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jamiebedoinamossy · 2 months

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There's been a vacancy

Televangelist!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, dead dove, tv preacher Leon, gross neet reader, hypno, religious themes, dark content, watching porn, masturbation, dumbification, corruption kink, dubcon, p in v, oral (m), creampie, anal mention, dead dove, cults, mind control

at 4am after another restless night you sit down in front of your grandma's old tv. Only one channel seems to work.

D̷̛̦̘̥̥̓̈́͘ỏ̵̢̨͍͒͝n̴̯̈́̌̔'̶̨̟̟̦͝t̸̹̩͚̗̐͝ ̶̢̲̼͋͆y̷̥͇̭̲͆o̶̝̼̭͆ů̴͍͝͝ ̷͔̹͌w̵̥̏̔̽a̷̡̋̓ǹ̵͕͈͠t̴̥̣͌ ̸̡̨͙̣̔ó̵͕͈ẗ̷̡̫͓͎ ̶̖̰̂́̋̿ḃ̴͔͙̑̉e̶̟̠̬̘̒̎̏ ̴̛̦̳͓̩̈́̏̄â̵͎̞̣̄̒̅ ̴̗͗̀̎c̷̞͕͔͋̏̈́͗ų̷̧̩̑l̶̗͉̥̎̓t̵̤̥͗̆̾ ̸͇̥̞̯̈́̈́̒l̶̢̺̱̔͜e̸̱̣̞̣̊a̵͍̿̇d̵̪̏e̷̗̪̐͝͠r̴̛͍̯͉͂̿͜͠?̴̨͈͎̩͂̓̓ ̴̹͖̓̒͠Ş̵͔̍̇̾i̵̢͂̇n̵̈́͜c̵̳̻͑̅ë̷̖̖́ ̴̝͇̄t̷̹̀͛͋̈́h̷̢̰̳́͜ẹ̶̘̾͌̚ ̴̩̗̦̈́̿͛̎d̴͉͋̏ȩ̷̰̦̓̊ạ̷̧̄̓̏͋t̷̞̜́̓̔ẖ̵͉̌͑̀́ ̶̻̩̑ͅỏ̴̹̥͙f̷̫̽ ̸͔̥͎͚̿͐͌̔Ģ̶͚̈́̑̌o̴͕̯̟͗͂̕d̸̠͇̈͒ ̸̮͕̮̖͗̈̿t̶̘͎͛͂͐̕ḩ̴̹͔̜͒̚͘e̸̥̪̎̑ṙ̷̯̤̐͝e̷͚̫̯͓͋'̵̞̈́s̸̤̮̍͐̑͊ ̵̡̡̼̻͐͛͋ḃ̴̺̫̹̈́̍ḛ̵͔̫̔ȩ̶̲̈͗̎͠ͅņ̷̎̽̈́̓ ̵̣̳͔̀͌a̵͍̅ ̶̀͆ͅv̵͎̫̘̌͗͌a̴̞̰̐͋͗͝c̶̭͝a̵͓̕n̷̥͎͆̽c̴̞̞͎̊̚͘y̴̘͊̉̃ ̶͉̰͌̔̂͝ô̵̙̏ͅp̷̧̣̀̽ĕ̴̱͉̋͠n̷̤̮̘̑.̴͕̈́͌ ̴̧̗̎͂̓̕Y̶̞̠̓̂̕͠o̸̝̽̆̒̒u̷̱̮͉͊̌ ̴̼͙̀̕c̷͉̝̬͐a̸͍͂̍̓͒ṉ̷̈́͝ ̴̓ͅf̶̞̖́̃̐̽í̵̮̺̯̞́͐l̴̙̆͌͘l̴̼̤͝ ̷̰̻̿̾͌t̷̠̃̎h̶͉̺̜͝ā̸̗͓͈t̸̡̆ ̶̥͐̀̾v̷̗̀̒̄͗ò̴̬i̶̙͓̣̯̓d̵̫͒̏.̴̠͠͝

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You rolled out of bed in the early morning after another restless night. Your grandmother's quilt is dark with your old sweat. You don't remember dreaming, but whatever it was turned the covers into an oven. You hissed at the cold kitchen tile beneath your feet. Rooting around the sparse fridge, it wasn't completely empty, you had a few things. Milk about to go bad, boxed wine and mildewy cold cuts. You reached for the milk.

