freezing fingers entwined, Credence looked back at the church.
The large black dog stood on the porch, padding down the steps and watching the
family leave, its nose in the air, scenting. When it seemed to figure out that
they were leaving and shouldn’t return until late that night, it swiftly turned
around in the opposite direction to Credence, and silently walked away. It
disappeared as if it had walked into a patch of thick fog.
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