Priest: A Love Story

I was as restless as a caged animal on Thursday.

I tried watching Netflix, I tried reading. My house was already perfectly clean, my lawn mowed. The only thing I could focus on was Poppy. On seeing her tonight.

And finally, I gave up and went to my room. I sat in the chair by my bed and unzipped my jeans. I had been in a state of semi-hardness all day, and just the thought of jacking off—something I’d mostly denied myself for the past three years—was enough to get me all the way there. I gave myself a couple of pulls until my cock was pointing straight up, remembering how it felt to have Poppy’s wet cunt pressing against me. I leaned back, my jaw tight, finally giving up and reaching for my phone.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” That voice. It was even huskier on the phone. I wrapped my hand around my dick and slowly stroked myself.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the club.” I could hear her moving around, as if she were walking into a more private place to talk. “But I’m almost done. What’s going on?”

I hesitated. God, this was so fucking crass, but I wanted her voice in my ear as I did this. “I’m hard, Poppy. I’m so fucking hard that I can’t think straight.”

“Oh,” she said. And then, her voice filled with understanding, “Oh, Tyler, are you—”

“Yes.”

“How?” she said, and I could hear her moving again and then I heard a door close shut. “Where?”

“I’m in my room. My jeans are pulled down.”

“Are your legs splayed? Are you leaning back or sitting up?” Her questions were laced with want, with hunger. It made me grip myself harder.

“I’m leaning back. Yes, my legs are wide. It makes me think of when you knelt between them and sucked me off.”

“I want to do it again,” she purred, and somehow I knew that she was touching herself too. “I want to lick you from base to tip. I want to suck you in deep.”

“I want that too.”

“Are you using your whole hand or just your fingers?”

“My whole hand,” I said, and I was jerking myself in earnest now, wanting her to be here so badly.

“Hold on,” she said, and there were a few seconds of silence. Then my phone buzzed. “You have a text,” she said silkily.

I held my phone away from my face and nearly passed out. She’d sent me a picture of her fingers buried in her cunt. “You’re so fucking dirty,” I said. And then another one came through, this one angled so that I could see her black high heel braced against the edge of a desk.

Holy shit.

“I can hear you now,” she said. “I can hear your hand moving over your cock. God, I wish I could see it.”

“I wish you could too,” I said, and I managed to pull up the camera on my phone and turn on the video, all with one hand because no way was I slowing down now.

“I’m so wet,” she confided. “I’m making a mess. I’m in my boss’s office right now—mmm—it’s all so slippery and I wish it was your cock instead of my fingers, I wish it so much. I wore these heels today knowing I’d be digging them into your back later.”

I kept the image of her heels and that perfect cunt in my mind as I let her words work their magic. My climax jolted through me and I thrust up into my hand, groaning loudly as come jetted out of my dick, exhaling a muttered fuck as the orgasm slowly backed down.

“I love hearing you,” came her voice from the earpiece. “Your noises. I thought about them last night in my hotel room while I played with myself.”

“Naughty girl.” I sent her the video. “Now it’s your turn to check your messages.”

There was a pause and then I could hear the unmistakable sound of myself jacking off as she played the video, hear my groan echoing in her boss’s office. “Oh God,” she whispered, and it was clear I was on speaker now. “Fuck, Tyler. That’s so—if I were there, I would lick every last drop off you.”

“If you were here, it all would have gone in your tight little cunt,” I growled.

“Jesus,” she moaned. And then, “Yes,” which was followed by breathy little gasps that made my cock stir back to life. And finally silence, punctuated with a loud sigh and the chair squeaking as she sat up.

I heard the click as I came off speaker. “Tyler?”

“Yes?”

The smile was apparent in her voice. “Feel free to call me any time.”

Somehow, I managed to make it through the rest of the day, running until I couldn’t think, half-heartedly piecing together stuff for Bishop Bove’s panel proposal while I impatiently watched the clock (and tamped down guilt as I gathered notes about sexual sin.)

Around seven in the evening, my phone buzzed.

I’m home. Do you want me to come to the rectory?

I responded right away. I’ll meet you at the church.

Thursday night was the one night a week without any activities, groups or Bible studies going on, so the church was empty. It was still early enough in the evening to be light out, and I wanted the plausible excuse of counseling or budget stuff in case someone saw her walking into the church. Her coming to the rectory alone at night would be a little harder to defend.

I slipped in the back door and practically jogged down the hallway to the narthex, where the front doors were locked. I turned the bolt and opened the door, and there was Poppy in a short red dress and black high heels, lips red and ready for me.