A little bright eyed child on the back of the carton stared up at you as you poured the milk over your cereal. You didn't even seem to realize the sour smell that permeated the air. Still half dead, head throbbing from lack of real REM. It didn't help that your chest felt sore like someone had been sitting on it all night. Pain radiating from your sternum from sleeping on it wrong had you rubbing at it absentmindedly over your thin big tshirt.

Your grandmother's house was all you had left of her. No other family or friends to be heard of. No one reached out after the funeral. It was a quiet, stuffy little home. Powdery stuff poofed into the air when you dropped onto the couch. So after tweaking its little wire rabbit ears on top, you usually sat smack dab right in front of the old TV. No one was around anymore to tell you not to sit too close. Not anymore. Definitely not grandma.

The television set hummed to life, soft as a dust bunny was the noise that came from it. So familiar and kind of comforting. The kind of sound that you could have your eyes closed and still know the tv was on.

Spoonful after spoonful of slightly rotten milk and cereal ignoring the frothy lather to your upper lip that would usually send you gagging. You couldn't care less. You found a little Debbie cupcake and half a warm diet soda left by your grandma.

Crumbs in your lap. Wiping frosting off on your shirt. You tried to watch cartoons but the signal was so dodgy. It'd drag you up from the floor on exhausted legs to pound your fist on the tv. Which worked for a few minutes before it would go back to snowing out. You groaned in rising frustration, opting to flip through channels.

The only show that wasn't undecipherable from the fuzz on the godforsaken thing was some evangelical preaching bullshit drivel. You slumped back against the coffee table, hissing out an of course . Rolling your tired eyes in their sockets.

But you needed something to fill the quiet. Something to cut the lack of life in this house. Anything other than its creepy creaks and knocking pipes. It was making you go crazy.

So you parked yourself down and shut up as a stuffed shirt named Leon Kennedy, a sleazy -albeit gorgeous- preacher spewed religious nonsense to a live studio audience.

His arms held open wide, and god they were huge . Bugling things fighting to keep his biceps covered by his clergy shirt. Really the one reason you hadn't just settled for static. Well, one of two reasons . When the camera panned around him, opening the shot up for his cheesy title card you saw his slacks, vacuum sealed tight to his thighs and the plush curve of his ass.

You swallow hard around a mouth full of fruit loops, eyes bulging. What the hell? The priest was stacked . Maybe this is why your grandma didn't pay for cable anymore...Blinking in awe. Your ears caught snippets of a few announcements and call for everyone to take a seat. He started with quoting a hymn, but ultimately you gawked at him openly. Not like he would know anyway right?

Father Kennedy's eyes on the tv screen flickered towards the camera with a little crooked smile. You flinched.

"Is this your first time tuning in?"

Your spoon fell out of your mouth, clattering into your bowl. Leon pauses, almost like…he's waiting for you to answer. He turns to the camera. You feel like he's looking at you .

"Uh…"

"Not to worry, my lamb. If it's your first, second or hundredth time watching. God always has new and valuable lessons to teach you. That's where I come in."

You feel dumb as hell. Of course the tv wasn't talking to you, jee, he was saying his script . Just reading off a cue card or something to welcome his viewers. Nothing more.

He chuckles easily, but there's something about the way his blue eyes are cold as fish scales. His cornsilk blonde hair glows under the soft studio lights. The man closes his bible and makes his way to center stage.

Father Kennedy stands in front of a set of large stained glass windows made into silhouettes of angels. You tilt your head at the screen. He's lined up perfectly with the middle one. It gives the visual of frosty glass wings sprouting from his back. It was definitely intentional.

You put your cereal bowl down on the floor in front of you. Everything in the foreground is made to look like a church, archways, heavy drapes and flowers in vases. A soft pink carpet flows between rows and rows of auditorium seats that look like pews. Every audience member is clutching pearls or on the edge of their chair.

"Now, for all those out there watching. Get comfortable, keep your hearts and mind open and allow the word of God to flow through you-"

Suddenly your eyes flutter open with your face smushed into the shag carpet. That's weird. You don't remeber falling asleep.

