#hes so gorg and his features are delicious so i had to draw him

[dvlcecito]

hwaseonghwaseonghwaseonghw

[thecrownedbeastarchive]

Unholy (Priest!Michael LangdonxReader) 

Author’s note: This was a Millory fanfic I wrote a few months back. I edited it to be a Michael LangdonxReader fanfic. I thought you all would enjoy it! More fanfic to come thanks to your requests. 💜

Warnings: public masturbation, blasphemy, domination, bondage, nsfw 

You were a faithful churchgoer. From your first breaths to now, your parents had instilled in you a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing you’d done after moving away from home was find a local church; and you found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity. The congregation was warm and welcoming, you felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. You believed they were the perfect shepherds to your soul. All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Your trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons you’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved you. Often when looking upon him at the altar, you would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was artwork, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips…You shook your thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued your mind for three months. You would scold yourself, commanding your body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers you wanted to see free and throbbing-Oh God! This was your reason for going to confession today. You’d been neglecting it, but now you knew you couldn’t give allowance to your sins any longer. The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any; white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There was a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door of the confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed you. You entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Your blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side, “I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, (Y/N),” the voice chuckled.

Your legs tensed as you instinctively fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, “Father Langdon…”

The lattice of the window separating you still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, (Y/N),” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

You swallowed, your chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made you clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made your breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Your throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

You closed your legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

You cleared your throat, the heat beneath your skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” you dug your nails into your thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung in the booth before he spoke, “I can sense that in you, (Y/N),” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Your voice trembled, barely leaving your mouth, “Of course not.”

His smile was dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

You closed your eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more…potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

You paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, (Y/N),” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins…and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Your mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his tone was…desperate, “Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, (Y/N)?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” you dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

You nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Your voice was so tiny, your heart leaped into your throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, (Y/N),” you heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Your core throbbed at his words. Your mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of your flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked your own thoughts from your mind and was reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, (Y/N),” it was like his voice was right next to your ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Your fingers slipped under your panties as if of their own will. You massaged your pulsing clit, your folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which you pumped two fingers in and out of yourself, biting your lip to detain your ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick…wet…sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded you, but you kept going…faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew you were making such a filthy scene for the priest?And yet that made your desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, (Y/N)?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from your throat, but you placed a hand over your mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting your own voice, you whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

You could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

You felt yourself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing your closeness; gently guiding you towards your orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing your tension as you rode the high. As you came down, your breathing slowed, and your mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, (Y/N)?” He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Are you sated?”

You removed your fingers from your panties, quickly searching your bag for a tissue to wipe them on, your face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

You froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over you.

“Find a way to…absolve them in a more tangible way.”

You sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, (Y/N).”

“And with you also,” you returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was your own anxiety, but you were sure a few squinting glares were thrown your way.

You had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from your sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on your tongue, the wine of communion soured in your stomach. Even your outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. you sat at the end of your usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of you. Your eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read your mind; because all you could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged you so completely. The hymns you sang erupted from constricted breath as you imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between your legs and bringing you to ungodly bliss. You felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels. You were thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to your ability to stay calm. When the service ended, you gathered your purse and hurried towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.

“(Y/N)!” The voice stopped you in your tracks, “Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to you with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting. You didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of your mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”

He cocked his head, offering you a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, (Y/N), there’s nothing to forgive.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “But…”

He motioned for you to walk with him a bit further away from the crowd, which you did reluctantly, “Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at you, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head.

“Brilliant writer,” he stopped, your eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”

Heat bloomed in your chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”

He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”

As irregular as it was, you took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as you thought of anyone else being “helped” by him, “Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”

His eyes lazily rolled over your figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”

Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through you; along with a sharp pang of desire.

“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”

Confused, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Then why…?”

“Why you?” He finished for you, gazing at you with an admiring look, “You’re different, (Y/N). There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re…genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”

You blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”

He took your hand between his, the comforting warmth intoxicating, “Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head,” he looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”

Your heart jumped, “I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”

He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, (Y/N).”

You had a flashing thought of him pinning you against the pew, but threw it away. “And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of your hand, leaving a trace of abandonment, “I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”

Your mind demanded you say no. What kind of woman were you to be alone with the priest you lusted over?

“How so?”

He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?”

You knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”

“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.”

You nodded, “That sounds great.”

He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror of your bathroom for an hour; your makeup, your dress, your hair, even practicing how you would say hello. “Good evening, Father,” you smiled at your reflection before shaking your head. Too formal. You gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on your heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” You groaned, cringing. Too peppy. You took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.” You sighed, frustrated with yourself, and shut off the light, heading into your room. You grabbed your purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as you pulled into the driveway. It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the glass giving a peek inside. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky. You locked your car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside. After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming you. “Hello, (Y/N).” He was everything you expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once your eyes drew up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. You were hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in your chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together. You mumbled a hello under your breath. “I’m so glad to see you.” You managed a squeaky, “You too.” He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.” You stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor. “You look beautiful,” he commented looking over your simple dress. You breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look…different.” He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?” You gulped, “I do, it looks…” you held yourself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.” He smirked, as if reading your thoughts, and invited you to the dining room. Dinner went by normally. You talked about life. How you were fairing in college, how your family was doing back home, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when you would ask. He only told you that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he’d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable you knew him to be at the Cathedral. Afterward, you’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed you the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?” You stopped, your lips parted over the rim of your glass. He grinned sympathetically, “Come, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.” You swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re…very attractive, charismatic, charming,” you glanced up at him, “you command a room.” He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?” You thought of your youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; you became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys your age just didn’t appeal to you all that much. “Some.” “Do you like being dominated?” He asked it so brazenly, it hit you like a slap to the face. You shrugged, stuttering, “I…I guess I have a proclivity to…follow the rules.” His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.” Heavy heat settled between your legs at his tone; you yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.” His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?” You shook your head, your voice maintaining a tinny as you confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” you looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying me up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.” A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, (Y/N)?” You cleared your throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been…penetrated.” your face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.” He tilted his head, waiting for you to explain. “Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.” That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.” Your pulse pounded in your ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence. He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?” A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced your core, “I’m sorry?” His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?” You released an audible gasp, your body trembling. You swallowed hard, “What you just said.” He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?” You felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away your inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.” “Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.” You watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge, licking your lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?” You nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?” Your voice was thick, ��Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.” He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.” You set your glass on a counter, dropping to your knees and crawling to him slowly, your eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon you, and you sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against your wet slit through your panties. Your hips rocked slowly, earning you a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing your ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?” He pulled you closer, making you move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on your neck, your skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth. “The things I want to do to you,” he growled. His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of your neck to your ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, (Y/N)? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?” Your hands clutched his shirt, your head thrown back; you intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made you feel. Without warning, his hand was at your throat; gripping just tight enough to cause your eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust. “You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?” His lips hovered just above yours, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.” You moved your hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched you closer, your warm breath passing between your lips, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.” You looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire. “Get on the floor.” You slipped off of him, your bare knees hitting the carpet. “Take out my cock,” he commanded. You undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook you as you wrapped your lips around the head, sucking gently. He gasped, “Eager little slut.” You massaged his balls, taking more of him into your mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through your hair. You gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of your mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as you moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at your eyes as you pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited your mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting your bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking. He caressed your cheek as you dragged your tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum. “Come here,” his raspy voice demanded.

You propped yourself on his knees, your eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped your chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”

You responded quietly, “Please?”