I had wanted to be gentle at first, to share more of those deep sweet kisses that left us dizzy and stunned, but that dress and those heels…

Screw gentle.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside, barely taking the time to lock the door before I pushed her against it and slanted my mouth over hers. I slid my hands under her ass and lifted her so that she was truly pinned between the wood and my pelvis, which I rocked against her as we kissed.

And that was when I discovered she wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Poppy,” I said, breaking our kiss to move a hand down between us. “What’s this?”

“I told you,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “You made me messy today. I had to take them off.”

“So you spent the rest of the afternoon bare?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

I pulled away from the wall, still holding her, and carried her into the sanctuary, using my back to push open the door. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and it was so natural, so right, to have her in my arms that I never wanted to put her down.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, a bit coyly.

“Yes,” I growled, nipping at her neck. “Lots of trouble. But first, I’m going to bend you over and see exactly how bad you’ve been.”

My plan had been to take her into my office, but I couldn’t wait the five minutes it would take to walk back there; I was barely able to keep myself from unzipping my jeans and thrusting up into her right there and then. I could bend her over a pew, but I wanted her to be able to brace and balance herself. The piano was across the sanctuary, but the altar…the church’s sacred stone table was only a couple of steps away.

Forgive me, I thought and then carried Poppy up the shallow stairs. I set her down and turned her to face the altar, happy to see that it would be the perfect height with her in those heels.

“The altar,” she murmured. “Am I your sacrifice tonight?”

“Are you offering?”

In response, she put her hands flat on the altar cloth, a move that curved her back and highlighted the round contour of her ass.

“Oh, very good, lamb, but not good enough.” I pressed a hand against her back and pushed her down, watching the skirt ride slowly up the back of her thighs as she bent over. I pushed until her turned cheek was sideways against the altar, and then I found her wrists and stretched them above her head.

“Don’t move an inch,” I whispered low in her ear, then walked to the sacristy, where I found a cincture. When I came back out into the apse, she was still as I left her, which deeply pleased me. I would reward her for that later.

I made quick work of knotting the white rope around her wrists and hands, thinking of the prayer priests were supposed to say as they tied their cinctures. Gird me, O Lord, with the cincture of purity, and quench in my heart the fire of lust…

Wrapped around her wrists, binding this woman to my desires, the cincture was doing the exact opposite of its purpose, quenching nothing. My entire body was on fire for hers, flames already licking every inch of my skin, and the only way to douse them was to sink balls deep into her sweet cunt. I should feel bad about that.

I should.

I stepped back to admire my work: the way her arms looked stretched forward and bound together, like a captive in supplication; the way her black heels dug into the carpet; the way her ass was displayed and at my disposal.

I came back to her, lifting the hem of her skirt with one finger. “This shows an awful lot, little lamb. Do you know how much?”

She was staring at me over the curve of her shoulder. “Yes,” she said. “I can feel the air on me…”

I knelt behind her as I had that time after her confession, but this time only to examine. The skirt indeed only just covered what it needed, and the slightest lift would have revealed the shell-pink seam of her cunt.

“Why did you wear this dress today, Poppy?”

“I wanted…I wanted you to fuck me in it.”

“That’s naughty. But not quite as naughty as being in public, at work, with your bare cunt so exposed.” I stood up and then ran my hands up her thighs, catching the soft fabric in my fingers and moving it above her hips.

“What if the wind had blown your skirt up?” I caressed her ass as I spoke. “What if you’d happened to uncross your legs and someone was looking from just the right angle?”

Her voice was muffled by her arm. “I used to get naked for money. I’m not worried about it.”

Crack.

She sucked in a deep breath, and I watched as a red handprint bloomed on her ass, clear even in the dim late-evening light.

“I’m worried about it,” I said. “You know how fucking jealous I am of the men who got to see you like that? How jealous I am of Sterling?”

“You shouldn’t be—”

Crack.

She shuddered and then widened her stance to push her ass closer to my hand.

“I know I shouldn’t be,” I said, “that’s not the point. I don’t hold your past life against you. But this—” I let my hand slide down to cup her pussy, which was hot and swollen and wet “—I’m taking this tonight. I’m making it mine. Which makes you a bad girl to be so reckless with it today.”

I spanked her again, and she moaned against her arm. “I don’t know what it is about you,” I told her, leaning close to her ear. “But you bring out the fucking caveman in me. Look at me, Poppy.”

