Father Elias had always been the epitome of piety in the small, devout town of Eldridge. His sermons echoed through the stone walls of St. Mary's Church with fervent zeal, drawing the faithful like moths to a flame. But beneath that holy facade, a darkness had been stirring for months. It started with whispers in the dead of night—Satan's voice, smooth and seductive, slithering into his dreams. 'Why deny the flesh, Elias?' the devil purred. 'The body is a temple, but not for some distant god. It's for indulgence, for the raw pulse of sin.'

At first, Elias resisted, clutching his rosary until his knuckles whitened. But the temptations grew stronger, visions of writhing bodies and forbidden ecstasies flooding his mind during Mass. One fateful night, under a blood moon, Satan appeared to him in the confessional—not as a horned beast, but as a shadowy figure with eyes like molten gold. 'Serve me,' the entity commanded, 'and taste true power.' Elias fell to his knees, not in prayer, but in surrender. He sealed the pact with a blasphemous oath, his cock hardening as infernal heat coursed through his veins.

Now, fully corrupted, Elias moved through the church like a predator in paradise. The air hummed with unholy energy, the stained-glass saints leering down as if in approval. It was late, the congregation long gone, leaving the sacred space empty and ripe for violation. Elias's heart pounded with wicked anticipation, his robes tenting over the throbbing erection that Satan had awakened in him—a relentless, demonic hunger that demanded release.

He started at the entrance, where the marble font held the holy water, blessed and pure, used by the faithful to anoint themselves before entering God's house. Elias smirked, his fingers trembling with excitement as he approached. The water shimmered innocently under the dim candlelight, but soon it would be tainted, a vessel for his profane seed. He hiked up his black cassock, exposing his thick, veined shaft already leaking precum from the tip. The cool air kissed his skin, sending shivers up his spine, but it was the thrill of desecration that made his balls tighten.

Gripping the basin's edge, Elias stroked himself roughly, his hand flying over the rigid length. Memories of Satan's promises fueled his frenzy—visions of eternal lust, of fucking through the gates of hell. His breath came in ragged gasps, hips bucking into his fist as he imagined the pious townsfolk dipping their fingers into this corrupted font tomorrow, unknowingly baptizing themselves in his essence. 'Yes,' he growled, the word a guttural prayer to the dark lord. Pressure built like fire in his core, his sack drawing up tight. With a savage grunt, he erupted, ropes of hot, thick cum splattering into the holy water. It swirled and clouded the clear liquid, turning it milky and obscene. Elias milked every last drop, watching his seed diffuse, marking the threshold of the church as his own territory of sin.

Panting, his cock still twitching, Elias straightened his robes and moved deeper into the nave. The altar loomed ahead, but his gaze fixed on the tabernacle—the golden repository of the consecrated hosts, the body of Christ Himself, revered and untouchable. Satan's voice echoed in his mind: 'Defile it all, my priest. Make the divine grovel in filth.' A twisted grin split Elias's face. He retrieved the ciborium, the vessel gleaming with false sanctity, and spilled the thin, white wafers onto the altar cloth. They lay there like fragile offerings, waiting to be profaned.

Elias turned, dropping his trousers fully now, baring his ass to the crucifix above. The wooden Christ stared down, but Elias felt no shame—only a surging wave of arousal. He bent over the altar, cheeks spreading as he reached back, pressing a host against his puckered hole. The paper-thin disc felt cool against his heated skin, and he pushed, feeling it catch and slide inward with a slick pop. A jolt of perverse pleasure shot through him, his hole clenching around the intrusion. 'Take this, your so-called son,' he mocked, grinding back against nothing, savoring the wafer's desecration within his most intimate depths.

One by one, he repeated the act, each host vanishing into his ass like forbidden communion. The sensation was intoxicating—the slight stretch, the forbidden fullness as they lodged inside him, crumbling against his inner walls. His cock hardened again, dripping onto the altar steps, as he imagined the faithful receiving these tainted relics during Mass, swallowing pieces of his body's corruption. Satan laughed in his soul, the sound vibrating through his flesh, urging him deeper into blasphemy.

By the time the ciborium was empty, Elias's ass was packed with the desecrated bread, a warm, squirming mass that made him moan. He straightened, feeling the hosts shift inside him, a constant reminder of his fall. Cum still leaked from his spent shaft, and he smeared it across the tabernacle door, sealing his pact in glistening fluid. The church, once a bastion of purity, now reeked of sex and sulfur.

As dawn crept in, Elias knelt before the altar—not in repentance, but in triumph. Satan had claimed him, and through him, this house of God. The desecrations would spread, infecting the flock one sinful drop at a time. And Elias? He was reborn, a vessel of carnal damnation, ready to preach a new gospel of flesh and fire.