He cupped the back of your head, bringing your foreheads together, your lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of your hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.” His gaze focused on your glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze your bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.” He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.” He delivered a swift, hard slap to your ass, your tiny yelp making his cock jerk. “Follow me.” Father Langdon’s bedroom was as sleek and dark as the rest of his décor; but the two main attractions were the three overlook windows you had noticed outside, and the large bed draped in red silk sheets and a black leather bed frame; two decorative pikes on either side of the headboard. You couldn’t help but eye the bed with curiosity, finding that the priest hid darker undertones of his personality in his most intimate places. “Take off your dress,” he ordered. You nearly jumped, turning around to see him taking three red cords from a little black box. He paused, meeting your eyes when you hesitated. He smiled gently, raising an eyebrow, “Please?” You stripped slowly, letting the dress pool around your feet. He looked you over. “Oh, (Y/N),” he responded breathlessly, twirling the red ties between his graceful fingers, “Heaven couldn’t create a more perfect form.” You blushed, your thighs were slick with arousal as he beckoned you forward; laying the ties neatly over the box. His fingers lazily dragged down your bare stomach before slipping just inside your panties, “How about I relieve some of your tension while you strip off my clothes.” You bit your lip, starting to unbutton his shirt; your blood boiling in anticipation. He moaned as his finger slipped inside your heat, his fingertip lazily rubbing your clit in slow, wide circles. Your knees nearly buckled beneath you; desperate noises breathily rising from your throat. Your hips moved with his rhythm, slipping his shirt off to hang from his forearms. Your hands softly drifted over his toned chest and broad shoulders, nails digging in when his fingers explored your dripping core more enthusiastically. He growled impatiently, snatching his fingers away to remove his shirt. He slid down, wrapping his arms under your thighs; forcing you to hold onto him tightly as he carried you to the windows, pinning you against the middle pane. “I can see practically the whole neighborhood from this view, (Y/N),” he latched onto your neck, sucking and licking up to your ear, “Let’s give any nosy neighbors a show.” His fingers slipped your panties off, throwing them aside. The cold glass stung your bare skin, the scandalous nature of your position pouring hot, depraved passion into your veins. His thumb pressed into your clit with fast, flicking strokes while he moved two fingers in and out of you with unrelenting speed. “I’ve dreamt about this sexy, virgin pussy since I met you,” he groaned in your ear, “I’ve stroked this thick, hungry cock for you every. single. night,” he repositioned to get a better grip on your ass, “Sometimes I’d stare out from the pulpit and fantasize about sinking my throbbing dick into you right there at the altar,” he sighed out a dark chuckle, “Fucking you before God and everyone. Making vile worship pour from your lips and gush around me.” He snarled, curling his fingers inside you, “God, you make me so fucking hard.” You clung desperately, unable to keep up with him; his bulge shoved tightly back into his pants reaching to grind just outside your entrance. “You like knowing that, don’t you?” He angled his head to lift up your bra with his teeth, his tongue seeking to violate your hardened nipples, “You like knowing that while I’m up there preaching about purity and chastity,” he surrounded your nipple with his lips and sucked, making a filthy wet sound as he released it, “That all I can imagine is pounding your hot, horny little hole until I cum inside you.” You choked out a pathetic whine, “Michael, just fuck me already!” It was jarring how quickly he could stop. His eyes glared into yours, soaked fingers pulling out to roughly grasp your chin, “What did you call me?” Terror spread in your chest, “I-I-“ “No,” he pressed down on your bottom lip with his thumb, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” his expression was aflame, “I asked what you just called me.” You trembled. “Say it.” “Michael,” you answered weakly. “Dear little lamb,” he shook his head disappointedly, “I show you an ounce of mercy, and you think you can use my name so casually, simply command me to do your bidding?” He leaned in, his whispered voice like a razor, “In this room, there is only one god; and he demands respect.” You gulped, “I’m sorry, Father Langdon.” “Oh no, you’ve lost that privilege,” he moved his hand to grip the nape of your neck, “You may call me sir, until I decide you’ve been good enough. Is that clear?” There was no hesitation, “Yes, sir.” He hummed, “Now, I’m a merciful god, my little saint,” he applied a tighter pressure, “but you’ll have to pay due penance if you want me to bury this thick cock in your cunt and save you from your greediness.” Your cold terror was melted, warm lust still coating his bulge. “Get on the bed and face the left.” He dropped you to your feet and watched you crawl onto the mattress, sitting perfectly still on your knees. He brought over one of the red cords, “Hold out your wrists.” You obeyed silently, and he tied you to the pike, not too tightly, but enough to remind you that you were at his mercy. He walked back around to the other side, taking his sweet time; making you wait, your humiliation exposed to Heaven and his eyes alone. You felt like you should be ashamed, insulted at how he debased you. But it only made the need in your pussy throb harder. The palm of his hand connected with your skin, the sting making your cry out in surprise as you tried to bite back a delighted smile. “Stick out that perfect ass.” You leaned over a little farther, presenting before him. You could feel the mattress buckle as he climbed up behind you, pulling your thighs closer and spreading your legs, one hand firmly on your ass, and the other stretched underneath to cup your breast. You barely had time to react to his warm palm on your skin before he dragged his tongue up the full length of your opening. You gasped, gripping at the cord. He lavished every inch of your needy, saturate flesh with long, deep stripes; devouring you viciously, your cries of pleasure riling him up. You heard the rustling of fabric as he slipped off his pants, fully freeing himself. You sighed as he rubbed his pulsing head up and down your slit, bathing it in your cum. “You taste delicious, my little lamb,” he slid his body over yours, his chest against your back; you barely restrained yourself from bucking against his hard cock pressed between your cheeks. “Are you sorry for taking my name in vain?” He nuzzled next to your ear. “Yes, sir,” you breathed. “Do you feel that hard dick?” He thrusted slightly, parting your cheeks further, “Do you want to feel like a really dirty whore?” Shakily, you answered, “Yes, sir.” His smile brushed against your neck, “Would you like it if I put my cock in your perfect ass?” Your mind reeled. It was filthy, wrong, sinful- “Yes, sir, please do that.” He kissed your shoulder, “Say it, (Y/N), we’re well past guarded language.” You almost screamed, begging him, “Please, sir, put your fucking cock in my ass.” He seemed to genuinely pause, taking in your words, before laughing, “Ask and ye shall receive.” He kissed down your spine, sitting up on his knees and positioning his cock right over you, taking fingers full of your juices and slathering them into your asshole, gently massaging it open. You braced yourself against the pike, already aching at the touch. You felt his soaked head stretching you out; you groaned, a slight burning sensation quickly replaced by delicious agony as he gently worked himself in, telling you how tight and perfect you were. He built up a slow, steady rhythm, which you took notice of with a pang of endearment. He wrapped his arm around your waist, using his other hand to caress your hair, “You’re being such a good girl,” he hummed, “such a good, filthy girl.” He pulled out slowly, your body feeling empty, less grounded to reality when he did. You felt the bed shift again as he stood to retrieve the two other ties. When he was in front of you, you looked up at him under innocent, submissive eyes, your lips red and swollen from your biting them so hard. He smiled, tucking messy, sweat-soaked hair behind your ear, “Come up here.” You furrowed your brows, but lifted yourself up to meet him. He pulled you close, breathing out, “You earned this.” He brought your lips together, oddly chaste; simply delighting in your kiss, the feel of your mouths meeting in a covenant of longing. He released the kiss, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, “Are you ready to cum?” You nodded, “Yes, sir.” “Michael,” he corrected, “I want you to be able to scream my name.” He untied your hands, “Lay on your back for me and stretch out your arms.” Once you had, he tied both wrists; one to each pike, and your ankles together flat against the bed so you were in the position of a crucifix. He straddled you, running his hands all over your body, “My beautiful, spotless lamb.” He parted your thighs once more, indulging in the way your tied legs kept you tightly around him as he entered you. It wasn’t long before he decided to forego the gentleness and began pounding into you against the bed, much to your relief. His cock slipped in and out at a frantic pace, the sound of your hips crashing together, wetness dripping between them, your skin slick with sweat and arousal. You were whining pathetically, wishing you could dig your nails into his back with each thrust hitting the exact perfect spot. He pulled your hair back to expose your neck, biting hard enough to puncture the skin. You cried out his name, like honey on your tongue, your breath catching in your throat, as you drenched his thick length. He lapped up the droplets of blood and around the forming bruise, moaning into the open wounds as your fluids soaked his mouth and cock. He hooked his arms under your legs as you fell back, gasping from your pleasure. “Look at me,” he snarled pounding harder, even faster strokes. You met his gaze, your eyes glassy and inundated with pleasure while his burned with dark lust; his chest and throat rumbled with deep, gravelly growls as he came. He roared like an animal, baring his teeth and sinking them into your neck once more. You squealed at the flash of pain, but welcomed his warm wet tongue soothing the abused skin. You moved your hips in tandem, slowly now, your slick heat mixing, each movement massaging it further into you. He took two fingers and gathered your cum, holding it front of you. “Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spread his messy fingers over your tongue. “Hoc est enim corpus meum, this is my body,” he whispered before placing it on his own tongue and taking you in a passionate kiss. He pulled out, chest heaving deep breaths as he untied you. Your arms immediately wrapped around him, leaving reverent kisses on his skin; he did nothing to admonish your eager affection. You lay there exhausted, wordless. He finally gazed into your eyes, kissing your forehead. “I was right. You did feel like Heaven.”

[codyfernaesthetic]

Unholy

A Millory One-shot

Inspired by @mvllorylvngdon “The Smoke that Swirls”

Summary: Mallory can’t get the handsome Father Langdon out of her mind.

Warnings: smut, public masturbation, derogatory terms, harsh language, nsfw, priest!Michael

Mallory was a faithful churchgoer. From her first breaths to now, her parents had instilled in her a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing she’d done after moving away from home was find a local church. She found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity; the congregation was warm and welcoming, she felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. She believed they were the perfect shepherds to her soul.

All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Her trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons she’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved her. Often when looking upon him at the altar, she would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was pure, sculpted marble, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips...

She shook her thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued her mind for three months. She would scold herself, commanding her body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers she wanted to see free and throbbing-

Oh God!

This was her reason for going to confession today. She’d been neglecting it, but now she knew she couldn’t give allowance to her sins any longer.

The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any, white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There were a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed her. She entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Her blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side.

“I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, Mallory,” the voice chuckled.

Her legs tensed as she instinctively fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “Father Langdon...”

The lattice of the window separating them still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, Mallory,” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

She swallowed, her chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made her clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made her breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Her throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

She closed her legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

She cleared her throat, the heat beneath her skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” she dug her nails into her thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung between them.

“I can sense that in you, Mallory,” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Her voice trembled, barely leaving her mouth, “Of course not.”