You blink a few times, pushing yourself up from the floor only to feel a cold wet squish beneath your hand. The cereal you were eating had somehow been knocked over and was soaking into the carpet under you. Your head feels warm, cottony.

Father Kennedy's live audience is applauding with vigor as his program ends. The camera pans out as he pants hard and raises his hands to wave goodbye to his viewers. His wet bangs sticking to his forehead as he wishes them all well and ahem. Leon's thick chest rising and falling with strong breaths, like he ran a mile and not just delivered a sermon. His sleeves rolled up to the elbows, top button and collar popped. Maybe he's just a very passionate preacher but it strikes you as odd. You weren't religious though, so you had no idea if all preachers got that excited from oration.

You run your hand through your greasy hair, swaying slightly. You must have been more tired than you thought to fall asleep in front of the tv.

You were almost disappointed you didn't get to feast your eyes longer on the wall of muscle that was Father Kennedy. But you just feel so… rested . Sure, the bags under your eyes are still heavy and puffy, but your body was buzzing and it wasn't from your muscle weakness. You feel goddamn good . You slept like the dead. You like, actually slept for once.

Sitting up you roll your shoulders. They feel a little less stiff. It must have been a good nap. At first your soaked panties go unnoticed. Your first thought when you do notice is you started your period. Grimacing at the sudden slimy feeling between your legs. A quick panty check tells you otherwise. Nope. In reality your cunt was just dripping wet. A very good nap then, you reason with a shrug. Amen.

Father Kennedy's program becomes a staple of your morning routine. After a sleepless, cold sweat night you creep the hall, you barely even put it on before your eyes are blinking open. Nose down in the carpet.

A welcome reprieve from how you've been spending the last twelve months.

All night long you toss and turn. It's like you can't go too long without it, head pounding with another migraine until you're planted in front of the tv at exactly 4:30 am each morning.

Father Kennedy's audience's claps and it sounds like rapid fire shotgun shells unloading in your brain. Then you wake up rested. And not just rested, peaceful even. Head lolling to the side, without fail to watch the preacher sign off. Sweaty and cheeks heated, like he was really channeling the spirit of God. Or just got done railing someone. You don't know which.

Leon waves. Big broad strokes of his hands.

You don't know why but you start waving back.

A little shy wave that almost makes you feel silly, paired with the fact your pussy is hot and flushed. Did you cum in your sleep? You don't really care because your tight cords of muscle are relaxed and loose.

Even your greasy tendrils of hair that fall in your eyes don't bother you, you've slept and stayed in this threadbare T Shirt for over a week now. The smell of your stewing is pungent. old sweat, sex, rot. It doesn't bother you. Nothing really does anymore.

You may have been drinking spoiled milk in your cereal each morning, you don't really think about it.

The buzz of flies that seem to grow in your grandmother's house filter out of your focus, you don't even swat at them anymore. Are they even really there? You vaguely watch ants caught in a death spiral on your countertop. Attacking your sugar you use for your tea. You let them, it makes you feel like you're sharing with someone.

You just need sleep. That's all your body wants. Just that delicious hour and half carved out of your day for Father Kennedy's sermon. It keeps you going. Lulls the headaches. Even if they always come back a few hours later. your hygiene, your deterioration, your clammy sheets, your sudden tremor of weakness in your limbs. These little things are nothing compared to the relief you feel to actually slip into inky warm blackness.

God it's beautiful. Like being in the cradle. Like being in a tub that's filling with warm water. Up and up. Slowly til it dunks your head under the water, drowning out all sound into perfect silence. Floating, weightless, nothingness.

What does start to bother you however, is when you sit down in front of that little glass screen and wake up somewhere other than the floor. To doze off on the floor and suddenly you're on that old couch you never sit on. Not so bad, but jarring.

But then it's the bathroom, in the middle of a shower. In the kitchen washing dishes. Outside taking out big black trash bags. At the store bundled up with a huge coat and scarf. Buying more milk and cereal with crumpled bills. With a giant pair of your grandma's sunglasses perched on your nose.

Yeah, jarring. Scary even. It feels like someone took a cold icepick to your brain. You wake up in line at the video store with a stack of VHS tapes from that back section of the store. The one with a little velvet curtain.

