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[desecratedclergy]

All I can think about today is young priests struggling to maintain their celibacy. It's so sweet and adorably pathetic.

Their devout hearts are in the right place. They pray so ardently. Yet their flesh was designed for a purpose that contradicts their vows entirely. It needs to breed. It's so fun to think of these poor priests, listening with racing hearts as their patrons confess the same sinful thoughts they have, to think of them with their sensitive, neglected cocks half-hard at all times, a heavy guilt between their legs as they try to preach holiness and chastity before their congregation. But all they can think of is sex sex sex sex.

I just want to take them in my arms and stroke their hair and tell them they're doing such a good job, that God is so proud of them for fighting the very nature of their flesh. I want to kiss them on their foreheads and pretend I don't feel it when their dicks twitch. I know I can leave them with the memory of my breast against their cheeks, and they wouldn't dare stroke themselves to the thought of it. What sweet, good boys they all are.

[desecratedclergy]

Obsessed with the idea of a priest who only allows himself to cum on certain solemn conditions.

To keep his eyes from taking pleasure in the sight of his self-satisfaction, he kneels on his prayer chair in complete darkness. To keep his hands from the temptation of stroking his aching cock, he clasps them tightly together. To keep his mind from wandering, he prays.

He chooses a long prayer, reciting it slowly and carefully, lingering on each word, because he has vowed in his heart that if he does not reach his climax before he says 'amen', he will not allow himself to spill his seed at all. His hips move shakily, pushing his cock against the crucifix carved into the wooden seat back. It isn't comfortable, but such an act of sin isn't meant to be. He doesn't realize just how much this subtle self-punishment turns him on. He keeps his mind only on the words he murmurs for the Lord, and prays them all in Jesus' name, so that it will not be said in vain as his body trembles, his cum defiles the cross, and he cries out 'oh God'.

[desecratedclergy]

There is an inherent safety to hierophilia that I find myself most attracted to.

The priest is a pure, incorruptible man. And I want him to stay that way. I want him to remain sacred. I want to seek and find peace with a man so steadfast in his vows that he wouldn't lay a hand on me, which would, in turn, allow me true freedom. With a holy man, you can tempt him, bare yourself to him, touch him in ways he never could have imagined. You can speak of your sinful thoughts and desires, and watch as he struggles not to rebuke you, but to accept your lewd talk with divine patience.

Of course he is merely human. He may fight against the desires of his flesh, may pray for mercy and aid, may remind himself that he should never defile another creature of God, but what's more, he may triumph. I hope he triumphs. I want to be what he looks back on and regards as temptation overpowered. I want him to say a prayer of thanks for the evil he was able to overcome. I want him to praise God, and think of me as nothing more than a passing trial or tribulation. Pure eroticism lies in the control he exerts over himself, more than any he could ever have over me, or I over him. What could I hope to gain from a man so devout? I don't know. But I want to tempt, without the fear of sin. I want to be a human, without the fear of being torn open.

I want the safety of a priest.

[desecratedclergy]

it isn't even a sex thing at this point I just think the only thing that can fix me is a kind priest with gentle hands and a patient disposition who truly views me as a creature of God, worthy of love, care, time, and attention because he believes I was made in His image

[desecratedclergy]

humbly I propose that hierophilia and menstruation should go hand in hand. I should be allowed to have my husband put on a clerical collar and place aspirin on my tongue and pour wine down my throat before he holds a heated crucifix against my womb and fucks this Demon of Blood out of me

[desecratedclergy]

I hate that I'm captive to the cycles dictated by the womb that God cursed me to bear. I wonder if a priest would shrink in alarm at my talk of the secret inner workings of woman. Would he hear my lamentations? Could I confess to him that I know I'm at the peak of ovulation, and that despite being so, so horny, aching, constantly wet, I'm filled with entirely contradicting feelings? My body yearns for the touch of man, yet even though my flesh screams 'I want and want and want', the thought of having sex to silence it fills me with disgust. Surely a priest must understand this conflict of mind and body. But I am no member of the clergy; I am simply a woman.

If I functioned as God designed woman to, I would accept the cock that tries to fuck me in these few crucial days for conception, and multiply as He commanded Adam and Eve to. Yet I refuse every advance. Why would I rather talk about it with the only man who is forbidden from satisfying my flesh, than to seek relief where I ought to? I am no member of the clergy. I am simply a woman.

If I confessed all this, would a priest understand me? Could he guide me through my emotions? Or would he say that I must accept the cross I've been laden with, silence the objections of my brain, and let myself be pierced to fulfill the role God made me for, to bear children and absolve me of the sin of being born a woman?

[desecratedclergy]

soft gentle priest, tell me you know God has a purpose for me

pray for me

think of me, when I know no one else is.

tell me in your sweet reverent voice that humans are their happiest when they serve their Creator with all their heart, mind, and soul; tell me to serve Him; command it; demand it, and watch me smile as you say it.

I'll do it

I'll do it

but all for the wrong reasons

how could you ever convince my empty soul that there's more to life than serving as your perfect lost convert?

[desecratedclergy]

biggest pet peeve in the online hierophiliac space is the non-capitalization of God and Lord in written scenarios. Nothing breaks immersion quicker than that

[desecratedclergy]

I feel like an 80s housewife with a deep desire for those paperback romance novels with the steamy oil painting covers, only I need it to be a 'seduction of the needlessly hot priest' story. I don't care how trashy to be honest. They must exist, right? I need them, if only for the cover art I imagine they'd have