Page 360 of Bad for Me

Even if it was a dark beast, lying in wait to devour me whole.

“Fuck, yeah,” I whispered, thinking of the way her skirt had ridden up along her thigh when she sat in the pews. She kept fiddling with the edge of that skirt but never bothered to pull it down. I even caught her once or twice pressing her hands into her lap, like she was fighting those carnal thoughts she was struggling with.

My hand slid up and down my cock, caressing the tip before sliding back down to the base. I squeezed my grip, my cock jumping in my hand in eagerness, familiar with the end result here.

I was about to embarrass myself for the first time in years. It’d been a long ass time since I nutted uncontrollably from masturbation. Probably not since I was fourteen. But as I imagined Scarlett McKeen in my head, I stripped her naked, debating on what sorts of underthings she’d wear beneath that Sunday dress of hers.

I bet it’d be something racy. Most good girls like her always have a secret dark side, a guilty pleasure. I bet hers is sexy underwear.

My mind put her in a black teddy, complete with a garter belt and silk stockings that ran to her upper thighs and teased my mind’s eye. I grunted in exasperation as the imaginary Scarlett bent over in front of me, and I realized her teddy was crotchless.

I bet her pussy was nice and tight and pink and probably had a neatly trimmed strip of hair down there–fuck!

I came all over my hand with a shout, slamming my free hand against the wall of the shower to keep myself balanced as my whole body shook with the vibrations of my orgasm. My toes fucking curled, my back arched, and I whimpered with the sudden release as the thick fluid spurted from my cock and dripped down the drain, the evidence of my shame disappearing as quickly as it had come.

No pun intended.

The strange self-loathing they flagellate into you in seminary school rose within me, and the sudden urge to flog myself for jerking off to a member of my congregation almost mentally tripped me up. But just like the lust, I worked through it, rinsing off my hands before yanking the towel from the hook and throwing it around my waist.

I hadn’t even made it to my bedroom when the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot nearby alerted me to Scarlett’s presence. It had to be her–there was no other person who’d stop by at this hour. I yanked on a pair of jeans and a black tee and rushed from my room, hoping she’d see the note and stop by like I’d asked.

I caught her as she made a beeline back to her car.

Of course she didn’t plan to stick around.

“Hey, hey!”

She stopped in her tracks, her fingers clenched around a set of keys as she prepared to flee. “Oh, hey,” she muttered, hesitation in her voice setting me on edge. “I was just gonna drop this off and head home.”

I noticed she still hadn’t changed, and the curiosity about her whereabouts for the last hour piqued. “I thought you stopped off at home before heading here, to be honest.”

“Oh, uh,” she scratched the side of her neck, staring anywhere but at me. “Traffic was wild. And I stopped for gas.”

Sure she did. That’s why she can’t meet my gaze.

“That’s why I like the bike. No gas needed. Just good ole manpower.”

Her nervous chuckle set my insides to doing somersaults. I felt like a teenager again.

Get ahold of yourself, you idiot. You’re a damned adult, you’re almost thirty, and you’re a priest with a horny complex for a woman you can’t have.

“So, about that confessional–” I started, but she cut me off.

“I just wanna forget it happened. I shouldn’t have put that on you–”

“On the contrary. If you can’t come to your priest, who can you come to?” I put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place as I made a suggestion that was as much for her as it was for me. “I want to counsel you. Miss Gillis is here every Monday evening to do the bookwork, and I have an office we can use while she does the books next door.”

She wasn’t running and hadn’t shaken me off, so that was a plus.

Honestly, the idea came to me before I’d fallen a peg and rubbed one out in the bathroom to her image, but she didn’t need to know that. Counseling her to avoid and redirect her wayward thoughts would help me to remember to curtail my own. Perhaps, in helping her, I could help myself.

“It will be confidential, of course. And we won’t be alone, so it’ll all be aboveboard.”

She gave me the side eye and frowned. “I dunno. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

My emphatic nod almost set me off balance. “I don’t mind a bit. I want to help you with this. I, too, understand what it’s like to struggle with your faith.”

Her eyes found mine, and the world shifted around us. “Oh, no. You struggled?” There was such a sadness in her tone, it gripped my heart and squeezed. “You priests always seem so…righteous. To think you’re just like the rest of us–”

---