She could practically feel the smile dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

She closed her eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more...potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

She paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, Mallory,” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins...and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Her mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If she isn’t know any better, she’d say his tone was...desperate.

“Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, Mallory?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” she dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

She nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Her voice was so tiny, her heart leaped into her throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, Mallory,” she heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Her core throbbed at his words. Her mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of her flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked her own thoughts from her mind and were reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, Mallory,” it was like his voice was right next to her ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Her fingers slipped under her panties as if of their own will. She massaged her pulsing clit, her folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which she pumped two fingers in and out of herself, biting her lip to detain her ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick...wet...sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded her, but she kept going...faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew she was making such a filthy scene for the priest?

And yet that made her desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, Mallory?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from her throat, but she placed her other hand over her mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting her own voice, she whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

She could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

She felt herself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.

“Yes, what?”

She sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing her closeness; gently guiding her towards her orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing her tension as she rode the high. As she came down, her breathing slowed, and her mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, Mallory?”

He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” she muttered breathlessly.

“Are they sated?”

She removed her fingers from her panties, quickly searching her bag for a tissue to wipe them on, her face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

She froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over her.

“Find a way to...absolve them in a more tangible way.”

She sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, Mallory.”

“And with you also,” she returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was her own anxiety, but she was sure a few squinting glares were thrown her way.

[kyaada]

Marketing Belly Master Bait

by kyaada

Ever since Barrett started working at Chunk’s in the mall, he’d developed a bit of a cult following.  Barrett’s collection of too-tight tee shirts never failed to highlight every succulent bump and bulge, and the tops combined with packed skinny jeans never failed to impress.  Barrett had the most amazing pair of bubbled buns sitting atop mature tree trunk-sized thighs, finished off with meaty calf muscles.  Of course, his immaculate fade and neatly trimmed beard gave him a timeless look of masculinity to his handsome features, deep blue eyes, and pearly white smile.  When Chunk’s manager realized what a draw his recently hired ex-military muscled hunk had become, he immediately put him in the window-- so to speak.

After Barrett had finished his main tasks, the manager would set him up in a front table alongside the main walkway with one of the biggest sandwiches.  Chunk’s was known for their huge stacked sandwiches and fresh breads, warning patrons that they may need to loosen their belts to finish one of the enormous two-handed sammies.  The live eating demo was effective in drawing in a variety of customers.  At the beginning of the sandwich, lady shoppers would file in to gawk at the handsome young stud while they’d split their lunch and still take half home.  Near the end of the sandwich,  Barrett would slow down a bit and labor as his stomach filled to the top.  His tight tee shirt couldn’t hide his brawny tight bulge, and he’d just lazily lean back in his chair, giving up the thought of sucking it in.  The post-sandwich advertisement would draw in the fat hungry dudes looking for a nice full gut, and Barrett would inspect them like cattle as they’d pile in for a good feeding.  

A couple of months passed, and Barrett couldn’t help but notice how difficult it had become to squeeze into this hot jeans, much less get them buttoned.  The big 6’2” ex-military hunk would stand in front of his bathroom mirror rotating around to inspect his budding love handles and protruding belly, still flexing his biceps to validate his manliness.  Barrett would grope each of his pecs with satisfaction, causing each of his nipples to poke out against his tighter tee shirt.

One day, Barrett went into work to find that his manager had decided to double his demo time by having him eat two of the smaller sandwiches, which together summed up to about one and a half of the biggest ones he’d been regularly devouring.  Initially, Barrett wasn’t too sure about the idea since he’d already fought especially hard with his top jeans button that morning.  The manager upped the ante with two extra-special sandwiches for him, and Barrett happily gorged himself on the thick and meaty deli treats.  The manager didn’t want him to have Barrett leave his feeding station for anything, so he brought him several Coke refills to keep washing down seemingly endless sandwich.  The manager even brought him a couple of their popular side salads because the big beefer was getting so swollen.

Business was especially good that day late in that lunch rush as lustful fat guys lined up for large sandwiches, drawn in by the potbellied poster boy in front.  Barrett just sat there like a god with his thick thighs pushed apart, shoulders back, and his stretched-taut belly bulging out from his marbled beefy pecs to his excruciatingly tight jeans waistband.  Barrett applied both of his hands to his blown-up round belly and alternated pushing in with rubbing on each side of the prominent bulge. The big overfed stud breathed shallowly due to how much room his stomach was taking away from his lungs, and he managed a few choice belches that brought in some more wide-eyed guys.  Chunk’s manager came out from the back after adjusting his impossibly hard dick in his jeans and approached his prime Grade-A beefball that adorned the front of his restaurant.

Barrett rested his hands on his thighs as the manager came up to him, showing off how the sublimely tight well-worn cotton hugged every bump and bulge, and perfectly outlined his plump belly button. Barrett tilted his head back and looked his manager in the eyes, “Oh my God...I’m so ff-ff-uu-uu-ll-ll-ll-ll.”  The manager smirked as he reached down to push around on Barrett’s big bloated belly.  Engorged Barrett emitted a combination of grunts and belches, unable to tighten his long-softened abs enough to protect his pregnant belly against the directed pokes and musical thumping.  “Sorry, Barrett, we have those new Chunk-y S’Mores Cookies and we need to push ‘em.  That means, we’re gonna have to push this stomach of yours a little bit more.”

Barrett’s eyes somewhat crossed as he processed the latest directive.  “I dunno.  I think ...” Barrett paused to let out a really big burp, “I think I might explode.”

“Nah,” said the manager, “a big strong guy like you? Pfft. That strong table muscle of yours will just s-t-r-e-t-c-h to accommodate extra loading.  The worst thing that might happen is that you’ll have to pop that top jeans button.”

“Okay, alright, well, let me get ‘em.” Barrett insisted, scooting his chair back with an obvious noise.  Spreading his thighs apart and dropping his hard gut through the open space, Barrett placed his hands on the tops of his legs to push himself upright.  It was no small amount of effort lifting his bulk off of the chair, but once he succeeded he had the attention of most of the diners in the seating area.  Barrett’s belly was bloated out in a circle in front of him, and the ultra-taut waistband of his ridiculously stuffed jeans was scrunched down to a fraction of its height.  Just south of the hefty gut was another bulge that eagerly pushed against the low-rise zipper. The manager followed the wobbling stuffed stud, smiling at all of the attentive chewing faces.  It was so difficult not to fixate on Barrett’s widened back and his stout bubble butt, and the manager fought hard not to just slap his fat ass.  

Once Barrett was standing, he realized that it was going to be harder than hell to sit back down and continue to eat, so he compromised with the manager to stand at the end of the counter by the register to stuff in his melty delicious cookies.  Capturing the attention of a very hefty daddy type in line waiting for his giant sandwich to be made, Barrett smiled at him and stretched his thick arms up in the air.  The hem of his overburdened tee shirt inched slowly up the sphere like a curtain rising on a stage as it bared the divine appearance of Barrett’s thick treasure trail and his perfectly shaped deep belly button.  The round-gutted daddy ventured closer to the register after being served his thick sandwich and dessert cookies, still captivated with the sight of Barrett’s bare crescent of belly and naughty zipper that had started to escape down its track.  

“Well, these sure looked good so I had to have some,” said the fattened daddy, winking at the manager, who stood beaming behind the extra full Barrett.  “After all, I gotta keep up my figure.  The food is always so  damn good and filling here-- I never know when to stop!”  The fattened daddy finished signing his credit card receipt and poked the capped end of the pen into the side of Barrett’s thoroughly pumped lunchball. “Looks like I’m not the only one, guy.”

Barrett chuckled as he ran his meaty hand across his swollen gut, “yup, the hazards of the job, I’m afraid.  You just gotta remember to stop before you pop!”

The manager put his hand on the big stud’s shoulder, “tell you what, why don’t you go have a seat with this nice gentleman while he enjoys his lunch, and I’ll make you one of our Gut Topper Cake Shakes.  Deal?”

“Gut Topper? Well, today, it might just become a Gut Popper...but okay.  Load me up...”

The two guys headed off for a table in the back of the seating area near the kitchen. The fat daddy couldn’t wait to start pushing food down his gullet, so he plopped his big butt down and started shoveling.  Barrett towered next to the table for a moment deep in thought, then reached under his enormous belly bulge to fight with his jeans button.  “Dude, I’m sorry, but these things are cutting me in half.”  The fat daddy’s cheeks bulged with food as he witnessed Barrett’s abdominal muscle contortions caused by the stuffed stud’s efforts to suck in the protuberant swell, but finally Barrett was able to pop open the top and breathe a little.

“Ooofff,” sighed Barrett, giving his rounded midsection an invigorating rub. Barrett held on to his zipper as he sat to make sure that the open “V” of his jeans didn’t spread too wide in a family restaurant.

“I couldn’t help but notice those jeans were pretty much painted on ya, big guy,” remarked the fat daddy.

“Yup, I’ve gained a few pounds since I started working at Chunk’s.  The manager feeds me up daily.”

“Daily feedings? You might want to get some pants with an elastic waistband so you can expand in comfort.”

Barrett hovered down and planted his meaty bubbles in the chair directly across from the fat daddy, pretty much looking like a leaned-back, very-pregnant Buddha.  