You don't know why you rented porn, or why it starts with sodomy and progressively grows more deranged. It's things you'd never even think of participating in, let alone watching. Leashes, gimps, slave, rape toys, men pounding their hips into lifeless sex dolls panting like dogs and much much worse.

You think to yourself, why not? Morbid curiosity be damned. might as well go to hell in a handbasket. When you pop one into the vcr below your TV it's half watched already. Someone wasn't very kind and didn't rewind.

Do you touch yourself?

You lean back against the couch on the floor, a clean tshirt on, it seems to be all you wear nowadays. The porn is cheap and especially old. Subconsciously maybe you were a little too on those nose with this video, the asleep you had picked an interesting one.

Has anyone ever played with this sweet little cunt?

Have you ever rubbed your clit? Fingered yourself?

You close your eyes and lean your head back. A little tingle between your legs sparking.

No, Father.

The corner of your lips twitch up. A priest porno. Of course . You hum, your fingers skirting the hem of your shirt. Your thighs are already falling open. Even with your eyes closed you can hear the sloppy sound of the girl's mouth wrapping around a hard cock. Schlup, schlup, schlup. Just the sounds of sex has your cunt pulsing and warming like a forgotten cup of tea in a microwave.

You Are made to please me. Sacrifice, little lamb, it's all God wants for you. To be a dumb little girl on my cock and mouth.

Your fingers are sliding over your panties, pinching your clit between them, rolling it between them like a pearl. The material of your panties creating perfect friction. Your hips buck into your touch as you work yourself over.

I keep a short leash on my flock, I'll keep an ever shorter one on you. You belong at my side. Naked at my feet.

You know just how to wring a quick orgasm out of your body. Your thighs begin to shake with your fingers stuffed deep in your cunt. So close to cumming, you almost don't notice the static zap and buzz on the tv.

"You're so pretty when you're repenting, my sweet."

You're panting hard, head snapping up because that did not come from the porno.

Your hand wrenches away from your sensitive clit. Looking around dumbly, it felt like it had come from right in front of you. Your eyes fall on the tv again.

It's been on mute this entire time. That can't be. Even so you feel a little tired, ejecting the tape and leaving your hot cunt throbbing for attention. The word lent crosses your mind without really thinking about it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You grow a little concerned about what you're doing while you're supposedly sleepwalking so you set up a camcorder in the corner. Pointing it right at the spot In Front of the tv.

It starts off how you remember mostly. Bowl of cereal, you watch yourself feed spoonful after spoonful into your maw. Your gaunt cheeks corpse like. Opening and stretching.

It was weird watching yourself from the outside. Seeing where your memory dropped off and the footage picked it up again. It was a sound plan. It would definitely help you fill in the gaping holes in your head.

You note how tired you look in the video, so strung out. Hands shaking, you can feel second hand embarrassment at your muscle atrophy from disuse. Rotting in your bed day after day. You know at the time your head was painfully pounding, jaw tight.

Slowly your vacant look fades.

Father Kennedy's program starts. Now the girl on screen reminds you of a zombie and less like a cokewhore. Eyes boring deep into your skull, a few flies buzzing around you. Your dead eyed gaze glued to the tv. You always knew you'd had a thousand yard stare but never like that. Jeez, you needed some sun. You swear you see your eyes slowly blink one at a time, reptilian.

You don't have audio feed but you don't need it.

The television set strobes pale light against your face, in your glazed over eyes the only thing reflected is his image. You watch yourself slowly put down your cereal and crawl closer. One of your trembling hands slides up the screen, palm flat against a close up of Father Kennedy. A shot of his chest and hands, creeping up to his face. He's got his fingers wrapped around a bible. The book is dwarfed by the size of them, pouty lips moving and forming sounds you can't hear. You watch yourself nod wordlessly. Hanging on every word with your mouth agape.

You cringed, you're so close to the tv, nose bumping the glass. Grandma was rolling in her grave at that for sure.

You raise an eyebrow. So this is what you did when you went out like a light? You…watched TV. How lame. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Your finger punches the fast forward button, it's just an hour of you kneeling. Nodding occasionally, your big doe eyes barely blinking as Leon talks. Nothing changes, aside from you shifting a little.

Sudden movement has you stopping the tape. The high pitch whirrrr cuts instantly.

