Page 10 of Praise Me: Priest

“In here, please,” says the monsignor, gesturing for us to enter his office, which is lit only by the fire crackling in the hearth. He’s very stoic. Curt. All business, as usual, and I have no clue how he can be so calm when we’re about to embark on something so unorthodox. “Father McDaniel, have a seat by the fire,” instructs Monsignor Hannibal—and I do as he asks, but in no way do I relax. “Farrah, there is a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, just there,” he says, gesturing to the small powder room on the opposite end of the office. “Would you go put it on, please, so that we may begin?”

“Oh, um. Sure.” She hesitates. “You want me to put the robe on over my clothes?”

“Oh no.” He gives her a tight smile. “You’re to wear nothing beneath the robe.”

She blinks rapidly. “N-nothing?”

“Correct.”

My ire is rapidly building. “Monsignor, she’s an innocent. Do not ask her to do things she isn’t comfortable with.”

“She agreed to come here for one reason. To tempt you. She came here with her eyes wide open. And if I saw what I think I saw in the field today, she might be innocent of flesh, but she’s certainly not innocent of spirit.”

“Do not speak about her with disrespect,” I growl, shooting to my feet. “You will—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts. “It’s okay, Father McDaniel. He’s right. I understood my purpose in coming here and I intend to follow through.”

I’m holding back another shout as she disappears into the bathroom and closes the door, her shadow moving in the sliver of light beneath. I listen to the unfastening of her sandals while facing off across the office with a very determined-looking monsignor. Does he want me to fail? Maybe he doesn’t think me right for the priesthood or maybe he already has no doubts about what he saw today and wants a fraud gone from his midst? Whatever his reasons, I have a hard time discounting his potential doubts in me when I hear the whoosh of Farrah’s dress landing on the bathroom floor and my cock begins to fill with pressure.

Dear lord. Already.

I resume my seat before he can notice the protuberance in my pants.

And out walks Farrah in a robe that leaves nothing to the imagination.

It’s made of delicate white silk, tied at her waist, the ends of the belt hanging down to shield her pussy, which I know I would be able to see if they were out of the way, because the dusky little peaks of her nipples are right there. Right there. Plump, rosy crowns on the bouncy mounds of her tits. Those nipples alone are enough to make me start sweating beneath my black shirt…

But her legs could very well kill me.

Long and bare and pale. Smooth, yet strong enough to lock around my hips if needed. And hold on for a good, long while.

“Farrah, go sit on Father McDaniel’s lap.”

Her mouth parts on a brave breath and she nods, crossing the office and stopping in front of me, the glow of the fire illuminating the white silk to the point of translucence. Aware that I’m being watched closely, I keep my eyes locked on hers, chin notched up stubbornly. I never should have become a priest in the first place if I’m weak enough to fail my first test of will. But I’m not weak. I’m built for hard things, unlike my father.

Over Farrah’s shoulder, I catch sight of the crucifix hanging on the wall.

God is watching me, too.

I will not give in to temptation.

“Sit on his lap like this?” asks Farrah, turning sideways and planting her butt on my thigh, her hands clasped tightly at her waist.

The monsignor shakes his head. “No, my child.” He makes a whirling motion with his index finger. “Turn and face Father McDaniel. Your legs should be situated around his hips.”

There’s a mixture of apology and excitement in her eyes when she stands again, crowding into the V of my thighs, sliding one leg around my waist, followed by the other, sliding so smoothly into my lap, the voice in my head begins to taunt me.Look how perfectly she was formed for you.And then the swollen pressure of her naked sex settles on top of my stretched cock, and I grip the edge of the chair, nearly snapping the wood in two, my come on the verge of erupting.

“Now. Does Father McDaniel have an erection, Farrah?”

She winks at me. “No, Monsignor. He doesn’t.”

Clearly, the monsignor is surprised by this. As well he should be, because Farrah is lying. I’m as hard as a frozen boulder and the rough extension of flesh, the utter weight of pain and need is wreaking havoc on my stomach muscles.

“Open the robe and show him your breasts now, Farrah.”

Her eyes drag slowly up to mine and again, there is apology, but there’s heat. So much heat. She might be innocent, but we’re both battling this inexplicable attraction and she doesn’t have the life experience to hide her reaction as well as I. Just like in the field today, I believe I could lay her down on the carpet in front of the fire and slam her full of my shaft and she’d only scream for it deeper. The flames reflected in her eyes are anaccurate representation of what she is. A little she-devil in an angelic disguise.

Now, her fingers pinch the edge of the robe’s neckline and slowly, slowly tug the garment open, revealing her delectable tits to me, allowing the white silk to slink down around her waist, pooling there. I do everything in my power to keep my gaze from venturing downward to those young offerings that instinctively I know would greet my tongue like sugar, but I can’t stop myself from looking. From marveling at the twin masterpieces that she’s presenting to me, her back arched slightly, her tits, neck and face awash in the firelight.

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