“Well, I know what that’s like to plan ahead for such things,” said the fat daddy, “my wife has been overfeeding me for years.”  He leaned back and thumped his obvious gut bulge, “can’t say that I mind too much, after all, I love food.” The fat daddy’s eyes cruised over the topography of Barrett’s tight tee shirt.  “I used to look like you when we first started dating, well, you about 50 pounds ago and before you stuffed your gut today.”

Barrett chuckled again, his facial expression slowly turning into concentration as he tried to do arithmetic in his head. “...and you’re not as tall as I am.  If you don’t mind me asking, how much do you weigh?”

“By the way, my name’s Josh.”  Both had to spread their thighs apart to make room for their bellies so that they could lean in to shake hands. “I don’t mind you asking me how much I weigh-- in fact, I just got my 300 pound ribbon at Recipe Club.”

“Recipe Club?”

“It’s something my wife got us into.  Just a small group started by women who love to cook or are learning how to cook, and they invite their guys to join them to enjoy their rather prolific production.”

“...and you got a ribbon?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s the opposite of what Weight Watchers rewards, but we watch our weight as well.  Watch it increase!”  Josh giggled. “Needless to say, the guys get more ribbons faster during the holidays.  We have to weigh in when we get there, and some of us weigh again as we’re leaving... just for fun.”

“What a trip!”

“...speaking of trips, we just took the kids through Vegas and then on a Disney cruise, and I can’t believe the amount of food.”  Josh continued through frequent large bites of sandwich, “it was like the ideal glutton vacation... I was powerless amongst all those buffets and high-calorie foods! My belly was so damn big and tight at the end of each night that you could have rolled me to our room. Roll... Burp... Roll... Burp...”

As Barrett was drawn in to the imagery of Recipe Club and Josh’s trip of unrestrained gorging, he wondered about the timing of certain things.  “So, when did you go from DadBod to DadBalloon?”

Josh got a good laugh out of the pointed question.  “Kid number two.”

As they were both still cracked up over Josh being fattened up, Chunk’s manager appeared with a large frosty cup and a funnel.  “Okay, Barrett, tilt and open!”

Josh smiled broadly as he detected Barrett’s newness to the concept, though he suspected that he must have beer bonged a little during some wild parties.  Barrett wrapped his full lips around the bottom of the funnel opening and the manager pushed it a little farther down into his mouth once he felt his lips tighten up to steady.  As he poured the giant vanilla cake shake slowly into the funnel, he was careful not to spill a drop.  Barrett’s eyes widened and he put his hand on top of his again-swelling belly.  Josh stuffed his face as he watched the bottom of Barrett’s rib cage rise as his bloatation device deployed fully.  One of the cooks was returning from his break and stopped by the filling station to put his hand on top of Barrett’s solid round protruding stomach ledge, “wow, it’s a Gut Topper!  Barrett-- you’re gettin’ to be a whopper!”  The cook couldn’t resist giving Barrett’s barrel a parting slap to hear him grunt.

Barrett’s breathing was getting quite labored towards the end of the giant shake, and his nipples were practically shooting through his ultra-taut tee shirt.  The advanced size of the Barrett’s fattened belly coaxed the hem up again to bare succulent skin and dark-colored fur.

Josh nearly choked shoving food into his mouth at such a high rate of speed, but he got down his enormous sandwich just as the manager finished loading Barrett’s firm round Buddha gut.  The manager lifted the funnel out of Barrett’s O-shaped mouth as the dangerously overfull stud licked shake remnants off of his lips and continued to swallow the rest down his gullet.  Barrett just had to sit there with his hands down his sides, feeling that his beefy pecs were about to bump him in the chin at any moment.  The manager nodded his head and reached down to thump the mighty round bellyful.  The combination of thick muscle walls, a nice layer of fat, and a thoroughly packed digestive tract made the most sublime of deep satisfied sounds.  

“Good God, that melon is ripe.” Josh critiqued, leaning back to rest his hand on top of his big sandwich lunch. “And Barrett bared it-- that shirt is too small for ya, big buddy!”

Barrett’s smile curled onto his lips with a bit of a delay caused by his food coma.  After the manager left, Barrett put his hands on his overblown balloon and rubbed.  

“Man, you look like how I felt after the 24 hour buffet pass in Las Vegas.  You know, I knew that it was going to be a bad thing-- I could tell when I walked in the first place and saw all of the groaning, belching guys.  They looked like fully engorged ticks about to pop. Well, that was me a day later because we just kept going back for more and more and more.  My lovely bride overate, my daughter got bored, but my son found his groove.   I was laughing at him little at breakfast because he’s got a weakness for waffles, pancakes, pastries, and bacon.”  Josh laughed as he listened to Barrett wheeze with his eyes half-closed; Barrett’s fully distended gut had swollen even more with the cake shake, pushing him farther back against his chair.  “Of course, he got me back later in the day after second dinner.  We were back in the room, and I was bloated out on the floor next to the couch while we were all watching a movie.  Ever since I read him “Hop on Pop” when he was a kid, he’s wanted to bounce on my belly-- especially after I eat too much. He thinks it’s really funny.”

Suddenly, Barrett emitted a lengthy bass-toned belch, causing both of them to laugh heartily.  Barrett patted his thoroughly round belly and flexed his pecs.  “I’m pretty sure that if anyone hopped on me right now, I’d pop for sure!”

Josh munched on his cookies and agreed.  “You could bounce a quarter off of that gut right now, Barrett.  You remind me of some of those big bloated-up young guys on the cruise ship.  Poppin’ Fresh Pillsbury Doughboys gorging their way to tight-skinned ecstasy, unbuckling their belts and stuffing themselves like Thanksgiving turkeys.  I would think ‘damn, I hope we don’t hit a rock and end up shipwrecked on some island full of hungry cannibals’” Josh said as he finished the last bite of his marshmallowy chocolatey gooey cookies.

“Ooof, a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey-- that’s how I feel at the moment,” Barrett admitted as he gave his stout round belly another rubbing.

“And look,” Josh said, supporting the astute observation. “Just squeeze you in between some big bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and sit a pumpkin pie on top of your belly ledge for dessert.”

Josh glanced at his watch and realized that he was late to get back to work.  “Guess I better get my fat ass in gear.”  Josh hoisted himself up, satisfied with the extra-large lunch and conversation, brushing past Barrett just as he took that moment to stretch his arms up in the air.  Josh paused to smack a couple deep-seated belches out of Barrett.  “Keep eatin’, big guy, keep rollin’ down that path to the big 3-0-0... but keep an eye out for cannibals!”

~.~

Many weeks passed, and Barrett’s allure changed somewhat to the ladies who lunched at Chunk’s.  It seemed that the amount of weight he’d gained was difficult for some of them to accept; after all, he’d plumped by forty pounds in a relatively short time after significantly long lunchtime stuffings.  Barrett still presented as quite beefy with one foot still in the gym, but there was no denying his big round belly and widened booty that mercilessly stuffed his shrinking wardrobe.  His handsome face had filled out accordingly and he had the start of a second chin hidden under his fuller beard; regardless, his piercing blue eyes and immaculate grooming still caused heads to pivot.  Josh the 300+ pound daddy continued to come in once a week to stuff himself with sandwich, and Barrett always treated him to at least one Gut Topper.  Josh would especially enjoy the belly blowout when Barrett personally funneled the extra creamy cake shake down his gullet.

Awhile back, the manager had hired a new cook when Chunk’s had added pizza to their calorie-driven menu.  Barrett had recognized the guy immediately from high school, although Peter’s 5’11” frame had filled out some since those earlier days.  Peter had been a swimmer all during high school and was always pretty wide-shouldered and lanky, which changed through his college experience in the dining halls.  Of course, Peter recognized Barrett right away as well, and would tease him about how fat he’d become.  Barrett would always comment right back about Peter’s modest college weight gain.  Chunk’s cooks wore nice pullover shirts that bore the restaurant’s logo on the left breast, and Peter’s shirt was always a little pizza sauce-splattered and tight.  Peter’s pudgy round belly pooched out over his Dockers taut waistbands, and no one could miss his pasta butt that stressed the seam in the back.

The two former schoolmates never really talked much in school, but they developed a friendly, yet somewhat tense, rivalry at work.  Peter was slightly jealous with the fact that Barrett got away with hardly working and mostly just eating while he sat on his constantly widening ass.  The manager had added pizza to Barrett’s daily demonstration, and Peter was usually the one that made the pie.  Peter would deliberately pile on additional toppings, knowing that Barrett would have to stuff the slices down on top of his torturously large sandwich and sides.

After a month of silent warfare, both Barrett and Peter had packed on weight.  Barrett was undeniably impressed with Peter’s bloat capacity and how much the littler guy could stomach in one stretching session.  Peter, who loved the fact that his packed pizzas were adding to both Barrett’s bottom and front lines, immensely enjoyed the big stud’s trips in to the kitchen to moan about his overloaded gut. Barrett was supposed to sweep around the kitchen after his lunch demonstration, and he’d invariably be as close as possible to Peter so that he could bump him with his solid gutsphere.  Barrett would belch in Peter’s general direction to egg him on, and soon Peter would march on up to the 6’2” beefster and playfully threaten to punch his big ol’ gut.  Barrett would push his belly out even more and tell Peter to give it his best shot.  The manager would always intercede in time saying “Don’t pop him! Barrett has to work tomorrow!”

