When I return to my room after taking two of my parishioner’s confessions this morning, I brace my arms on my desk, battling the urges that have rooted inside me. The control I’ve exercised over my demons and my physical urges is cracking.
I’ve never failed a test. Academic, spiritual or otherwise.
I am, if nothing else, stubborn and tenacious to my own detriment.
Those qualities have no power here. No power against the sweet, dimple-cheeked sin that’s upended my life.
Kitty.
She fell asleep on my shoulder last night, watching that damn Chocolat movie. I refused to get up and change the DVD and disturb her. Listening to her soft breathing, the way her hand moved in her sleep to rest on top of my pulsing cock, no fucking way was I ending that sooner than necessary.
I prayed while I imagined the soft heat of her body curling under me as I gave myself to her and took what’s mine, binding us forever. My back was in spasm from not moving for almost three hours, my shoulders knotted, when she finally blinked herself awake, looking around then up at me with those meadow green eyes that have me questioning every vow I’ve made to the church and God.
“What time is it?” she asked, tugging her hand from my lap as I salivated for a taste of her. The TV flickered in the darkness of the common room where we sat on the sofa, ate pizza and drank grape soda. She said that’s her favorite, so I paid my driver extra to find it for her, bring it back with the pizza, then disappear for the rest of the night.
“It’s late,” I managed, praying for strength.
“Did you like the movie?” She sat up, pushing her hair from her face, tugging her fuzzy sweater down over her exposed belly, then rubbing her eyes on a yawn.
“The first time, yeah. The second, it was okay, but it’s on its third time through and I think I’m over it.”
“You watched it three times? I’ve seen it twenty-six times. It’s the best isn’t it?”
Her childlike enthusiasm made my heart swell. “Yes, baby, it’s the best.”
The words slipped out like honey into tea and she licked her lips as I broke from her gaze, flailing around for a hand hold of control. If she likes something enough to watch it twenty-six times, I’ll acquire the taste for it too and watch it another twenty-six times if she’s next to me.
The walk to her room nearly brought me to my knees, knowing I would leave her at the door when every cell in my body crackled and burned to throw her onto the squeaky, horrible bed and deliver my soul into her womb.
My cock has risen and he will not be denied. I paced my quarters until sunlight broke over the angry ocean this morning. During the night, the sea went from rolling into the sand to crashing against the rocks at the base of the old convent.
I battled my lust with hours of bare-fisted pounding into the punching bag that hangs in the corner of my bedroom.
Becoming a priest only pushed me to maintain my physical strength, not lose it. The school has a gym and a workout room, although the machinery is decades old, but going old school has served my body well.
Feelings for females in my past were nothing like this. I dabbled at best in the world of lust and attraction only to find that my own proclivities were viewed as deviant. Perverted. Unwholesome.
From when I was a boy, my fantasies were not of the women on the glossy pages of the magazines stolen from between the mattresses of my friends’ fathers. No, the females there with their oiled bodies, enhanced tits and sultry smiles did not ignite my adolescent lust.
It was the girl that seemed…lost. Unsure. Insecure. Needy. Yes, a little broken and without the confidence of a woman splayed wide in a grainy movie or on a free porn site.
With swollen hands from my hours of punching the heavy bag, I fist myself, my erection refusing to yield. My thoughts of fucking into my stepsister are stronger than any I’ve ever had.
My pulse races through my veins, pounding behind my eyes as I imagine licking at her pink pussy, letting her know how beautiful she is. How I will take care of her forever and lay waste to anyone that ever hurts her again.
How would she taste?
Like an angel.
How would she feel as I fed my dick into her?
Like home.
The image of the bruises on her arm turn my vision red as my cock turns to a missile in my grip.
Flashes of the pictures from her phone haunt me. The glaze in her eyes, the lifelessness behind them makes my heart want to rip from my chest.
How is this happening? I would give up everything to have Kitty under me right now. To feel her body welcome me for the first time, to hear her sweet voice calling me by the name that has beckoned to me since I felt those first sparks of desire.
I clench the back of my neck with the hand that isn’t consoling my dick, panting, eyes closed as the vision of the soft brown swirls of her hair rest on my pillow, her knees pressed together, eyes searching mine for approval as I praise her for being my good girl, then turn her over and rip her clothes from her soft body and drive myself home on a roar.
Fire lashes at my belly as I loosen my grip on my neck, brace my hand on the wall next to the picture of Jesus raising his three fingers in forgiveness, release my cock and turn the lock.
There is no fight left in me.
I give in, three seconds after I secure the door, I drop my sweatpants to the floor. Spit into my palm and do what I haven’t done for a decade.
I’m wrong for her in all ways. I’ve given my life to the church, to God, although my reasons for doing so are not what most would expect.
I close my eyes, the memory of her warm flesh in my hand makes my balls throb. The way I toyed with her nipple, then salivated as the sight of her bare pussy lip escaping from her shorts as she exited the limo.
It’s wrong. All these thoughts are wrong and I’ve worked so hard to rid myself of every female that could ever harm me. It’s university all over again. University where false accusations ended my career before it could begin.
My resolve to avoid women is cracking, and it’s all because of her.
I hate fuck my hand. Plowing up and down, punching my balls at the base with every stroke, over and over, up and down.
Whoever left those bruises on her will be begging for my mercy by the time I’m done with him. I’ve taken vows, but I’ve not forgotten who I was.
Who I will be for her if necessary.
Behind the brains, there was brawn. By day I was the tattooed, surly chemistry phenom, but behind it all, I took out my rage on anyone unfortunate enough to cross me. Intentionally or not.