She did, one beautiful hazel eye peeping up over her tied arm. I squeezed her pussy, and she was so slippery against my palm, it took everything I had not to show how wild that made me, that she could get this turned on by the spanking and the submission. But I had to check this one box, settle this final question, because I didn’t want to go to feminist ally hell on top of the other hells I was destined for.

I squeezed her again and she struggled to keep her gaze on me. “Poppy, I…I want to be like this with you. Rough. Possessive. But you have to tell me it’s okay.” I rested my head on her back, rolling my face into her neck. “Tell me it’s okay, Poppy. Say those words.”

God, that lavender smell and the silky brush of her hair against my cheek and the feeling of her wet cunt pulsing in my hand. “Just…fuck.”

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was urgent, clear, loud. “Yes, please.”

“Please what?” I had to be sure. Because the things I wanted to do to this woman—Leviticus had not even come close to covering all the ways I wanted to defile her.

I could hear the smile in her voice along with the neediness. “Tyler, you are exactly what I want. Use me. Be rough. Leave marks.” She paused. “Please.”

That was all I needed. I kissed the back of her neck and then straightened so I could smack her ass again, rubbing the spot right afterwards to soothe away the burn. “Stand up and turn around,” I ordered, and she complied right away. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to make me come on its own—she looked like she would do anything, anything, to be fucked just then, and I had a lot of things in mind for her to do.

But first.

I untied her wrists, kissing the faint indentations left behind by the rope, and then I reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It fell to her feet, leaving her completely naked with the exception of her heels. I took a minute to stare at her, at the ripe teardrops of her breasts, big enough to squeeze, small enough to support themselves. Her supple stomach, slender and soft and slightly rounded, with the kind of hips you could dig your fingers into. The naked V of her pussy, smoothly delicate, and the irresistible curve of her ass.

“I just realized you aren’t wearing your…” she gestured at her throat.

“Day off,” I said, my voice hoarser than I expected. I reached behind my neck and grabbed the fabric of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head and off my body, relishing the way her lips parted and her hand drifted to her mouth as she stared at me. I unbuckled my belt, sliding the leather through the loops of my jeans and dropping it on the floor. I kicked off my shoes and took off my jeans.

I normally liked to stay at least partly clothed during sex, but I wanted to give her this, my nakedness, as a gift. And selfishly, I wanted to feel every inch of her skin against mine. This was my first fuck in three years and I refused to miss a single thing.

“Come here,” I said. “And kneel.”

She did, her breath audible now, kneeling in front of me and crossing her ankles behind her, taunting me with those heels.

“Take them off,” I said, jerking my chin down to indicate my black boxer briefs. She did, impatiently tugging them off my hips, and I groaned as my erection was finally, finally let free.

She pressed soft, red lips to the silky skin of my cock. “Let me suck you,” she breathed up at me. “Let me make you feel good.”

I found her lips with my thumb, running it along her lower one and pulling it down to open her up more. “Hold still,” I told her, and then I guided my cock into her waiting mouth.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, that felt good.

It had only been since Saturday, and yet I’d forgotten that this woman’s mouth was like a slice of heaven, warm and wet and with that flicking, fluttering tongue that danced along the underside of my dick.

I laced my hands through her hair—fucking up whatever adorable hairstyle she’d had it in—and then slowly withdrew, savoring every single second as her lips and tongue kissed against my skin. And then I slid in again, less gently this time, my eyes darting from her lips to her heels to the way her hand circled her clit as I slowly fucked her mouth.

She kept her eyes pinned to mine, peering up at me through those long dark eyelashes, and I thought about all the times they’d distracted the hell out of me and all the times that I’d wanted to fuck her brains out (and then paddle her sweet ass for making me so goddamned crazy about her.)

I tightened my grip in her hair. I wanted to go hard, I wanted to make her eyes water, I wanted to thrust until I reached the point where I could barely hold back from shooting down her throat. “Ready?” I whispered to her, still wanting to tread on the side of consent and caution.

And then she groaned a frustrated groan, as if annoyed that I was asking again.

“Bad lamb,” I said and thrust hard into her mouth. I heard her choke as I hit the back of her throat, but I only gave her a minute before I pushed in again, and again. I knew I was longer and wider than most men, I knew I was harder to take, but I wasn’t going to cut her any slack unless she asked for it, not after that stunt.

“You like being bad? You like making me punish you?”

She managed to nod, her watery eyes blinking up at me in this honest, impeaching way, and I knew it was true.

I swore. “You’re going to make me crazy.”