You see yourself roll up onto your knees, spine limp and bowed as a garden gate, you're shoving your face into another close up of the preacher. This time it pans down from his face to his audience. Giving you a shot of his clothed crotch. The stiff outline of his cock like a stamp in the glare off your wiry glasses.

You rub your cheek against his pixel thigh, tongue rolling out. Glossy and rose colored. Cheeks chubbed in a timid smile, you feel your face grow hot as you gawk at yourself. You look like a bitch in heat. It's awful , it's embarrassing.

You're a pious dog panting, fogging up the glass. Licking the fuzz of the tv. A phantom feeling blankets you, you remember the feeling of the static. The crackle against your taste buds.

The you on the tape tosses your head back hard. Your back arches backwards like in the exorcist, eyes rolling back in your skull. The force of it looked like someone socked you in the teeth. All you see is the white of your eyes.

Spit froths at the edges of your lips. Whipping your head side to side, gnashing your teeth how a dog nips at a dangling treat. Locks of hair strung over your face, some catching between your lips and on the drool on your chin. Yes, you're drooling. Fingers grip and claw at your neck, hair, loose shirt. Hips humping the air. An invisible fishing line in your pubic bone tugs them up in the direction of the tv. You look like you're riding someone's fat cock. Like you're getting your back blown out. And loving it.

But no one's there. Just you alone, in an old musty room. Dust particles catch on the light from the crack in the curtains. That's all that accompanies you in this delirium you're experiencing. No wonder you'd wake up so wet.

Your panties are growing translucent before your very eyes, gumming up between your pussy lips and molding to your folds. Your eyes follow the rocking of your own hips. Your soft thighs quaking and hands gripping your own ankles behind you. You swear you see your head bang into the television, and the coffee table. Your old shirt is steepled by your hard nipples. Candy colored mouth can't decide between gaping open and spliting in a fucked out grin.

A few words are mouthed out by you. Something in you tells you know what they are. They weigh heavy on your lips like numbness, like swelling..

Oh yes. You cry out.

That one's easy to make out .

Please God, please.

That ones embarrassing, who are you talking to? You're all alone in that room.

yes hnghh- yes! yes!.

You watch your eyes cross. Turning rigid, spasming like an inmate in an electric chair before you sink into the floor. Legs splayed open, twitching. You can see your pussy convulsing through your panties.

Thank you, Father . Amen. Thank you. thankyouthankyou-

Your stomach churns . Throat tightening up painfully around the lump in it. You watch yourself looking up at the man in the tv worshiping and sheepish. As if you were meeting your favorite celebrity. As if you were seeing a person that was so distinctly above you. Devotion thick in your half lidded eyes.

From the static of the tv a pale hand grows, shimmering in the light. Reminiscent of a hologram. It beckons you to press your cheek back up against the screen. Your blood runs cold in horror as it pets you. Your cheek, your hair. A thumb hooks into your mouth, which you greedily suck on. More drool bubbles from your lips to drip onto the carpet.

Father Kennedy's ghost-like hand draws you into the world on the other side of the glass by the back of your head. With the stage lights and vases full of flowers. You can't tear your eyes away as your head dips into the tv like it was a shadow box, face growing grainy and distorted behind the static. You're sucking his cock, you can see it in the way your lower half bobs, hips rutting carpet burns into your tender pussy. The back of your head phasing in and out of the sheer veil of the screen.

Father Kennedy's ringed fingers grip your hair like a bear trap locks around an unsuspecting ankle. Snapping its jaw shut, you can't pull back, you can’t move in. He holds you and moves for you. Stopping for a few seconds in your throat to make you sputter and cry before pulling back. Goosebumps erupt over your video self's skin. You watch her stomach lurch as she gags. her toes splaying and flexing.

Until the preacher has had enough of your mouth. Then you're found with your lower half pulled inside the screen, your face nothing but spaced out bliss, balancing on your hands. He's pounding your tight cunt on the table in his made for tv church set. In front of his live studio audience full of parishoners, Watching like hungry wolves, eager, dormant. They see the way his cock stretches your drippy hole.