There are commandments that are meant to be broken, especially when it comes to protecting the innocent.
My innocent girl. The man that touched her will pray on his knees as I show him her picture. Tell him to apologize. Then send him to hell.
My thoughts drift to how she felt against me last night. Her lush softness melting against me.
I’ll keep you safe forever. I’ll keep you forever.
“Fuck.” I grimace as I work my dick. Masturbating is like riding a bike, I may have taken a decade off, but once I wrapped my hand around my hard on, it was like my last beat off session was yesterday.
“You’re hard,” she whispers in my fantasy, eyes wide.
“I’m still a man. Your hand was on me…I couldn’t stop it.”
I move my hand faster, harder, shame covering me in its darkness. I’m a man of the cloth, that should be enough, but why, why did the woman that wakes my desire have to be my stepsister? How is this in any way going to end well for either of us?
You need to tell her.
No. Not yet. It would change everything.
“I like that I made it hard,” she says, her sweet breath making me want to taste her kiss. “It feels good.”
She shifts her body from her place next to me, straddling my lap, her braless tits swaying under the thin fabric of her t-shirt in front of my face.
“I can’t.” I grunt as the heat between her legs settles over my eager and neglected length. The fabric of my pants and her fleece pajama bottoms do nothing to stem the tide of fire that’s spreading inside of me.
“Because you took vows?” Her hands slip into my hair as she swallows, lowering her face so our lips brush. “I’m a virgin, does that help? Makes me pure. Surely God would understand.”
My thighs shake, my balls like lead weights as I rest my forehead against hers in my fantasy, beating off like a madman. “There’s someone for you, Kitty. It can’t be me.”
“But, I feel you.” She rocks her hips, up and down, grinding on me. “You want me, please, don’t push me away. I don’t want to stop, I’ve never…please, it feels so good. Doesn’t God want me to feel good?”
Fuck, I beat my erection up and down in a blur, squeezing and stroking as my breath turns ragged, the vision of her on top of me weaving fantasy into reality.
“Yes. God does and so do I. But, feeling good is a privilege. You need to earn it.”
Her eyes flicker with doubt, lips parted as the scent of her arousal drifts upward, my hands guiding her hips now, easing her up and down as she purrs.
“How do I earn it?” she whispers to the ceiling.
“First, you keep your eyes on me. If you look away, I’ll stop. Those are the rules.”
She nods, her gaze locking onto mine. “I like looking at you when I feel good.”
“That a girl. Now, don’t look away,” I say as she rides the steel rod under my black pants, her hips taking my guidance as she starts to whimper, eyelids fluttering.
“Uh uh, eyes here.” I chastise as the heat between our bodies rises, her wetness seeping through as she struggles to follow my orders.
“Yes…Sir.”
“Sir, good girl. I like that. But, what else should you call me?”
I lift my hips, meeting her movements with my own. Fuck, I’m so close. I want it to last, I want it to be her not my fucking hand.
“Father,” she hisses, her fingers clutching at my shoulders as I release her hips, lifting her t-shirt, exposing the wealth of womanly flesh underneath, bouncing, swaying. She’s ample, one tit needs two hands and a mouth. Her nipples pull tight, dark pink and tempting. Fuck, she’s so sexy.
“Close,” I say, urging her hips with mine, flicking my tongue on her tight peak, listening to her hiss. “Try again.” I keep my eyes pinned to hers, another flick of my tongue. “If you get it right, I’ll let you come. Who am I?”
“You’re…” Her eyes search mine while she bucks against me. “You’re…”
It’s right there, she just needs to let it go.
“Say it, Kitty. Who do you need me to be for you?”
Her tongue slides on her lower lip as I latch onto her breast, drawing her deep, deeper, until her body shudders, her lids fall…
My hand moves in a fury, my chin dropping to my chest as I grimace, muscles twitching and twisting down my back as she moves against me. Her whisper into my ear…
“Daddy. I need you to be Daddy. I need that. I need—”
I growl, that’s it. My center. The reason I was ousted from the university. The recoil of women over the years who didn’t understand.
But, now I see what a gift their aversion was. It’s left me with something I’ve never shared. Something I never believed I would until I saw my stepsister at that baggage claim.
Rocking my hips into my hand as it locks in a vice grip around my dick, the room starts to spin. I grab at the doorjamb as darkness flickers in front of my eyes and the first jets of my climax spurt from my cock, the orgasm so strong I fall to my knees, knocking the hard-backed chair over, my forehead striking the wall as I strain with each spasm from my balls.
I pant, struggling for a breath as my lungs burn, the last jets of cum shooting onto the floor as I grunt and the first orgasm I’ve had in a decade nearly breaks me in two.
My hand will never be enough, I already know this. I expected relief, to give in to my urges, get it out of me and I would feel better.
But, I don’t. If anything, they’ve grown a hundred-fold. If I feel like this from imagining her, what will it feel like when I’m balls deep in the real thing?
The pressure in my chest increases like a tightening strap locking down. I fall back on my heels, hands on my thighs, looking to the ceiling where only cracked plaster and emptiness look back.
What have I done?
What have I yet to do?
When I can manage a breath, I push onto my feet, cleaning up the mess on the floor, the wall and myself before battling my still hard length into my pants, anger pulsing in my temples as I finish dressing in the mirror. The white collar choking me as I snap it into place.
It’s ten to five. Ten minutes until our next session where I will go over the rules, then map out her routine for the next thirty days, show her around the school. Share our journals.
God help me stay the course. I have not been the most loyal servant, but I have served. I have stayed true to my commitment.
But, I’m breaking. And I have no idea how to stop it happening.
