Content warning: this story mixes religious and erotic aspects. Please don’t read on if this can offend you. No hope has been shattered while writing.
“He’s so handsome,” Hope whispered, her eyes fixed on the priest, delivering his Sunday sermon from the pulpit. A longing sigh followed her words, and at the same time Faith, who sat between her and Charity, pressed her legs together.
“Why couldn’t he just be an ugly old man?” Charity mumbled, her head bowed, “I don’t hear a word he says. All I can focus on is his face. Those eyes. His lips…”
“Quiet!” someone in the pew behind them admonished them in a loud whisper.
The priest’s head turned towards them, and his eyes briefly rested on each of the young women. Their faces flushed, Faith and Charity looked down to their hands, while Hope boldly held the priest’s gaze for a few moments more.
Just like his voice, their singing filled all corners of the church, until finally the congregation started filing out of the building. Hope stayed seated.
“Come on,” Faith urged, “let’s go.”
“Just give me a couple of minutes,” Hope said, and watched as her friends followed the rest of the people. Once she was alone, she bowed her head as if in prayer, but her rapidly-beating heart betrayed her calm exterior.
Hope smoothed her dress down over her knees, and looked up at the pulpit. The priest was gone too, no doubt talking to members of the congregation in the antechamber, just like he did every Sunday. She drew in her breath, held it for a moment, and as she exhaled, Hope stood up, and walked to the front of the church. She looked up at the divine images of the glass-in-lead windows, then turned to her right, walked down the other side of the pews to the back of the church, and stopped in front of the confession booth. Once more she checked whether she was alone, before she quickly slipped through the narrow opening between the heavy black velvet curtain and the wooden frame of the booth.
She sat down, pressing her face against the partition, and tried hard to see into the chamber where the priest was supposed to sit. It took some moments for her eyes to get used to the low light. He wasn’t there. Hope knew he wouldn’t be, but she needed to be sure.
Ever since Faith had told her about forgetting her panties on the gallery, Hope had been obsessed with thoughts of the priest and the confession booth. Her fantasy included him, but in reality she would rather die a thousand deaths than have him here.
With her cheek still resting against the partition, Hope closed her eyes. She slowly moved her hand up to the first button on her dress, and undid it. With the third undone, her naked breasts spilled out. The same hand cupped a breast and squeezed. She slowly circled a nipple, and parted her legs.
His tongue darts lightly over her nipple, then runs around it in tiny circles. He looks at her closed eyes, waiting for her to open them. When she does, his eyes tell her to beg. She opens her mouth, panting, watching his tongue. Waiting. Her eyes lock with his again, flash back to his tongue and with a deep sigh, she pleads: “Suck my nipple, please, suck my nipple.”
Hope sucked on her finger, then slowly traced wet circles around her nipple. Closer and closer, until her erect nipple was wet, her fingers slipping off when she wanted to pinch her flesh. She opened her eyes, and looked down at her ample chest. Hope loved the sight of her round breasts; it excited her, especially when she thought of his hands on them.
She pulled up the hem of her dress, briefly lifted her bottom and sat back down, her naked bottom on the wooden chair. There was no way she would repeat Faith’s mistake, forgetting her panties. Spreading her legs, she smelled her own arousal.
He moves back, breaking contact with her body, and looks from her erect nipples to her wet opening. Leaning over her, he touches her lips with his, and firmly pushes three fingers in her hole. Hope gasps, feeling full, but wanting more. Always wanting more. She pushes against his hand, fucking herself with his fingers. He brings her to the brink of an orgasm, then stops and pulls away.
Her empty cunt aches for him, and she willingly grabs his hand as he pulls her up towards him. He turns her around and presses her against the back of the wooden booth. Hope arches her back; spreads her legs. The priest buries himself in her from behind, filling every aching, longing bit of her. Holding onto her swinging breasts, he fucks her hard, allowing her climax to milk his from him.
Hope furiously rubbed her clitoris, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She straddled the chair, and tried to rub her clitoris against the hard wood, but the angle wasn’t right. An idea formed in her head as she looked at the elongated knobs on either side of the backrest of the chair; the knobs she was holding on to.
Briefly the thought of hygiene crossed her mind, and as best as she could, she tried to clean the knob with her spit. Then, resting one foot on the chair, and angling it some, she lowered herself over the wood. It was the perfect fit, and together with her fingers on her clitoris, it brought her to the summit she longed for.
“Hope? Hope, where are you?”
The softly spoken words brought her back to the present. Hope fumbled with the buttons on her dress, and was just in time to button up her dress again when the curtain was drawn sideways. Three pairs of eyes stared at her — that of Faith, Charity and the priest. A blush burned on Hope’s face, hoping they couldn’t see the wetness on the chair behind her.
“Sorry, I needed a moment for myself, to… er… to think about… the… about… the… er… the sermon,” she stuttered.
Hope pushed passed them, and rushed to get out of the church, Faith and Charity in her wake. They finally caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs outside the church.
“Hope, come on, wait!” Faith called, and grabbed her friend’s arm. “Your dress,” she said, “your buttons…”
Hope froze in her tracks and looked down. In her haste she had attached the first hole to the second button. She looked at Faith, while correcting the error, her face crimson red, and it turned even redder when she saw the priest watching the three of them from the church door.
“I can never go to confession again!”
This story was inspired by May More, because of her comment on The priest and her panties:
I think maybe she has a couple of friends – Hope and Charity?~ May More
© Rebel’s Notes
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