Time bulged on, and the manager had to bring in a scale due to rising concerns about their Frontline Eater position, of which Barrett had done such an incredible job filling.  “Boy, are you ever fat now,” the manager told Barrett as he processed the number on the scale’s display, “three hundred and twenty pounds. I’m afraid that we’re going to move you to back of house for awhile-- put the big beefer out to pasture, so to speak.  Your gluttonous performances are still bringing in the fat guys, but the average group of ladies who lunch seem to think you’ve gotten too fat for them to fantasize about over their porky husbands.”

“Aw, come on!” Barrett spurted out, “I know women still look at me.”

“Well, yeah.  They look at you and think about the big fat growling gut they’re going to have to go home and feed that night.  All the work they’ll go through stuffing their husband’s belly enough so he’ll fall asleep on the couch and not bother them for the rest of the night.”

A vision of his fat daddy friend Josh popped into Barrett’s mind.  “Some women enjoy feeding their hubbies-- in fact, they relish the thought of fattening them up.”  Barrett’s crotch tingled a bit as he remembered Josh’s most recent Chunk’s visit when he owned up to weighing 350 pounds and whispering the most arousing admission in his ear.  Josh had dreamed one night that he’d been stretching his belly for weeks in the hopes of growing it immense enough to hold a stuffed Thanksgiving Barrett.

The manager’s mind was made up, so he put Barrett next to Peter in the kitchen so that they could work out any issues the two had while Barrett shed a few pounds.  The days went by with the two reminiscing about the old days and pretty much making a buffet of the prep tables.  It was on a Friday when Peter offered one particularly compelling memory.

“You remember that time at the school assembly when three of you guys on the football team had a pizza eating contest in front of the whole school?”  Peter asked.

“Oh yeah.  My gut ached the rest of the afternoon,” Barrett confessed.

“Oh damn... well, you won....and you ate the entire pizza,” Peter recalled.  “You had the biggest fucking belly that day...”

“I remember that.”  Barrett smiled, “after school, I was sprawled out on the grass in Senior Square warning guys not to step on my belly.”

“You were wearing this really tight orange pullover shirt and I thought your belly looked like a big pumpkin.”  As Peter shared his thoughts, Barrett chuckled and patted his much fatter, bigger belly.  “I had like ten dollars and I wanted to take you to McDonald’s and get you whatever you wanted.”

“You did? Huh...” Barrett thought for a moment.  “Guess that would have made you ‘Peter Peter Pumpkin Feeder’ in a way...” Barrett thought for another moment, “wait... that’s why you would makin’ my pizzas so big! You’ve been fattening me up on purpose!”

Peter slapped Barrett in his big ol’ belly.  “Well, truth be told, you were already amply fattened when I started here... nicely marbled beef... I just wanted you to get a little fatter.”  

“A little fatter? Well, I’m 320 pounds now.” Barrett stated, bumping his firm round gut into Peter’s fat belly.  “Feel the size of this beast now!”

“My guess is that this beast needs to be fed,” Peter said, grabbing on to each side of the studly gut being pushed into him.  “I’ve got ten dollars for McDonald’s after work...”

Somehow, Peter and Barrett kept their minds on finishing their shifts at Chunk’s, and agreed to meet at the nearest McDonald’s at six o’clock.  Peter decided to keep his work clothes on, despite the fact that he smelled like an overweight pizza.  Since he’d gone ahead and eaten his free work meal, his Dockers were exceptionally tight despite the fact that they were pushed down far below his fat belly.  Barrett had gone home and rifled through a few drawers to find that famous orange pullover shirt from high school, only to find that he nearly ripped it getting it over his much more developed chest and arms, and the old top was no match for his very ample belly.  The shirt couldn’t reach to cover his wide love handles and the hem created a crisp line around his big manly gut above his dreamily deep belly button.  He had one last pair of jeans that he put forth his best effort to button, and walked out of the house looking like a giant overstuffed sausage.

Barrett walked in to the McDonald’s and immediately felt eyes gluing to his bared belly; among other sets, one set of eyes belonged to Peter, and another set belonged to Josh-- Barrett’s fat daddy friend from Chunk’s.  Josh’s hefty wife turned her head to see who her chubby hubby was gawking at and seemed suitably impressed.  Peter stood up, shifted his boner, and walked over to meet the vision in orange that wobbled his way closer.  

“How about that-- that shirt fits differently than it did in high school, Barrett!”  

“Just a little bit. I’m a few pounds heavier now.”  

Both of them strolled up to the counter together, each enjoying the reaction of the chubby young counter dude whose mouth dropped open in response the audacity of Barrett’s attire.

“What do ya want? My treat.” Barrett offered, rubbing Peter’s shoulder.  

“Oh, it’s my treat, Barrett.”  

“Let’s do this-- I’ll get you what I want you to eat, and you can do the same for me.  How about that?”

Soon enough, the two Chunk’s employees had decided on a booth across from where Josh and his wife still sat eating.  Before taking a seat, Barrett and Peter said hello to the oversized married couple, carefully noting the pile of empty boxes and wrappers in front of Josh.  Even though it was one of the booths made larger to more easily accommodate fat people, Josh was obviously stuck.  The table’s edge butted firmly against his enormous round belly, and the portion above table level bulged onto the surface an inch.  Josh’s ribs were shoved up and back around the bloated stomach, and it was as hard for him to speak as it was to breathe.

“Josh, I do believe that you’ve been fed into place!” Barrett said.

“Indeed he has,” came the voice from across the table. “We’re stretching his belly all day today-- kids are at their grandparents.  There’s a young pup at Recipe Club that’s about to get his 360 pound ribbon and Josh has got to keep up! You must be Barrel-- I mean, Barrett,” she said, looking at the tall stud’s ample belly.  

Barrett chuckled. “Yes, that’s me, Barrett. And I guess I do resemble a food barrel these days.”  He shook her hand and introduced Peter.  “Well, well, Josh.  Just look at this huge belly wedged in this booth...”   Barrett gently poked around on the top of Josh’s overstuffed belly.

“Careful, now... don’t poke too hard.  You’ll pop the pig! He’s been eating all day to stretch his belly for an upcoming Vegas trip.  I mean, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that 24 hour buffet pass and wants to go for a three day gorging weekend.”

“Haven’t been able to get enough to eat today, boys,” Josh wheezed.  

“That can definitely be a problem,” Peter observed with an unmistakably evil smile on his face.

Barrett thumped Josh’s enormous gut and said, “keep on stuffing, Josh-- Thanksgiving is comin’ and you’re either going to eat or be eaten!”  Reaching over to his serving tray, Barrett grabbed a Quarter Pounder box and sat it on top of Josh’s solid ball of food.

Two McDonald’s employees, including the chubby guy poured into his uniform, brought two trays each over to where Barrett and Peter had chosen to plant their numbered sign.  Without much more conversation, the two guys got down to business and began stuffing themselves.  Josh sat and belched while he digested, watching with great interest as Barrett and Peter blew up in size.  Their enthusiasm for gorging was amazing to watch.  It was no surprise that they finished all of that food and four soda refills only to look at each other and say “More!”

Josh’s wife took his wallet up to the counter and surprised Barrett and Peter with another round of Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, fries, and Chicken McNuggets.  Peter’s incredible ability to bloat up into a round ball raised eyebrows near and far in the restaurant.  His Chunk’s uniform shirt’s hem inched up the stuffed belly ball, and his Dockers launched into space as he heaved a satisfied sigh.

“Your belly is gettin’ big,” Barrett said to his rotund dinner mate.

“Well, look who’s talking,” plump-bellied Peter turned around on the overstuffed stud.  “It’s like someone connected that pumpkin to a tire pump!”

Barrett’s orange pullover had slid up above his packed-taut bloatsphere, exposing the full height of his treasure trail.  Barrett’s belly button, with its fat rounded entry, begged for a chubby finger to explore its warm depths.

“I say we go pick up a box of donuts and go to my place, Peter.”  

The two roundbellied twentysomethings thanked fat daddy Josh and his wife for their generosity and waddled their way out to their trucks.  “Hope you get full enough, Josh!”

“Never!”

Peter picked out the fat pills at the best grocery store bakery in town, making sure to choose an enticing array of all kinds, including extra-filling-fattening cream-filled ones, before speeding on over to Barrett’s address.

“C’mon in if you have donuts...” Barrett teased as he stood there in his ridiculously undersized orange pullover and underwear with a spot of wet pre-cum at the end of his fully lengthened cock.

Peter broke into a sweat from the heat radiating off of the engorged stud, shaking a little as he set two boxes of donuts on the dining room table.  Barrett slapped Peter’s butt that was as yet encased in the seam-stressed Dockers, “damn your ass got fat after high school.”

“I like to eat,” Peter told him turning his head sideways.  