She smiled around my cock, and fuck, I had to be absolved of all these sins because Saint Peter himself wouldn’t have been able to deny himself this woman. I drove into her mouth several more times, right up until I could feel that familiar clench in my belly and then I pulled out, my breathing ragged from the effort it took not to come all over that gorgeous face.

Instead, I used my thumb to wipe at Poppy’s eyes, which were now smudged with makeup and tears. The ever-so-slightly smeared lipstick I left the way it was.

In fact, it was too tempting not to kiss and lick and nibble at, and I picked her up so I could do just that while I walked her over to the altar. Her lips were swollen from my assault and yet so yielding to my kiss, so deliciously soft. I groaned into her mouth as she licked past my teeth and tasted my tongue, and I moved my mouth harder against hers. Harder and more and I could barely breathe for kissing this woman.

I set her down on the altar but didn’t end the kiss, stroking around her breasts and hips. It was damn near impossible to stop, but I was getting to the point where little else mattered apart from getting inside her, and so I did stop.

“Lay back,” I said as I broke our kiss, holding my hand behind her head so that she wouldn’t hurt it accidentally.

It was a long altar, and she wasn’t a tall woman, and so she was able to arrange herself comfortably with room to spare. I trailed one hand along her stomach as I walked around the back, facing the sanctuary as if I were beginning the communion rite. Except instead of the body and blood of Christ spread before me, I had Poppy Danforth.

I ran the tip of my nose along her jaw, oh so slowly down and across her body, loving the way she arched and tilted to my touch, so greedy. She was a feast to me—creases and hollows and supple curves—and having her like this was like the first gasp of oxygen after surfacing from the water, powerful and instinctual, and I didn’t give a fuck about all the sins I was currently committing, I was going to revel in every minute of it.

I bit at the inside of her thighs. I circled every inch of her pussy with my tongue. I kneaded her breasts with rough hands until she squeaked, and I nibbled at the dip of her navel and sucked on each nipple until she was writhing on the altar. I took kisses from her rather than sharing them with her. I slid my fingers in her cunt not to make her feel good, but so that I could relish the sensation of the slickness against my fingertips.

I knew she was getting pleasure from all this, and I did want her to come, often and hard, when she was with me. But this moment? Where I was groping and squeezing and inhaling her scent and feeding on her sighs? This was for me.

And after I was done taking what I wanted, when I was so hard that I couldn’t think straight, I climbed up on the altar with her, kneeling between her parted legs.

I waited, a hairbreadth of a second, waited for God’s voice to come thundering down, waited for a heavenly intervention like when Abraham had his only child bound and ready for sacrifice. But it never came. There was only Poppy and her heaving chest as she murmured, “Please please please…”

I didn’t know how anyone could so callously dismiss Poppy as simply a woman who always wanted it, as nothing more than a whore born into a debutante’s body. Because right now, with her eyes so dark and her skin so flushed, she was the holiest thing I’d ever seen. A miracle made flesh, waiting for my flesh to join with it.

“You are truly beautiful,” I said, running a finger down her jaw. And then I reached for her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. “Whatever happens after this, I just want you to know that this was worth it. You were worth it. You were worth everything.”

She opened her mouth and then shut it again, as if she couldn’t find the right words to say. A single tear spilled out of the corner of her eye and I leaned over her to kiss it away.

“Tyler…” she started but I silenced her with a kiss.

“Just listen,” I said, lowering myself between her legs. She shivered as the head of my cock pressed against her entrance.

“This,” I said, and I pushed partly into her, barely able to breathe for how tight she was around me. “This is your body.”

I leaned my head down and caught the delicate skin of her neck in my teeth. “This is your blood,” I whispered in her ear.

I shoved all the way in, and she cried out as her back arched off the altar.

“This is you,” I told her and the empty sanctuary, “this is you, given up for me.”

We stayed still after that, absorbing the new feeling of each other, the feeling of my hips pressed to her softness, the feeling of her tight, tight channel around me. I was worried I was going to come just being like this, just being inside.

But then I noticed that she was biting her lip and breathing shakily, and I realized that she was adjusting to my size. I could hardly fit, and what’s worse, that was what made it feel so fucking good.

God, I was such an asshole. I hadn’t made her ready enough and part of me found that hot, so hot that I was barely able to attend to her the way a good man should. I had to lean down and bite her neck and shoulders repeatedly to force myself to stay still—all I wanted to do was pound into her like she was a little fuckdoll, pump into her like nothing existed except for her pussy.