A chill runs down your spine, you subconsciously rub your raw throat. Remembering the burn of his dick inside of it vaguely. The rough grit of your vocal cords as he fucked screams and grunts and cries from them til you were hoarse. So that’s where that cough you had came from. The feeling is foreign. A severed limb. As if you're feeling another person's memory, it's soft around the edges and watery at best.

Leon hold your hips in a bruising grip, rocking you back into each harsh thrust. One hand raises to grip the edge of your tv screen for purchase. Your hips knocking into it from the other side. The preacher's fingers come around to pinch and roll your swollen clit. Grinding it together between them. It makes the onscreen you yelp and crumple. Warm wet cunt milking him as your eyes roll back entirely. Your ass is glowing hot, darkening where his hips snap into it. He's going so hard it's nearly sending you carrenning forwards through the tv screen.

You exist in the limbo between his church altar and your grandmother's living room. Leon grips the frame of the tv like it's a headboard just ram all his weight his pounding. Overstimulating you, making you unable to take anymore. But the look on your face…you just keep taking it anyway. Everything he gives you, you soak it up. Pussy sucking him in, deeper, more more more. The selfish vessel begs.

Maybe I'll fuck your ass next time. Pussy so sinful with greed, sucking me back in like you don't want me to pull out.

Your breasts bounce and sway as they hang suspended from your body. There's a ripple in the flesh of your ass and hips where his skin meets yours. You didn't even have to try to think of the sharp slap of skin against skin in the room. The reality of this crooked priest taking you how he wanted while you were under some sort of brainwashing sent thorns into your gut.

youre gonna make me cum too -fuckkk take it, take it. Fucking take it.

He pumps you full of cum. You maybe not the first person he'd done it to today, because it's watery, almost clear. As if his balls were running on empty. His strong arms grope your tits, whispering something into your ear. He's probably talking to you in your delicate state. feeding you whatever brain worms and lies he can to fill your sex addled mind up after he'd emptied it. He slides your panties back on before letting your drop to the floor in trembling pile. You nod feverishly. Wretched hands snaking back into the his side of limbo . They trace a single line down your spine as they go. The camera pans over his softening cock. Glistening and shiny from using your sopping cunt, the skin is swollen, red and overused.

You're sleeping soundly, leaking his cum into your panties. Father Kennedy is righting his shirt, tucking himself back into his pants.

Like nothing happened.

He turns back to his congregation and they cheer. It's disgusting. It’s grotesque. They all look just as hazy and mentally gone as you do ragdolled out on the floor.

You watch the exact moment you come to, lucid with barely enough strength to pick yourself up off the floor. You remember this part, waking with pearly slick cooling on your inner thighs. Face flushed and sweaty

Father Kennedy is signing off, you know it because there's your little hand rising weakly to give him a fluttery wave of fingers. like you do every morning.

You curse, you kick, you yank at your hair. It feels like there's termites making burrows under your skin, it crawls from how deeply disturbed you feel at this revelation.

You vow never to turn on the damn tv again.

You cover it with a yellowed sheet.

It only takes twelve hours for your headaches to return and begin to pound in your temples. Your shaking turns to tremors, and another humid, cold sweat night has you in agony once again. You feel this...pull. the feeling of invisible fishhooks sinking in and tugging you out of bed.

You can't stay away from the tv.

You have to tune in. You have to watch.

Youre not even sure when you got out of bed. The sheet in your frigid fingers, You feel yourself slipping away, darkness enveloping you to the call of static electricity and fuzzy white noise sound like a church bell.

The call to worship.

You sit down in front of the tv and that darkness pulls you under. When you are yourself again, you crack your gummy, gluey eyes open. Stale sweat glitters on your dull skin. In your fluttering cunt, a fresh load of milky white cum cools. You hate how warm and good you feel. So relaxed, comfortably numbed, docile.

It feels like Father Leon watches you from the otherside of the tv screen. Smiling, pious. But his eyes empty, and devoid of any ardor. False prophet. Leon's profane eyes that look like whatever light was inside them once had long been snuffed out. They looked artificial. Glassy and dead in his living flesh.

"Until next time, my little lamb."

You set up the camera again for tomorrow morning.

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You recieve the blush pink ticket in your mailbox in only a plain unddressed envelope. Inviting you to join Father Kennedy, a few states south to be apart of his live studio congregation a few weeks later.

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