“I can tell.  The pregnant belly was another dead giveaway.” Barrett pulled Peter’s pants down and bent him over the dining room table.  Peter’s stout full belly smacked on the surface like a gargantuan slab of bacon and Barrett watched his sides bow out under the pressure.  Barrett shifted his loaded cock into the upright position and rubbed it back and forth between Peter’s plump buns.  “Fuck that feels good....my gut’s so fucking big that I can’t see what I’m doing, but I can definitely feel the heat from your hole...”

“Jesus, your dick is as big as I always thought it was...” Peter grunted.

“You got me so hot that I’m brimming with cum today... if I pumped your ass right now, I’d shoot a load so fat that your belly would explode.”

“Do it, fat stuff,” Peter begged, “because after you pop my cherry in grand style, I’m gonna feed you every last donut in that box.  You stuff my butt and I’ll bust your gut.”

Nearly breaking the table in the process, Barrett finished the deed, pumping Peter completely full of his seed.

Taking Barrett by the hand and grabbing the box of donuts, Peter led his round target into the bedroom.  Getting situated leaned against the headboard and spreading his legs far apart, Peter motioned for the ballooned stud to lay belly-up on him with his head on his shoulder.  Once Barrett was in place, there was not going to be any moving him for an extended period of time.  Peter’s view around Garrett’s head was of a tall round mountain that wobbled from side to side when the bed shook.  “Will you just look at the size of this fucking tank?!” Peter put his hands on either side of Barrett’s enormously swollen stomach and spread his fingers.  Gently shaking the massive sphere of manflesh, Peter breathed heavily in Barrett’s ear as the heavy stud continued to weigh down on his own achingly full stomach.  “Soldier, you’ve really let yourself go...your punishment is going to be severe... forcefeeding until your greedy belly bursts like an overblown balloon.”

Peter picked through the donuts and began stuffing them into Barrett’s eager maw in rapid succession.  As icing began to collect in the overfed boy’s beard, his tongue worked overtime to get every last bit.  As Barrett was chewing nearly unmanageable mouthfuls, Peter rubbed all over the swelling stomach.  With a whole box of donuts down the gullet, there was a giant mound formed that pushed straight up in the air.  Peter thumped on the top of the donut dome, amazed at how dense it sounded and the volume of belch it quickly produced. Barrett’s advanced gut was easily the size of a beach ball, and Peter was wishing that he had a view far enough away to fully appreciate its fullness.

“Oh God, I’m gonna pop,” Barrett moaned.  

Peter pushed his index finger into the top of Barrett’s solid donut dome and tested it for doneness.  “Nope, you’re not ready yet,” Peter whispered in his 320+ pound stud’s ear and opened the second box.

Engaged in relentless stuffing, Barrett’s gutsphere stretched wider and taller.  Peter spread his fingers as far apart as possible to rub as much belly at once as he could. Barrett’s panic was becoming more evident as his taut, shiny ball maxed out with half of the second box of donuts crammed inside.
 “Okay, Soldier, I’ll spare your gut from certain explosion,” Peter announced.  Barrett responded with an wall-shaking belch.  Squashed a little under the weight of the overfed stud, Peter wriggled his way out and stood at the side of the bed admiring the gigantic beach ball.  The bottom of his enormous gut was as taut as the top, and the roundness bumped against his spread meaty thighs.

Peter slowly made his way on to the bed, throwing his leg over Barrett’s wide body and bouncing his fat butt briefly on the tall mountain of belly. Realizing that he was about to push several donuts right out of Barrett’s mouth, Peter quickly slid down off of the ball gut and landed on his hard-again cock.  Peter was reminded of how full his own belly was as it met fatly against the bottom third of Barrett’s gutsphere.  Peter regained his strength, grabbed a hold of each of Barrett’s meaty pecs and humped his cock against the giant hard belly.  Getting ready to shoot his load, Peter grabbed another donut, plugged Barrett’s furry feedhole with it, and ate up the sight of Barrett’s hungry expression as he spurted cum all over Barrett’s lower bellysphere.

“Feels good to get caught up on lost time, huh?”

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Dukes, Actually by Erica Ridley

12 Dukes of Christmas #5

Love, LOVE. L O V E these novella length holiday romances! In this one shy adam Farland, duke of Azureford comes to his summer home in Cressmouth, England to become a new man. He believes that it is time to learn to get his flirt on and be able to socialize so he can find a bride to breed with. Little does he know that Miss Carole Quincy will show up looking for her sketchbook and give him a hand not only with his social skills but also in turning his library into a billiard room. The time they spend together draws them closer together but Carole is sure her father needs her and that might just put a wrench in the HEA they could have together. Then again...perhaps not.

What I liked: * that Carole and Adam seemed so right for one another

* the relationship that developed between the two

* the side romance between the maid and the butler

* the billiards lessons (had to look up what a mace was)

* the way it all worked out

What I did not like:

* Hmm...can’t think of anything I didn’t like ;)

Thank you to the author for the ARC – this is my honest review.

5 Stars

From a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author:

The Duke of Azureford isn’t the arrogant, aloof lord his peers perceive him to be. Yes, he’s awkward, but he has a plan to fix it. In order to woo a respectable lady, he must learn how to flirt. The completely inappropriate girl next door would make a perfect instructor, but a terrible duchess. So why can’t he walk away?

Incorrigible hoyden Miss Carole Quincy likes billiards, fast carriages, and the beautiful, buttoned-up Duke of Azureford. She’d be delighted to help him out of his shell and into her arms. Who cares if they’re just pretending to flirt? The heady, breath-taking, soul-consuming feeling inside her runaway heart surely can’t be love…

Release Date: Oct 22, 2019

ISBN: 978-1943794256 (ebook)

ISBN: 978-1943794645 (mmpb)

Retailer Links:

https://smarturl.it/da-KINDLE

https://smarturl.it/da-APPLE

https://smarturl.it/da-NOOK

https://smarturl.it/da-KOBO

https://smarturl.it/da-GOOGLE

The 12 Dukes of Christmas is a series of heartwarming Regency romps nestled in a picturesque snow-covered village. After all, nothing heats up a winter night quite like finding oneself in the arms of a duke!

Facebook Fan Group:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/DukesOfChristmas/

EXCERPT

She tilted her head. “What do you want?”

“To comply with my ducal duties with a woman I like.” His expression was beseeching. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I have no ducal duties and I’m never getting married,” she replied evenly. “But we’re not talking about me. Let’s get you sorted first. How are you currently searching for a bride?”

“I visit Almack’s.” He gave a self-deprecating scoff. “And then stand there like a marble column.”

She winced. “That might be the problem. I can show you how to flirt with the ladies.”

“In return,” he said slowly, his expressive eyes not leaving hers, “I will help you.”

“I’m not looking for a husband,” she said carefully.

“Who said anything about marriage?” His brown eyes were serious. “Just because I must select a Society wife doesn’t mean you have to give up your freedom.”

“Ha.” She pulled a face. If only that was a luxury she possessed. “Freedom to what?”

“To enjoy yourself.” He stepped closer. “Like you said, I’m limited to future duchesses. You can do as you please.”

Her throat went dry. Perhaps he, too, despised the thought of her promising herself to someone else. Perhaps he, too, wished they could ignore their divergent futures, just for a moment. Even if it could never be more than make-believe.

She licked her lips. “What would you do if you could do anything you want?”

His gaze fell to her parted lips. “Do you want me to tell you or show you?”

“Show me.” Her heart pounded defiantly but she didn’t glance away.

Satisfaction glinted in his eyes. “With pleasure.”

Then his hands cupped her cheeks and his lips covered hers.

Marble column? He was big and hard and strong, but there the comparison ended. His lips were warm on hers, gentle but firm. His thumb stroked her cheek so lightly she doubted he even realized he was doing so. Yet every caress sent flutters of desire through her belly.

When she opened her mouth to tell him so, to confess she was one mere kiss away from throwing all caution to the wind, his tongue swept inside to claim her. An electrifying bolt of desire shot through her. She felt every nudge, every lick, throughout her entire body.

She pressed herself against him to muffle the arousal tickling her skin, but the opposite occurred. With her bosom against his chest and his hands deep in her hair, their kiss was no longer tentative but a tidal wave of emotion that had just been waiting to be released.

All the times she’d glanced over at him beneath her eyelashes and wondered what it would be like to taste him? She was tasting him now. Gorging herself on his kisses. All the times his hand had brushed hers, all the brief “accidental” touches, all the times he had almost kissed her but held himself back? He wasn’t holding back now. He was taking, demanding, giving, pleading. Two souls caught in a tug-of-war between we shouldn’t be doing this and I never want to stop.

When she gasped for breath, his thumb stroked her cheek.

“Do you want me to stop?” His lips brushed hers.

She wrapped her hands about his neck. “Aren’t you supposed to disregard what I want, shove me against the closest wall, and have your wicked way?”

He nibbled her lip. “Why would that work? No one wants to slam into a wall.”

“You’re the one who reads gothic novels,” she reminded him between kisses. “Why would exposing my bosom by ripping open my bodice ever work? Stays are lined with whalebone.”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t win a fight against a whale?” He ran his hands down her back and splayed his fingers against her ribs.

She wished his fingers would keep exploring. “I’m saying no one has ever won a fight with a corset.”

