Page 4 of The Priest

Christ. Sorry, big man, I shouldn't be using your name in vain when I’m sitting in your house, but I’m sure you understand why those words make me go a little wild with the woman sitting next to me.

“Tell me, what have you done?” Those words feel pathetic, leaving my lips.

“I’ve engaged in the act of…” Her pause makes my heart quicken. What vile thing have you done to have to sit opposite me and ask God for forgiveness? She resonates purity, and I can’t imagine what she’s about to say holds a candle against the thunderstorm of bullshit I’ve done. “Lust.”

A choked cough fights its way out of my throat. Lust?

“Have you acted on them?” Now we’re getting somewhere.

“No, Father Murphy. They are acts of the mind.” Valerie speaks with confidence, as if what she’s confessing isn’t a point of shame but of pride instead.

I peer through the grated divider between us and see her there. Her hands meander across her body, fingers dancing over the silky fabric of her Sunday best.

“Dark, dirty thoughts. Being ravaged, taken, broken, and used,” she continues.

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? I can’t keep my thoughts straight when I look at her. How will I hold a conversation when she’s telling me the deepest, darkest desires burning in her mind?

“And who have these thoughts been about?” I ask. It seems like the correct response, only because I’m desperate to hear her answer. To see her plump lips mouth my name.

Valerie turns her body in my direction, scooching downward on her stool until she’s almost lying down. One of her hands stops on her breast, cupping the full mound and giving it a squeeze. The other glides down her belly, slipping between her thighs. The back of her wrist parts the fabric, hiding a thin pair of dark blue, sheer panties. The see-through fabric doesn’t do a thing to hide her bald cunt.

“You,” she whispers. “Filthy, vile thoughts of you. From the moment I saw you, I haven’t been able to strike them from my mind.”

Fierce heartbeats to pump blood straight to my cock in a tooth-aching erection. The intensity makes me lightheaded and leaves my throbbing member tearing at the zip of my trousers, begging to be set free.

“What thoughts?” Weak words leave my feeble lips. I’ve given up on the confessional parlor act. I don’t care if she figures out I’m not a priest because of it, either. I just need to hear what’srunning through her mind while she touches herself without care.

“It might be easier if I just show you,” she says.

I can’t stop myself, allowing my hands to wander beneath my priestly vestments. I take a firm grasp of my cock over my pants and work the head with my palm while watching her work.

Valerie’s hand that traveled between her thighs tugs at the soaked fabric of her panties. They part from her skin, exposing her freshly shaven pussy. She glides her fingers along the length of her slit, and it gives no resistance with how wet she is.

She coos a soft moan. I drop off the thin piece of wood acting as a confessional chair, pressing my face against the grate to get a better look. All the while, Valerie doesn’t open her eyes. She’s lost in her own fantasies, touching and pleasing herself with reckless abandon.

“Do you want to touch me?” she whispers behind the choked noises of pleasure. “I want you to touch me.”

It’s do-or-die time, right? Go on with the bullshit of being the town priest or give in to her desires. Yeah, there’s no question about it. I’m throwing myself at her feet and worshiping halle-fucking-lujah.

I drop the bronze divider and shove my hand through it. The hand playing with her breasts reaches out to take it, and even with closed eyes, she latches onto me on the first try. Valerie doesn’t drive it down to her crotch, instead bringing it up to her lips. She kisses my knuckles, slow and tender, while moaning at the pleasure she delivers to herself. From the knuckles, she moves along my digits, ending at my fingertips. The tip of hertongue is first to come out, running along my skin before she sucks both my index and middle finger into her mouth.

She treats them to a show, licking and sucking on them, no doubt in the same way she would please my cock if it were in front of her instead.

The timid rubbing I enacted on my cock has moved to full-fledged stroking. Still through the pants for whatever it’s worth, but I’m too far gone to care about the ramifications of what’s happening.

Her tongue dances against my fingers, gliding between them until they’re soaked in her spit. Her free hand remains between her thighs, rubbing slow circles over her clit while she drags my hand down her body.

“I want to feel these strong hands inside of me,” she whispers, resting my hand on her thigh. “I want them to break my innocence and purify me from within.”

A pleased groan rolls through my chest.

“Will you do it for me, Father?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to.”

A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Then do it.” Her words come out as an order.

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