Page 12 of Praise Me: Priest

“Where?” I say, raggedly.

She chews her lip. “Inside me?”

“No.No, I will not make your first time all about my pleasure.”

“Can I swallow it?” she asks me, so innocently, this red-haired temptation with her tits high and perky, her panties drenched in her own moisture.

And I become an animal, wrestling her down to the floor between my open knees, unbuckling my belt with hands that belong to someone else, someone overcome by need so intense it becomes his identity, gritting my teeth while unzipping my pants without injuring my shaft. Because lord. Lord, I am abundant, purple with pressure, my crown shiny with the beginnings of my load, and when she leans in and grasps me with two pale, curious hands, I delve a handful of fingers into her hair and guide herforward, as if I was born to be accepted into this girl’s mouth. Born to slide right in.

“Drink your milk, sweetheart. Drink it all for Daddy.” Her lips wrap around me, warm and wet. Excitement flaring in her eyes when I call myself that name, her fists flexing a little tighter to my length, pumping, stroking. “Hide my sin down deep in that tummy.”

She moans, burying me inch by inch in her hot, suckling mouth—

Lucifer himself designs my reaction to feeling the curvature of her throat with my cock, the release of semen so swift and violent, I feel suffocated and exultant all at once, my hips jerking crudely to the edge of the chair, guttural grunts paining my throat, my balls milking thymically as I spill into her horny little mouth. She watches me with wide eyes, her throat working with dutiful gulps, her red hair spilling over the tops of my thighs.

“Good girl, Farrah,” I pant. “You’ve nearly got it all. Nearly…there. Oh myGod.”I paint the back of her throat with my final spurt, tugging myself free of her mouth, stopping to rub some remaining semen on her parted lips. “Am I to pray to your sweet mouth from now on? Is this my new lord and savior?”

“Yes,” she breathes, kissing my tip, her eyes brimming with promise. With a touch of the devil…and we both have it in us, don’t we? Dark sexuality…but only for each other. We’re bound by a powerful lust for one another and now that I’ve kissed her, now that I’ve encountered the pleasures of the flesh firsthand, as has Farrah, I fear one taste will not be enough.

The monsignor’s voice grows louder in the hallway. Closer.

Farrah and I don’t break eye contact with we both work to fasten my pants, engaging my belt in its buckle. Then she climbs back onto my lap, our mouths seeking and sinking into one final, breathless kiss, before the monsignor reenters the office,his assessing gaze darting to us where Farrah straddles me in the chair.

“Now. Stand up, Father McDaniel.” His voice snaps like a whip. “Prove that you are unmoved by her ripe, young body. Prove that your body hasn’t hardened in order to mate with her on that very chair.”

Farrah pushes back on my thighs and stands up, bowing her head forward. “I do not tempt him, Monsignor,” she says softly, the firelight outlining her mostly nude figure. Damn, she looks amazing. It’s everything I can do not to wrap her in my arms and praise her, learn all the places she enjoys being touched. Make vows to her. Vows that would mean violating the ones I’ve already taken. More than I already have, that is. “He remains soft.”

My legs are still unsteady from the king’s treatment I received from Farrah’s mouth, but I stand up, as well, loath to lie, but having no choice but to do so if I want to remain a member of the priesthood. This is where I belong. I’ve known that truth since I was a boy, covering my ears while women screamed and bed springs groaned in my parents’ bedroom. The look of continual horror on my mother’s face.

I look away while the Monsignor crosses the room to examine the crotch of my pants, my temper stirring at the indignity.

He hums in his throat. “It appears you passed the first test, Father McDaniel.” He splits an ominous look between the two of us. “The next one will not be so easy.”

Chapter Six

Farrah

I’m a whore.

I sit on a stone bench overlooking the green valley surrounding the cathedral, watching the sun lighten the sky. It’s a beautiful sight. One I rarely have a chance to witness from inside the high walls of the village, but I cannot fully enjoy the splendor, because I am accepting my true self.

I’m not a good person who was simply born into bad circumstances.

I’m the kind of woman who easily lies to a priest. A monsignor, no less.

I enjoy sexual acts. To a degree that I fear is unnatural.

When I woke up this morning, I sank my teeth into the feather down of my pillow, remembering Rune’s thickness against my panties. How I bucked and ground myself so shamelessly on his lap in nothing but a pair of underwear. How much I loved the fullness of Rune’s stiff, heavy sex in my mouth,how rewarding it was to elicit his climax, taste the salty wash of him down my throat.

Hide my sin down deep in your tummy.

I press my hands to my cheeks, feeling them burn. But the redness is not from humiliation. It’s from the horror of what I learned about myself. I’m a whore. I’m a woman who wants Father McDaniel to lie on top of me, to rut me. Despite the consequences.

Daddy.

That word continues to whisper through my mind, making my palms clammy, my pulse inconstant. Low and syrupy one minute, pounding the next.

I want to whimper that name in his ear while his big shaft stretches me from the inside. I want to sit with him in the stillness, have him to stroke my hair lovingly and call himself that name.She’s a good girl for her Daddy.

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