“Then you should definitely stop wearing them.” He picked her up and swung her over to the sofa, tumbling backward so that she was the one on top. The one in control of whatever happened next…

Author Bio

Erica Ridley is a USA Today and New York Times best-selling author of historical romance novels.

The new 12 Dukes of Christmas regency romance series features twelve delightful laugh-out-loud romps... and plenty of delicious dukes.

In the Rogues to Riches historical romance series, Cinderella stories aren’t just for princesses. Sigh-worthy Regency rogues sweep strong-willed young ladies into whirlwind rags-to-riches romance with rollicking adventure.

The popular Dukes of War series features roguish peers and dashing war heroes who return from battle only to be thrust into the splendor and madness of Regency England.

When not reading or writing romances, Erica can be found riding camels in Africa, zip-lining through rainforests in Costa Rica, or getting hopelessly lost in the middle of Budapest.

Get a FREE book for becoming a VIP: http://www.EricaRidley.com/vip

Website: http://www.EricaRidley.com

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Street Team: http://www.ericaridley.com/street-team

[codyfernaesthetic]

Unholy

Summary: Mallory is drawn to the young, attractive priest Father Michael Langdon, and soon finds herself in a scandalous situation.

Warnings: Blasphemy, public masturbation, domination, anal, cum play (slightly)

Here’s the whole thing, gang!

Mallory was a faithful churchgoer. From her first breaths to now, her parents had instilled in her a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing she’d done after moving away from home was find a local church. She found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity; the congregation was warm and welcoming, she felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. She believed they were the perfect shepherds to her soul.

All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Her trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons she’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved her. Often when looking upon him at the altar, she would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was pure, sculpted marble, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips…

She shook her thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued her mind for three months. She would scold herself, commanding her body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers she wanted to see free and throbbing-

Oh God!

This was her reason for going to confession today. She’d been neglecting it, but now she knew she couldn’t give allowance to her sins any longer.

The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any, white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There were a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed her. She entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Her blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side.

“I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, Mallory,” the voice chuckled.

Her legs tensed as she instinctively fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “Father Langdon...”

The lattice of the window separating them still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, Mallory,” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

She swallowed, her chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made her clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made her breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Her throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

She closed her legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

She cleared her throat, the heat beneath her skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” she dug her nails into her thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung between them.

“I can sense that in you, Mallory,” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Her voice trembled, barely leaving her mouth, “Of course not.”

She could practically feel the smile dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

She closed her eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more...potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

She paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, Mallory,” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins...and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Her mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If she isn’t know any better, she’d say his tone was...desperate.

“Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, Mallory?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” she dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

She nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Her voice was so tiny, her heart leaped into her throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, Mallory,” she heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Her core throbbed at his words. Her mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of her flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked her own thoughts from her mind and were reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, Mallory,” it was like his voice was right next to her ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Her fingers slipped under her panties as if of their own will. She massaged her pulsing clit, her folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which she pumped two fingers in and out of herself, biting her lip to detain her ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick...wet...sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded her, but she kept going...faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew she was making such a filthy scene for the priest?

And yet that made her desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, Mallory?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from her throat, but she placed her other hand over her mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting her own voice, she whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

She could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

She felt herself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.

“Yes, what?”

She sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing her closeness; gently guiding her towards her orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing her tension as she rode the high. As she came down, her breathing slowed, and her mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, Mallory?”

He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” she muttered breathlessly.

“Are they sated?”

She removed her fingers from her panties, quickly searching her bag for a tissue to wipe them on, her face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

She froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over her.

“Find a way to...absolve them in a more tangible way.”

She sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, Mallory.”

“And with you also,” she returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was her own anxiety, but she was sure a few squinting glares were thrown her way.

___________

Mallory had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from her sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on her tongue, the wine of communion was souring in her stomach. Even her outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. She sat at the end of her usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of her. Her eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read her mind; because all she could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged her so completely. The hymns she sang erupted from constricted breath as she imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between her legs and bringing her to ungodly bliss. She felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels.

She was thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to her ability to stay calm. When the service ended, she gathered her purse and rushed towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.

“Mallory!”

The voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to her with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting.

She didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of her mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”

He cocked his head, offering her a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, Mallory, there’s nothing to forgive.”

Her lips parted in surprise, “But…”

He motioned for her to walk with him a bit farther away from the exiting crowd, which she did reluctantly.

“Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at her, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, Mallory?” She shook her head. “Brilliant writer,” they stopped, their eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”

Heat bloomed in her chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”

He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”

As irregular as it was, Mallory took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as she thought of anyone else being “helped” by him.

“Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”

His eyes lazily rolled over her figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”

Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through her; along with a sharp pang of desire.

“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”

Confused, she tucked her hair behind her ear, “Then why...?”

“Why you?” He finished for her, gazing at her with an admiring look, “You’re different, Mallory. There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re...genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down her spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”

She blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”

His took her hand between his, The comforting warmth intoxicating.

“Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head.”

He looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”

Her heart jumped.

“I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”

He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, Mallory.”

She had a flashing thought of him with her pinned against the pew, but threw it away.

“And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of her hand, leaving a trace of abandonment,”I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”

Her mind demanded she say no. What kind of woman was she to be alone with the priest she lusted over?

“How so?”

He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?” She knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”

“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.” She nodded, “That sounds great.”

He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”

__________________

She stared at herself in the mirror of her bathroom for an hour; her makeup, her dress, her hair, even practicing how she would say hello.

“Good evening, Father,” she smiled at her reflection before shaking her head. Too formal.

She gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on her heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” She groaned, cringing. Too peppy.

She took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.”

She sighed, frustrated with herself, and shut off the light, heading into her room. She grabbed her purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving.

She didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as she pulled into the driveway.

It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the blinds closed. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky.

She locked her car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside.

After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming her.

“Hello, Mallory.”

He was everything she expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once her eyes drawn up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. She was hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in her chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together.

She mumbled a hello under her breath.

“I’m so glad to see you.”

She managed a squeaky, “You too.”

He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.”

She noted the large square ring on his middle finger as she stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor.

“You look beautiful,” he commented looking over her simple dress.

She breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look...different.”

He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?”

She gulped, “I do, it looks…” she held herself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.”

He smirked, as if reading her thoughts, and invited her to the dining room.

Dinner went by normally. They talked about life. How Mallory was fairing in her senior year of college, how her family was doing back in Georgia, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when she would ask. He only told her that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he’d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable she  knew him to be at the Cathedral.

Afterward, they’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed her the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?”

She stopped her lips parted over the rim of her glass.

He grinned sympathetically, “Come on, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.”

She swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re...very attractive, charismatic, charming,” she glanced up at him, “you command a room.”

He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?”

She thought of her youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; she became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys her age just didn’t appeal to her all that much.

“Some.”

“Do you like being dominated?”

He asked it so brazenly, it hit her like a slap to the face. She shrugged, stuttering, “I...I guess I have a proclivity to...follow the rules.”

His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.”

Heavy heat settled between her legs at his tone; she yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.”

His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?”

She shook her head, her voice maintaining a tinny as she confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” she looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying her up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.”

A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, Mallory?”

She cleared her throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been...penetrated.” Her face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.”

He tilted his head, waiting for her to explain.

“Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.”

That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.”

Her pulse was pounding in her ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence.

He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?”

A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced her core, “I’m sorry?”

His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?”

She released an audible gasp, her body trembling. She swallowed hard, “What you just said.”

He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?”

She felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away her inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.”

“Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.”

She watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge. She licked her lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?”

She nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?”

Her voice was thick, “Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.”

He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.”

She set her glass on a counter, dropping to her knees and crawled to him slowly, her eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon her, and she sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against her wet slit through her panties. Her hips rocked slowly, earning her a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing her ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?”

He pulled her closer, making her move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on her neck. She smelled like citrus, her skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth.

“The things I want to do to you,” he growled.

His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of her neck to her ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, Mallory? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?”

Her hands clutched his shirt, her head thrown back; she intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made her feel. Without warning, his hand was at her throat; gripping just tight enough to cause her eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust.

“You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up Her body to cup her breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?”

His lips hovered just above hers, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.”

She moved her hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched her closer, their warm breath passing between them, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.”

She looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire.

“Get on the floor.”

She slipped off of him, her bare knees hitting the carpet.

“Take out my cock,” he commanded.

She undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook her as she wrapped her lips around the head, sucking gently.

He gasped, “Eager little slut.”

She massaged his balls, taking more of him into her mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through her hair. She gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of her throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of her mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as she moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at her eyes as she pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited her mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking.

He caressed her cheek, as she dragged her tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum.

“Come here,” his raspy voice told her.

She propped herself on his knees, her eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped her chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”

She responded quietly, “Please?”

He cupped the back of her head, bringing their foreheads together, their lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of her hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.”

His gaze focused on her glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze her bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.”

He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.”

He delivered a swift, hard slap to her ass, her tiny yelp making his cock jerk.

“Follow me.”

____________________

Father Langdon's bedroom was as sleek and dark as the rest of his decor; but the two main eye attractions were the three overlook windows Mallory had noticed outside, and the large bed draped in red silk sheets and a black leather bed frame; two decorative pikes on either side of the headboard.