But no, this was not how our first time should be. I told her I wanted to be rough, but the rough fucking I was dying to give her would be too much, and I couldn’t bear to abuse my lamb like that.

Finally mastering myself a little, I pulled out halfway, reaching down to rub her clit, thinking I would get her off and then finish another way that wouldn’t hurt her. She caught my hand. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t be the good guy. I told you what I wanted. Now give it to me.”

“But I want you to enjoy it too.”

“I will,” she said, her eyes wide and open and fervent. “Give me what I want, Tyler. I want this. Please.”

I groaned at her words, my dick surging, and I sank back into her slowly. My thighs and arms were trembling with the suppressed need, but I couldn’t be that guy, I didn’t want to be that guy, the guy who used a woman for himself and didn’t make it good for her. She said she wanted it, and I know I’d asked for and gotten permission, but still, she didn’t know how rough I could be, how hard I could go.

She slid her arms around my neck and pulled herself up to speak in my ear. “How can I push you over the edge? Hmm?” She wriggled underneath me, and I sucked in a breath, the sudden motion after the stillness almost too much.

“How can I convince you to tear me apart?”

Well, shit.

“I can tell that’s what you want,” she continued, purring in my ear. “I can feel you shaking. Do it. Just pull out and then push back in. Doesn’t that feel good?”

Fuck yes, it did. It felt so good that I did it again, and again, closing my eyes and exhaling slow ragged breaths. Each time I pushed in, I ground myself against her clit, pulling out slowly to drag against her g-spot, some gallant voice telling me to make sure that she would come, the rest of me fighting that voice and pleading with me to screw her mindlessly.

“Where’s the man who spanked me?” she asked. “Where’s the man who fucked my throat until my eyes watered?”

My eyes were still closed, but I opened them now, meeting her gaze. “Don’t want to hurt you,” I said, my voice rough with the effort of my restraint. “I care about you too much.”

“Tyler,” she begged. “You’ve done it before with me.”

“Not like this.”

“Look,” she demanded. “Look down at us.”

I did, withdrawing out to the tip, and it was a mistake because seeing where we were joined was so hot, so primal, and it clawed its way up my spine, and I didn’t even know what it was—lust or love or biology or fate—but my attempt at nobility fractured and the beast within broke through.

“Forgive me,” I muttered and then rammed myself home. She moaned in surprise and then I laid my body on top of hers, supporting myself with only my forearms now, our chests and stomachs pressed together, my hips digging into her inner thighs. Pinning her down like this, I stabbed into her over and over and over again, burying myself repeatedly in that velvet pussy.

“More,” she moaned, and I gave it to her.

I heard her heels tumble off and fall to the floor, and the altar cloth was sliding I was driving into her so hard, but I didn’t care, I was lost to myself, lost to her and lost to the world and everything except her grunts and squeals in my ear and the wet cunt underneath me.

It was perfect, and I was fucking that perfection, and I didn’t give a fuck about anything else but it and my dick and filling this woman with my cum, and why the hell did damnation feel so fucking good?

I don’t even know what I was saying as I rutted into her, Jesus, please and I’m sorry and you’re so tight and I have to I have to I have to.

And she was saying words back, words that spilled out in gasps and grunts and pants, right there and harder and close, I’m so close.

Deeper, I had to get deeper even though I knew there was no actual, physical way I could be deeper, and then I took her mouth, kissing her with something violent and furious and worshipful. We could both hardly breathe but we refused to stop and I fucked her all the while, feeling her tighten and writhe and finally break underneath me. She bucked, crying out against my mouth, her fingernails gouging red lines of pain down my back, and we rode out her orgasm together because she was a wild thing, a woman possessed, and it was like having a tigress underneath me, but I kept riding her and then it was there, it was there, it was there and I still had her mouth as I jabbed in a final time and came.

Excruciatingly, I came.

Every pulse of my dick was like a pulse of my soul, and every muscle tightening and contracting was like a punch to the gut, and I was so bare with this woman in every way, my nerves flayed raw and my heart wide open and my eternal soul right alongside my bruising hips and thrusting dick and the cum that was now spilling everywhere, leaking onto the white altar cloth, and yes, this is why the Church wanted marriage and sex to go hand in hand because I felt as married to her right now as a man could be married to a woman.

I gave a few last thrusts, milking every last throb out of my climax, every last drop out of myself, and then I raised myself up on my hands to look down at her.

She was smiling a lazy, sated smile, and then she said, “Amen.”