She couldn’t help but eye the bed with curiosity, finding that the priest hid darker undertones of his personality in his most intimate places.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered.

She nearly jumped, turning around to see him taking three red cords from a little black box.

He paused, meeting her eyes when she hesitated. He smiled gently, raising an eyebrow, “Please?”

She stripped slowly, letting the dress pool around her feet. He looked her over.

“Oh, Mallory,” he responded breathlessly, twirling the red ties between his graceful fingers, “Heaven couldn’t create a more perfect form.”

She blushed, her thighs were slick with arousal as he beckoned her forward; laying the ties neatly over the box. His fingers lazily dragged down her bare stomach when she stood before him before slipping just inside her panties, “How about I relieve some of your tension while you strip off my clothes.”

She bit her lip, starting to unbutton his shirt; her blood boiling in anticipation. He moaned as his finger slipped inside her heat, his fingertip lazily rubbing her clit in slow, wide circles. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her; desperate noises breathily rising from her throat. Her hips moved with his rhythm, slipping his shirt off to hang from his forearms. Her hands softly drifted over his toned chest and broad shoulders, nails digging in when his fingers explored her dripping core more enthusiastically. He growled impatiently, snatching his fingers away to remove his shirt completely. He slid down, wrapping his arms under her thighs; forcing her to hold onto him tightly as he carried her to the windows, pinning her against the middle pane.

“I can see practically the whole neighborhood from this view, Mallory,” he latched onto her neck, sucking and licking up to her ear, “Let’s give any nosy neighbors a show.”

His fingers slipped her panties off, throwing them aside. The cold glass stung her bare skin, the scandalous nature of her position pouring hot, depraved passion into her veins. His thumb pressed into her clit with fast, flicking strokes while he moved two fingers in and out of her with unrelenting speed.

“I’ve dreamt about this sexy, virgin pussy since I met you,” he groaned in her ear, “I’ve stroked this thick, hungry cock for you every. single. night,” he repositioned to get a better grip on her ass, “Sometimes I’d stare out from the pulpit and fantasize about sinking my throbbing dick into into you right there at the altar,” he sighed out a dark chuckle, “Fucking you before God and everyone. Making vile worship pour from your lips and gush around me.” He snarled, curling his fingers inside her, “God, you make me so fucking hard.”

She clung desperately, unable to keep up with him; his bulge shoved tightly back into his pants reaching to grind just outside her entrance.

“You like knowing that, don’t you?” He angled his head to lift up her bra with his teeth, his tongue seeking to violate her hardened nipples, “You like knowing that while I’m up there preaching about purity and chastity,” he surrounded her nipple with his lips and sucked, making a filthy wet sound as he released it, “That all I can imagine is pounding your hot, horny little hole until I cum inside you.”

She choked out a pathetic whine, “Michael, just fuck me already!”

It was jarring how quickly he could stop. His eyes glared into hers, soaked fingers pulling out to roughly grasp her chin, “What did you call me?”

Terror spread in her chest, “I-I-“

“No,” he pressed down on her bottom lip with his thumb, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” his expression was aflame, “I asked what you just called me.”

She trembled.

“Say it.”

“Michael,” she answered weakly.

“Dear little lamb,” he shook his head disappointedly, “I show you an ounce of mercy, and you think you can use my name so casually, simply command me to do your bidding?”

He leaned in, his whispered voice like a razor, “In this room, there is only one god; and he demands respect.”

She gulped, “I’m sorry, Father Langdon.”

“Oh no, you’ve lost that privilege,” he moved his hand to grip the nape of her neck, “You may call me sir, until I decide you you’ve been good enough. Is that clear?”

There was no hesitation, “Yes, sir.”

He hummed, “Now, I’m a merciful god, my little saint,” he applied a tighter pressure, “but you’ll have to pay due penance if you want me to bury this thick cock in your cunt and save you from your greediness.”

Her cold terror was melted with warm lust still coating his bulge.

“Get on the bed and face the left.”

He dropped her to her feet and watched her crawl onto the mattress, sitting perfectly still on her knees.

He brought over one of the red cords, “Hold out your wrists.”

She obeyed silently, and he tied her to the pike, not too tightly, but enough to remind her she was at his mercy. He walked back around to the other side, taking his sweet time; making her wait, her humiliation exposed to Heaven and his eyes alone. She felt like she should be ashamed, insulted at how he debased her.

But it only made the need in her pussy throb harder.

The palm of his hand connected with her skin, the sting making her cry out in surprise as she tried to bite back a delighted smile.

“Stick out that perfect ass.”

She leaned over a little farther, presenting before him. She could feel the mattress buckle beneath her as he climbed up behind her, pulling her thighs closer and spread her legs, one hand firmly on her ass, and the other stretched underneath to cup her breast. She barely had time to react to his warm palm on her skin before he dragged tongue up the full length of her opening. She gasped, gripping at the cord. He lavished every inch of her needy, saturate flesh with long, deep stripes; devouring her viciously, her cries of pleasure riling him up. She heard the rustling of fabric as he slipped off his pants, fully freeing himself. She sighed as he rubbed his pulsing head up and down her slit, bathing it in her cum.

“You taste delicious, my little lamb,” he slid his body over her, his chest against her back; she barely restrained herself from bucking against his hard cock pressed between her cheeks.

“Are you sorry for taking my name in vain?” He nuzzled next to her ear.

“Yes, sir,” she breathed.

“Do you feel that hard dick?” He thrusted slightly, patting her cheeks further, “Do you want to feel like a really dirty whore?”

She felt like she would collapse, “Yes, sir.”

His smile brushed against her neck, “Would you like it if I put my cock in your perfect ass?”

Her mind reeled. It was filthy, wrong, sinful-

“Yes, sir, please do that.”

He kissed her shoulder, “Say it, Mallory, we’re well past guarded language.”

She almost screamed, begging him, “Please, sir, put your fucking cock in my ass.”

He seemed to genuinely pause, taking in her words, before laughing, “Ask and ye shall receive.”

He kissed down her spine, sitting up on his knees and positioning his cock right over her, taking fingers full of her juices and slathering them into her asshole, gently massaging it open. She braced herself against the pike, already aching at the touch. She felt his soaked head stretching her out; she groaned, a slight burning sensation quickly replaced by delicious agony as he gently worked himself in, telling her how tight and perfect she was. He was built up a slow, steady rhythm, which she took notice of with a pang of endearment. He wrapped his arm around her waist, using his other hand to caress her hair, “You're being such a good girl,” he hummed, “such a good, filthy girl.”

He pulled out slowly, her body feeling empty, less grounded to reality as he did. She felt the bed shift again as he stood to retrieve the two other ties. When he was in front of her, she looked up at him under innocent, submissive eyes, her lips red and swollen from her biting them so hard.

He smiled, tucking messy, sweat-soaked hair behind her ear, “Come up here.”

She furrowed her brows, but lifted herself up to meet him. He pulled her close, breathing out, “You earned this.”

He brought their lips together, oddly chaste; simply delighting in her kiss, the feel of their mouths meeting in a covenant of longing. He released the kiss, rubbing her cheek with his thumb, “Are you ready to cum?”

She nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Michael,” he corrected, “I want you to be able to scream my name.”

He untied her hands, “Lay on your back for me and stretch out your arms.”

Once she had, he tied both wrists; one to each pike, and her ankles together flat against the bed so she was in the position of a crucifix. He straddled her, running his hands all over her body, “My beautiful, spotless lamb.”

He parted her thighs once more, indulging in the way her tied legs kept her tightly around him as he entered her. It wasn’t long before he decided to forego the gentleness and began pounding into her against the bed, much to her relief. His cock slipped in and out at a frantic pace, the sound of their hips crashing together, wetness dripping between them, their skin slick with sweat and arousal. She was whining pathetically, wishing she could dig her nails into his back with each thrust hitting the exact perfect spot. He pulled her hair back to expose her neck, biting hard enough to puncture the skin. She cried out his name, like honey on her tongue, her breath catching in her throat, as she drenched his thick length. He lapped up the droplets of blood and around the forming bruise, moaning into the open wounds as her fluids soaked his mouth and cock. He hooked his arms under her legs as she fell back, gasping from her pleasure. “Look at me,” he snarled pounding harder, even faster strokes. She met his gaze, her eyes glassy and inundated with pleasure while his burned with dark lust. his chest and throat rumbled with deep, gravelly growls as he came. He roared like an animal, baring his teeth and sinking them into her neck once more. She squealed at the flash of pain, but welcomed his warm wet tongue soothing the abused skin. They moved their hips in tandem, slowly now, their slick heat mixing, each movement massaging it further into them.

He took two fingers and gathered their cum, holding it front of her.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeyed and he spread his messy fingers over her tongue.

“Hoc est enim corpus meum, This is my body,” he whispered before placing it on his own tongue and taking her in a passionate kiss.

He pulled out, chest heaving deep breaths as he untied her. Her arms immediately wrapped around him, leaving reverent kisses on his skin; he did nothing to admonish her eager affection. They lay there exhausted, wordless. He finally gazed into her eyes, kissing her forehead.

“I was right. You did feel like Heaven.”